Saturday night
My friend Jason Bourne and I were in Paris, and were sharing a room in a really fancy hotel. I woke up one morning and noticed that he wasn't around. I got dressed and walked down the long marble steps to the street, where Jason was waiting for public transportation. He didn't speak to me, but that was cool -- he didn't have to; he had a job to do, and he was "all business" at that moment, wearing sunglasses and carrying a backpack. Truth be told, I was probably better off not knowing what was going on. As I turned to walk back up the stairs, I had the gut feeling that he was going to rub somebody out.
I, on the other hand, had a completely different plan for my day, and I was really excited about it: I was going to visit the Louvre Museum for the first time. I stopped in the lobby, and felt pretty giddy about being in Paris, and about all its possibilities. I spoke to one of the people behind the counter: "The cooler weather here is fantastic. Back home right now, it's probably over 90 degrees."
I had a little trepidation about the language barrier as I headed out on my own, but figured it would be OK. I knew that I couldn't possibly see everything worth seeing at the Louvre in one day, but hey -- it was the Louvre. Anything I could see there would be wonderful!
*****
How very odd that I could knowingly watch my pal go off to kill someone, and still feel so wonderful about the plans for my day. I wonder if there's some hidden metaphor there. If so, I have not yet figured it out. Maybe I'm sending myself a message about the war in Iraq. My government is killing a bunch of people in my name while I'm out every day enjoying myself, and not paying enough attention to the matter. I'm reminded of one of the better songs by The Police: "...What does it have to do with me?/What is my reaction?/What should it be?/Confronted by this latest atrocity..."
I should be protesting, and I'm not.
Paris does figure in at least one of the "Bourne" films.
My friend Eddie M. hosted the latest round of our yearly poker tournament this month back in Virginia, and he showed us some film footage of a recent whirlwind trip that his family had taken to London, Paris and Rome. I hope to see all of those cities someday.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Alison
Thursday night
Alison Krauss was giving me a ride in her car. I was in the front passenger seat, and was talking about her career, but in the third person, as if she wasn't there. I said, "I like Alison Krauss'es music, but I love her early records. She was a child prodigy. Have you heard her album 'I've Got That Old Feeling'? She really belts out her vocals on that one."
Eventually we got to her home, which was next door to mine. My wife joined us there for dinner, and we had a nice time.
Later, I was at work (at my former job in Nashville), and I was talking to my boss, Ken P. I bragged, "Alison Krauss helped us move into our house. We piled a bunch of our stuff into her yellow Volkswagen Beetle."
*****
Alison Krauss does live in Nashville, and I've seen her a few times, but don't know her, and she doesn't live next door. The bits about the dinner, the move and the VW are all bogus.
Ken P. was my boss for a short time. He was a big music fan, but was also a celebrity hound and unabashed name-dropper. Sometimes he and I got into a game of celebrity one-upmanship, trying to impress each other with the concerts we'd seen, or musicians we'd met. It all seems rather silly and pathetic now. I didn't like those aspects of his personality, and thought to myself that it was time to grow up and change those aspects of mine.
Chasing celebrities, getting autographs and bragging about it is a young person's game, anyway. I still have a great deal of respect for some musicians, but nowadays I try to see them as regular people with talent as opposed to superheroes or something. It probably helps that in Nashville it's not considered cool to bug famous people -- instead, the thing to do is to let them be.
The rather amusing postscript to this story is that Ken ended up getting a pretty important newspaper job, which means that he's famous now -- in some circles, anyway. So, when I type up my September Dream Blog Roundup, do I list him as a coworker/acquaintance, or as a celeb?
Alison Krauss was giving me a ride in her car. I was in the front passenger seat, and was talking about her career, but in the third person, as if she wasn't there. I said, "I like Alison Krauss'es music, but I love her early records. She was a child prodigy. Have you heard her album 'I've Got That Old Feeling'? She really belts out her vocals on that one."
Eventually we got to her home, which was next door to mine. My wife joined us there for dinner, and we had a nice time.
Later, I was at work (at my former job in Nashville), and I was talking to my boss, Ken P. I bragged, "Alison Krauss helped us move into our house. We piled a bunch of our stuff into her yellow Volkswagen Beetle."
*****
Alison Krauss does live in Nashville, and I've seen her a few times, but don't know her, and she doesn't live next door. The bits about the dinner, the move and the VW are all bogus.
