Twilight Zone

Understand that I live in a town of some 20,000 simple country folk, one of many small such towns in Nebraska. Hastings is divided into two parishes, the one I belong to comprising most of the town proper, where St. Michael's parish on the west side of town is much smaller and is made up mostly of farmers and countryfolk. After a late night on Saturday (more later), I failed to wake up for the 11 a.m. Corpus Christi mass. I checked on the internet hoping to find a later mass somewhere nearby so I wouldn't have to go to the evening Spanish (a.k.a, mariachi) mass. No problem, St. Michaels has a 2:oo p.m.! It's important to note that this is my first mass since I've been back in town, and I've yet to unpack my shoes. So, I'm ashamed to say, I wore flip-flops to church. I figured I could come in a bit late and sit in the back, no one would notice.

It turns out that this mass was the ordination mass for a new parish priest, though I didn't know it at the time. I sat down in the back as planned, said my prayers, and idly started people watching (bad!). Double take. Is that Mr. Kelly? Yes.. and his wife and children. Well that's a bit odd. Uhm. Is that Mr. and Mrs. Dillon in front of me? What the... I look across the back of the church and see Dr. McArthur and Mr. Nieto. I start thinking back to my Frued and Jung readings and wonder what kind of psychosis is manifesting itself from out my twisted psyche. Then I notice that the celebrant priest looks like an older, fatter Mr. Kelly. Oh!

This was by far the weirdest mass I've ever been too (per accidens that is), and like the title of this post might suggest, I felt like I was in the twilight zone for the first five or ten minutes of mass. Mr. Decaen's brother is one of my parish priests, and he was cocelebrating. So my thoughts during mass moved from somewhat pious and focused to startled and distracted in wonder that so many TAC graduates and tutors (at least seven, I couldn't see who was sitting on the other half of the church) were collected in such a random place, and that had I not slept in I would never have known. Then I realized I was wearing flip-flops, and didn't want to make an ass of myself in front of these people. So I booked it as quickly as I could after mass. I also had to meet my family soon after, so I somewhat legitimized this flight to myself. Still, I feel like an ass for not staying a bit and congratulating Father Kelly and saying hello to everyone. It's very cool, but very odd that two of TAC's fifty-odd active priests are in my hometown in the middle of nowhere. Maybe a touch overkill?

As to Saturday night. I knew seeing old friends would be bad, but I really didn't realize how stupid and vulgar most people our age are. Even in the good old midwest. I hope I can avoid hanging out with them again while I'm here, but we'll see. It impressed on me very clearly that home is and never will be home again. I can't imagine not living near an active and intelligent community of Catholics again. And I really don't want to stay here any longer than I have to, which means that I'll probably be moving back to SoCal a.s.a.p. I was looking at the USC website, and discovered that they have one of the only bachelor programs devoted solely to classical guitar performance. The professors in this department are all accomplished masters, and I'd love to get in it. I'm not sure yet what the tuition is, how many of my TAC credits will carry over, and they take students on an audition basis, so I'm not sure how likely an option this will turn out to be. But I'm looking into it.

Otherwise, I'm having a good time golfing all day and catching up on some fiction reading. Right now I'm on Jules Verne's Mystery Island. Robinson Crusoe, the Swiss Family Robinson and Shipwrecked were some of my favorite childhood books, and this is supposed to be the exemplar from which all such books fall away. I'm sure we've all wondered at one time or another what it would be like if all technology and invention was stripped from us, and were left to rebuild by ourselves. This book satisfies that curiousity as well as your good old fascination with being stranded on a desert island. One of the members of this modest society just happens to be a brilliant engineer and natural scientist, who of course is able to recognize all minerals, flora, and fauna. Verne goes into great detail about all of these things, and how the basic inventions we take for granted can be coaxed from nature. Good practical book to read in case you ever end up crashing in a FedEx plane or somesuch.

I gots me a liberal arts edumacation!

I'm typing this from the seclusion of my basement hideaway in the family compound. Free wireless high-speed internet on bleeding edge Mac and PC laptops. Thanks bro. Well, not free exactly. He's taking a capped 10% cut of my winnings. Anyways, my Ambien should start hitting here in a bit, just a reminder to muhself to check this thing out at a later date and make sure I don’t run too crack-addled.

I'm finally starting to recover from the last several years. Looking back at the latter half of my time at TAC I realize what a zombie I've been. I really didn't give a flying fuck what anyone thought about me, including my tutors. This fact was evidenced in several aberrant behaviors such as: inattention to personal hygiene and dress, grossly immature social interaction, lack of intellectual curiosity and work ethic... the lazy slob you all know and love. But I wasn’t like that before I came to TAC, or even during the first few years. I have a few thoughts on what brought these changes about, none I’d like to share. Regardless, it feels now as if I’m looking back on a past life with incomplete memories shrouded in the mists of long ages. Not at what should be fresh and happy memories ending little less than a week ago. I’d like to talk more about my memories, and what importance they seem to play in my life, but maybe I can avoid that for now.

In exciting life news!
* I nearly get arrested for DUI on the Friday before Graduation
* Instead I’m unceremoniously ditched by the popo on the side of the 150 in my shorts at 3 a.m.
* Ten minutes later a screeching rice ball full of cholos corners me with their brights for five seconds before speeding off. Repeat for the next 30 minutes as I go Vietnam style all up in the UO. I’m eventually Silver Bullet evaced by Donzilla, the last man standing on that fateful night. This was a fun little adventure that taught me to not even think of fucking around with Californias stygian penalty system for drunk driving. I also owe someone a huge debt, and am thankful for this person’s friendship.

On to Vegas baby. Pat, Tim, Alan, Andrea and I all managed to squeeze into the posh confines of a Wynn’s Casino Five Star resort handicapped room. While most resort rooms have limited and to be rather blunt, ineffectual means of bathroom ingress and egress, our room sports a state-of-the-art tram-line connected by ceiling tracks. The pleasant journey begins as you attach yourself to the Apparatus near the balcony, and proceeds by unveiling the sumptuous furnishings and light fixtures beneath you. As you progress down the track, watch out, for we appear to be heading straight into the bathroom wall! But no, gentle guest, simply open the recessing doors and prepare yourself for the intricate pleasures of the modern comfort station (bathroom!). Passing from the second queen bed below you and floating through the opened doors, pause and disgorge yourself from the Apparatus if you care to take a refreshing bath below. But look, the water jets are placed at the top of the tub, simulating a waterfall. How deliciously expensive! No? Oh... perhaps you’d like us to leave as your next stop appears to be over the toilet. I’ll just turn on the Plasma Screen TV mounted above the bathtub and easily viewable from your perspective by watching the mirrors reflection. And happy day it’s The Chappelle Show featuring R. Kelly! Good luck my friend, and remember to use the Emergency Roll only in times of Emergency. And to you, fellow guests, remember that like all priceless jewelery, paintings, and Mayan god statues, the Wynn Guest Snackbar located inside each room is equipped with individual motion sensors! Mistakenly touch that bag of Cookie Dough Nibblers and you own it.

So, we had a sweet room for cheap. The gambling was good, nobody lost too much and we all got our monies worth out of free boo. I continued a trend that has developed since the first time I went to vegas (on my fourth trip now). I always do really well at the Bellagio poker room. I’ve never had a losing session there, and am up over a grand there. On the other hand, in the Ghetto Castle, I’m down a lot in the $100 min/max NL game. Every time, I build up a nice respectable stack, two or three hundred dollars, and get all my money in with a made hand only to be drawn out on by a 1,2 or 3 outer. My last buy-in ever at the Ghetto Castle (thus have I decreed) was expended when I find 45s on the button. A fairly tight predictable player raised UTG to $10 (AK... he bets lower with high pocket pairs). He gets a caller, and it comes to me. I figure we might get one of the blinds in, everyone involved has a nice stack behind them... let’s gamble. I call, the BB calls, and we’re off. I’m staring at the PF raiser as the flop comes down, he makes the obvious I just hit my ak eye movement, and then I look down to see a board of A23 (suits don’t matter). He bets $20, the other guy folds and I want to massage him into getting all of his money in, so I reraise to $40. Coming from me, this could look like me with a high pocket pair or weaker ace trying to find out where I’m at. I’m hoping he tells me by going all in. He does. I call. Turn, K. River, A. FUCKING NOT AGAIN THIS IS ABSURD. Every time I’ve sat down at a NL table in a casino this is what has happened. I’m down about 4gs from being drawn out on the turn or river every single time I’m allin and ahead. So, maybe I’m good at NL, maybe not, I just can’t stand losing a whole nights work in one hand when a huge favorite. Give me the Bellagio 8/16 or 15/30 please!
Pat, Keeler, Andrea and I spent our last night next to each other at two 1-3 spread limit tables. We had some good times, and some interesting characters at the table. There was even a mexican guy I’d played with at Commerce before. We made eye contact, but I don’t know if he placed who I was. He was still a crazy loose aggressive fish just as I’d remembered.
Wednesday night we hit The Orleans bowling alley. One dollar games after midnight. Shite. We played for four hours or so, drinking and smoking ourselves silly. The lanes were so greasy, you’d have to wipe the excess on your ball off so you didn’t get it on your clothes. I think I broke 100 once or twice. Teehee. Alan scored a 220 or so straight bowling and hammered. Congrats. Jackass.
And of course, no Vegas adventure is complete without a random car dying event in the desert. We got a tow from stateline to Vegas, hung around a Pepboys for several hours until they were near to closing, then purchased a new battery, alternator, and tools to do the swap. Thankfully, our streetlight operation went well and we were back on the road

This, that and the other and I’m back home for the next few months. For unexplained reasons, my summer work application at TAC was denied. Wonder why. I’ve set up a tight regimen for myself of sleep, golf, poker, movies, books, and more sleep. My senses must be filled at all times with anything other than my family. God bless them, but they’re already driving me insane. It’s nice living at home for free for a while, but really, once you’re left the nest, you’re gone. It’s prison after that. I’m still looking into bachelor programs for music theory/performance. I’m not sure if I want to pursue classical guitar professionally, but it seems like the only realistic thing on the burner. Barring any unforseen difficulties, I should be moving back up in middle or late July. Unless I can get my golf handcap back down to scratch by the time I leave. If so, I’m off to the tour! And now I’m really feeling loopy, so goodnight.