Ken P. was my boss for a short time. He was a big music fan, but was also a celebrity hound and unabashed name-dropper. Sometimes he and I got into a game of celebrity one-upmanship, trying to impress each other with the concerts we'd seen, or musicians we'd met. It all seems rather silly and pathetic now. I didn't like those aspects of his personality, and thought to myself that it was time to grow up and change those aspects of mine.
Chasing celebrities, getting autographs and bragging about it is a young person's game, anyway. I still have a great deal of respect for some musicians, but nowadays I try to see them as regular people with talent as opposed to superheroes or something. It probably helps that in Nashville it's not considered cool to bug famous people -- instead, the thing to do is to let them be.
The rather amusing postscript to this story is that Ken ended up getting a pretty important newspaper job, which means that he's famous now -- in some circles, anyway. So, when I type up my September Dream Blog Roundup, do I list him as a coworker/acquaintance, or as a celeb?
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Aunt Bee, Appraiser
Wednesday night
Aunt Bee (from "The Andy Griffith Show") ran her own barber shop, and I came in for a trim. I brought with me a rare 45 r.p.m. E.P. (extended play) by Elvis Presley, called "This Boy," which I'd recently bought; I wanted to ask Bee about it, to see if it was really valuable. (The title was written in large yellow letters superimposed on a color photo of Elvis, but the cover was scuffed up to the point that some of the letters were practically rubbed away.)
I showed the record to Aunt Bee. She was so excited about being asked to express her opinion about something that she went into a complete tizzy, running around saying, "I've never done this before!" "Oh My!" etc. I sat in the barber chair and watched her carry on. Finally, I'd had enough and said, "Aunt Bee, I just wanted a haircut!"
As I waited for her to calm down, I studied the cover of the E.P. The missing type bugged me, but the photo was in pretty good shape. I decided that I'd find another copy on e-bay for my collection. I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the front cardboard cover into a neat square and left it on the table. She could hang it on her wall.
*****
The E.P. that I showed Aunt Bee was actually "Jailhouse Rock," (except for the new title) from 1957, featuring a nice color photo of E in a striped gray jacket with black collar, on a red background. "This Boy" is a song that Elvis never recorded; it's a favorite Beatles B-side from 1963.
I spent an awful lot of money over the past few years buying up about 80 Elvis Presley picture sleeve singles and E.P.s, and plan to frame them someday and hang them in my basement.
I own the first five seasons of "The Andy Griffith Show" on DVD. Those are the classic black and white episodes, up until Barney Fife left. The following color episodes are abysmal, and seem to focus on Aunt Bee all the time: she learns to fly a plane, she opens a Chinese restaurant, she is the one dissenting juror keeping a young Jack Nicholson from being convicted in a court case. "Dreadful," as Preston would say.
By the way, it is "Aunt Bee," not "Aunt Bea." I double checked in my copy of "The Definitive Andy Griffith Show Reference."
Aunt Bee (from "The Andy Griffith Show") ran her own barber shop, and I came in for a trim. I brought with me a rare 45 r.p.m. E.P. (extended play) by Elvis Presley, called "This Boy," which I'd recently bought; I wanted to ask Bee about it, to see if it was really valuable. (The title was written in large yellow letters superimposed on a color photo of Elvis, but the cover was scuffed up to the point that some of the letters were practically rubbed away.)
I showed the record to Aunt Bee. She was so excited about being asked to express her opinion about something that she went into a complete tizzy, running around saying, "I've never done this before!" "Oh My!" etc. I sat in the barber chair and watched her carry on. Finally, I'd had enough and said, "Aunt Bee, I just wanted a haircut!"
As I waited for her to calm down, I studied the cover of the E.P. The missing type bugged me, but the photo was in pretty good shape. I decided that I'd find another copy on e-bay for my collection. I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the front cardboard cover into a neat square and left it on the table. She could hang it on her wall.
*****
The E.P. that I showed Aunt Bee was actually "Jailhouse Rock," (except for the new title) from 1957, featuring a nice color photo of E in a striped gray jacket with black collar, on a red background. "This Boy" is a song that Elvis never recorded; it's a favorite Beatles B-side from 1963.
I spent an awful lot of money over the past few years buying up about 80 Elvis Presley picture sleeve singles and E.P.s, and plan to frame them someday and hang them in my basement.
I own the first five seasons of "The Andy Griffith Show" on DVD. Those are the classic black and white episodes, up until Barney Fife left. The following color episodes are abysmal, and seem to focus on Aunt Bee all the time: she learns to fly a plane, she opens a Chinese restaurant, she is the one dissenting juror keeping a young Jack Nicholson from being convicted in a court case. "Dreadful," as Preston would say.
By the way, it is "Aunt Bee," not "Aunt Bea." I double checked in my copy of "The Definitive Andy Griffith Show Reference."
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
45s / Don't Sit So Close to Me
Dream 1: 45s
I was in a used record store, and was about to buy a large stack of 45 r.p.m. records. My friend Kels was behind the counter. He said, "Due to the fact that you're buying so many, I was able to get you a discount. You get all of these for $20 bucks."
Dream 2: Don't Sit So Close to Me
My boss, Jennie, was leading a meeting that combined several sales teams from work. She stood at the front of a very long, narrow table, with employees sitting on both sides. (Imagine the tables in the dining hall in the "Harry Potter" movies, and you'll get the idea.) Jennie started off by saying, "So, how was your weekend?" One of the reps, Ashley, said, "Some 40-year-old guy hit on me! Ewwwwwwwwwwwww!" Everyone laughed, particularly those of us who were over 40, such as Jennie and myself.
Later, the sales teams broke up into discussion groups, and were sitting on the floor. It was crowded, and, as one of my coworkers crawled by looking for a seat, she stopped, looked into my eyes, smiled, and said, "Hey." I got a definite buzz from being in such close proximity to her, and it alarmed me. I thought to myself, "I'd better back up," and I did.
*****
I'm surrounded by 20-somethings at work, and we're friendly, but that's all there is to it. I wonder if my subconscious is telling me that it's time for that midlife crisis that we all hear about.
I was in a used record store, and was about to buy a large stack of 45 r.p.m. records. My friend Kels was behind the counter. He said, "Due to the fact that you're buying so many, I was able to get you a discount. You get all of these for $20 bucks."
Dream 2: Don't Sit So Close to Me
My boss, Jennie, was leading a meeting that combined several sales teams from work. She stood at the front of a very long, narrow table, with employees sitting on both sides. (Imagine the tables in the dining hall in the "Harry Potter" movies, and you'll get the idea.) Jennie started off by saying, "So, how was your weekend?" One of the reps, Ashley, said, "Some 40-year-old guy hit on me! Ewwwwwwwwwwwww!" Everyone laughed, particularly those of us who were over 40, such as Jennie and myself.
Later, the sales teams broke up into discussion groups, and were sitting on the floor. It was crowded, and, as one of my coworkers crawled by looking for a seat, she stopped, looked into my eyes, smiled, and said, "Hey." I got a definite buzz from being in such close proximity to her, and it alarmed me. I thought to myself, "I'd better back up," and I did.
*****
I'm surrounded by 20-somethings at work, and we're friendly, but that's all there is to it. I wonder if my subconscious is telling me that it's time for that midlife crisis that we all hear about.
Monday, September 24, 2007
The Terror of Suburbia
Sunday night
The eyes of the nation were glued to their TV screens to witness America's latest venture into space, and my eyes were no exception. We watched as a lunar module approached a previously unexplored planet; down it went, through the blackness, approaching its intended landing site. Suddenly something went wrong, and the spacecraft veered off-course. I gasped, as I'm sure many people did. How could this happen, after all of the money that was spent -- and after all of the careful plans that had been made? Where would it land?
The module landed in what looked like a pleasant American suburb; so pleasant that it seemed to be a throwback to another time. A dog and a cat looked on inquisitively at the thing that had just fallen from the sky. Unfortunately for the astronauts, their troubles had just begun. They had landed safely, but somehow a balloon (the size of one that might be found at a child's birthday party) escaped from one of the hatches; it contained miniature United States astronauts. Now that they were untethered, there was no telling where they would end up; they simply floated away, out of control. It was a serious disaster for the space program and for the country.
*****
We went to the movies last weekend (to see "Eastern Promises" -- very good, but quite bloody in places) and I happened to notice a poster for a forthcoming documentary called "In The Shadow of the Moon," presented by Ron Howard. This dream appears to have mixed that poster with my memories of the classic French film "The Red Balloon" (1956) which I saw in elementary school. It might also mix in an episode or two of "The Twilight Zone," particularly the one in which a kindly old lady who lives in a farm house is terrorized by tiny aliens. Of course, at the end, she gets up the courage to crush their spaceship with a broom, and in the last shot we see that the spacecraft says "USA" on the side. One of the astronauts is heard radioing back home: "Incredible race of giants here!"
The eyes of the nation were glued to their TV screens to witness America's latest venture into space, and my eyes were no exception. We watched as a lunar module approached a previously unexplored planet; down it went, through the blackness, approaching its intended landing site. Suddenly something went wrong, and the spacecraft veered off-course. I gasped, as I'm sure many people did. How could this happen, after all of the money that was spent -- and after all of the careful plans that had been made? Where would it land?
The module landed in what looked like a pleasant American suburb; so pleasant that it seemed to be a throwback to another time. A dog and a cat looked on inquisitively at the thing that had just fallen from the sky. Unfortunately for the astronauts, their troubles had just begun. They had landed safely, but somehow a balloon (the size of one that might be found at a child's birthday party) escaped from one of the hatches; it contained miniature United States astronauts. Now that they were untethered, there was no telling where they would end up; they simply floated away, out of control. It was a serious disaster for the space program and for the country.
*****
We went to the movies last weekend (to see "Eastern Promises" -- very good, but quite bloody in places) and I happened to notice a poster for a forthcoming documentary called "In The Shadow of the Moon," presented by Ron Howard. This dream appears to have mixed that poster with my memories of the classic French film "The Red Balloon" (1956) which I saw in elementary school. It might also mix in an episode or two of "The Twilight Zone," particularly the one in which a kindly old lady who lives in a farm house is terrorized by tiny aliens. Of course, at the end, she gets up the courage to crush their spaceship with a broom, and in the last shot we see that the spacecraft says "USA" on the side. One of the astronauts is heard radioing back home: "Incredible race of giants here!"
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Birds in the Trees / The Number
Saturday night
Dream 1: Birds in the Trees
I was riding in a car with some other people, and I was in the right front passenger seat. It was a nice sunny day, and as we passed a long strand of green trees to my right, I was pointing out birds to my fellow passengers. At one point one of them said, "What's that?" I looked up to see a beautiful Brown Thrasher sitting on the end of one of the branches. I knew what it was, but for some reason I was drawing a blank, and couldn't remember the name of the bird. I felt like a batter who struck out when the pressure was on; in other words, I choked.
Dream 2: The Number
I was back at work, toiling away on my list of employees, their phone numbers and other assorted information. As I stared at my printout I realized something that I hadn't noticed before: the sales rep. # for every single employee was 1704.
*****
Dream 1: Birds in the Trees
My wife and I have been discussing my memory lately, or lack thereof. It's a source of constant frustration to her, particularly when I'm driving her to work in the morning, and she tells me where she'd like to be dropped off. Frequently I'll ask her 10 or 15 minutes later, "Where would you like to be dropped off today?" I suggest that I might have the beginnings of Alzheimer's or something, but more likely than not, I'm thinking about CD projects or my own upcoming workday, and not paying enough attention to details of our conversations. My friend Preston is a reporter, and, as such, he always carries a small spiral notepad. I think I should probably carry one at all times, to help me remember the important stuff.
This dream probably harkens back to an incident that embarrassed me some 12 or 13 years ago. I was getting into bird watching in the 1990s. One time I was out with my then-friend Tricia and my brother, Andrew, when Andrew noticed some birds flying by. He said, "What are those?" I squinted to see them, but couldn't tell; they were too far away and in direct sunlight. Besides, the coloration wasn't distinct. As I looked through my binoculars, Tricia became impatient. She said, "He doesn't know. C'mon, let's go." She was definitely putting me down, and it stung. It still stings, and that's the feeling expressed in Dream 1.
Brown Thrashers are fairly common, but I've only seen two or three of them. The first one I ever saw was pecking around in the grass in Shenandoah National Park in VA. I saw another one several years ago here in Nashville, in a neighbor's front yard. The Brown Thrasher is a fairly large thrush, with a brown back, long brown tail, curved bill and white breast with prominent brown spots.
I enjoy bird watching, but I'm not sure that I have the patience to be really good at it. In my opinon, there's just way too many brown birds. I frequently say, "If a bird is big, or brightly colored, I can identify it. If it's small and brown, I don't know what the hell it is."
I may have thought about the Brown Thrasher because I'm working on my third straight vintage Springbok jigsaw puzzle, all of which feature pictures of birds, including Brown Thrashers.
Dream 2: The Number
1704?
Dream 1: Birds in the Trees
I was riding in a car with some other people, and I was in the right front passenger seat. It was a nice sunny day, and as we passed a long strand of green trees to my right, I was pointing out birds to my fellow passengers. At one point one of them said, "What's that?" I looked up to see a beautiful Brown Thrasher sitting on the end of one of the branches. I knew what it was, but for some reason I was drawing a blank, and couldn't remember the name of the bird. I felt like a batter who struck out when the pressure was on; in other words, I choked.
Dream 2: The Number
I was back at work, toiling away on my list of employees, their phone numbers and other assorted information. As I stared at my printout I realized something that I hadn't noticed before: the sales rep. # for every single employee was 1704.
*****
Dream 1: Birds in the Trees
My wife and I have been discussing my memory lately, or lack thereof. It's a source of constant frustration to her, particularly when I'm driving her to work in the morning, and she tells me where she'd like to be dropped off. Frequently I'll ask her 10 or 15 minutes later, "Where would you like to be dropped off today?" I suggest that I might have the beginnings of Alzheimer's or something, but more likely than not, I'm thinking about CD projects or my own upcoming workday, and not paying enough attention to details of our conversations. My friend Preston is a reporter, and, as such, he always carries a small spiral notepad. I think I should probably carry one at all times, to help me remember the important stuff.
This dream probably harkens back to an incident that embarrassed me some 12 or 13 years ago. I was getting into bird watching in the 1990s. One time I was out with my then-friend Tricia and my brother, Andrew, when Andrew noticed some birds flying by. He said, "What are those?" I squinted to see them, but couldn't tell; they were too far away and in direct sunlight. Besides, the coloration wasn't distinct. As I looked through my binoculars, Tricia became impatient. She said, "He doesn't know. C'mon, let's go." She was definitely putting me down, and it stung. It still stings, and that's the feeling expressed in Dream 1.
Brown Thrashers are fairly common, but I've only seen two or three of them. The first one I ever saw was pecking around in the grass in Shenandoah National Park in VA. I saw another one several years ago here in Nashville, in a neighbor's front yard. The Brown Thrasher is a fairly large thrush, with a brown back, long brown tail, curved bill and white breast with prominent brown spots.
I enjoy bird watching, but I'm not sure that I have the patience to be really good at it. In my opinon, there's just way too many brown birds. I frequently say, "If a bird is big, or brightly colored, I can identify it. If it's small and brown, I don't know what the hell it is."
I may have thought about the Brown Thrasher because I'm working on my third straight vintage Springbok jigsaw puzzle, all of which feature pictures of birds, including Brown Thrashers.
Dream 2: The Number
1704?
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Pop Quiz
Friday night
I was sitting in my office at work when Suzanne B., the director of our department, walked in. I wasn't intimidated or afraid of her, but she's pretty high up on the food chain, and this was a rare visit. She looked around the room; the books on the shelves and pictures on the walls reflected my tastes and interests, particularly American history and rock and roll music.
Suzanne glanced down at my desk, and saw that I was working on updating a spreadsheet that listed employees' names, phone numbers and job titles. She grabbed my latest printout and decided to quiz me. She said, "Who is the assistant to (one of the managers)?" Someone overheard the question and protested, saying that it was unfair that I'd be expected to memorize all of the employees. She responded, "He's going to need to know this." I didn't know the answer, so I replied with a question of my own: "Who was the assistant to President Grant?"
*****
Suzanne is the director of our department at work, and I am working on updating the spreadsheet mentioned above. Unfortunately, I don't have an office; I'm relegated to a cramped cubicle.
I asked my wife what she thinks this dream means. This is her interpretation:
"If I can get people to acknowledge that what I have to offer is important, then I will be willing to meet them halfway to acknowledge that what the work world thinks is important is important."
I was sitting in my office at work when Suzanne B., the director of our department, walked in. I wasn't intimidated or afraid of her, but she's pretty high up on the food chain, and this was a rare visit. She looked around the room; the books on the shelves and pictures on the walls reflected my tastes and interests, particularly American history and rock and roll music.
Suzanne glanced down at my desk, and saw that I was working on updating a spreadsheet that listed employees' names, phone numbers and job titles. She grabbed my latest printout and decided to quiz me. She said, "Who is the assistant to (one of the managers)?" Someone overheard the question and protested, saying that it was unfair that I'd be expected to memorize all of the employees. She responded, "He's going to need to know this." I didn't know the answer, so I replied with a question of my own: "Who was the assistant to President Grant?"
*****
Suzanne is the director of our department at work, and I am working on updating the spreadsheet mentioned above. Unfortunately, I don't have an office; I'm relegated to a cramped cubicle.
I asked my wife what she thinks this dream means. This is her interpretation:
"If I can get people to acknowledge that what I have to offer is important, then I will be willing to meet them halfway to acknowledge that what the work world thinks is important is important."
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