Monday night
Dream 1: Chance Meeting
I was part of a crowd that had converged in one part of town for a special event. It may have been a concert, or a record collector's covention; I'm not sure. Anyway, while I waited for the event to start, I strolled into a small, cramped comic book store to pass the time, and I ran into my friend Gordy, his brother, Greg, and Greg's wife, Mindy. We didn't know we'd see each other there, so it was a happy surprise. Everyone was in a good mood. I was carrying a folder/notebook that contained lists of stuff that I wanted to buy. The covers of the folder were made of thick orange paper, but I'd customized them by glueing a collage of rock star photos all over them, and had sealed the covers with many layers of protective Scotch tape. Gordy looked at the folder and said something to the effect of, "That's seen alot of use, but it's gonna last forever."
Dream 2: Sub Mission
This may have been a continuation of dream # 1. I'd caught a ride home on a submarine piloted by America Ferrera, star of TV's "Ugly Betty." We were cruising along in the deepest part of the ocean, and as I peered out the windows, everything looked black. Suddenly someone pointed out that two smaller submarines were nearby. The captain realized that "our side" had sent the crafts to follow us, and to check up on our movements. I walked down the central hallway, and noticed that each stateroom included a single person studying a map on a desk, trying to figure out what to do next. One of them was Prince. America then opened a hatch in the ceiling, and a bunch of debris fell to the floor, including some long tubes. I said, "I hope those aren't torpedoes."
Dream 3: How Did I Get Here?
I was living in Missouri, and was standing in line at some government office -- it might have been the DMV. As I waited I thought to myself, "How did I end up here? I've got to go home."
*****
Dream 1:
Gordy is an old friend whom I met in the 1980s when we worked for the same book store chain in VA. We attended our share of record collector's conventions, and a few concerts, as well. He's the big comic book fan; I never really got into them, other than reading about Archie and Veronica at the barber shop.
I used to carry around a notebook that I called "The Football," named after the briefcase that always accompanies the president (supposedly that case includes the nuclear codes). My notebook contained lists of everything that I needed: phone numbers, addresses, CDs and movies I wanted to buy, etc. At one point it did have an orange cover, and I did cover it with photos of favorite singers and bands, such as Springsteen, Townshend, The Cars, The Beatles, etc. Back in high school I made some similar book covers for friends, using brown paper bags, photos snipped from rock magazines, and a roll of tape. One guy, Phil M., was a Led Zeppelin nut, so he asked me to make one for him featuring his favorite band. I don't know if he ever cracked the book, but he sure liked the cover. We used to argue over who was better, Led Zeppelin or the Beatles. I always stressed the Beatles. I've lightened up since then, and now see the Beatles and Led Zep as apples and oranges; I appreciate both.
Dream 2:
Last night I saw something on TV about Howard Hughes. He'd heard about a Russian nuclear sub that sank in the 1960s, so he financed a top secret project which included the building of a big, specialized ship which would try to haul it to the surface. The project was finally ready in the early 1970s, but when they tried to lift the submarine, it broke in half and fell back to the bottom of the ocean.
The rooms on the sub were probably modeled after the staterooms on boats used by President Lincoln as he traveled to see his generals in Virginia toward the latter part of the Civil War. I just finished the book about Lincoln that I've been reading for awhile.
I've never seen that "Ugly Betty" show, but can't avoid the commercials and print ads.
Dream 3:
I've been to Missouri a few times, and have enjoyed my visits there. This dream wasn't about Missouri, it was about Nashville. These sentiments are pretty much what I say to myself every time I get up in the morning and look in the bathroom mirror.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Old School
Sunday night
I was working in some company's systems department, and had been called to fix a problem with an employee's computer. When I got to his desk, I found that the computer had about 20 crinkled black plastic tubes coming out of it, meandering and connecting in every direction. I had no earthly idea how to proceed.
*****
The idea of yours truly working in a systems department is laughable; it's all I can do to change a computer password. I think that this dream means that I wish that we could revert to a time when things were less technological, and thus, less complicated -- maybe back to a time when electronic gadgets consisted of vacuum tubes (not that I could figure those out, either). In any case, it seems worth noting that in this dream the computer had vacuum cleaner tubes. I guess I'm making up visual puns as I sleep.
I was working in some company's systems department, and had been called to fix a problem with an employee's computer. When I got to his desk, I found that the computer had about 20 crinkled black plastic tubes coming out of it, meandering and connecting in every direction. I had no earthly idea how to proceed.
*****
The idea of yours truly working in a systems department is laughable; it's all I can do to change a computer password. I think that this dream means that I wish that we could revert to a time when things were less technological, and thus, less complicated -- maybe back to a time when electronic gadgets consisted of vacuum tubes (not that I could figure those out, either). In any case, it seems worth noting that in this dream the computer had vacuum cleaner tubes. I guess I'm making up visual puns as I sleep.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Salesman
Saturday night
I was working for a company that was developing a new product called "Aquatine." We were gathered in a conference room to discuss our sales strategy and someone was handing out the marketing budget. As soon as I saw it I said, "I'm going to need an answering machine."
*****
I googled Aquatine and found that it is an "endodontic cleanser solution" (actually, hypochlorous acid) which has been shown to be effective in disinfecting tooth root canals. How in the world did I know about that? I had a root canal operation when I was a kid, but I think this product is newer than that, because the report that I found, testing its effectiveness against bleach (sodium hypochlorite), was dated May 2007, and was presented at this year's American Association of Endodontists meeting in Philadelphia. Maybe I saw a trial package of this stuff the last time I was at the dentist, or maybe I glanced at an ad for it in a magazine. Weird.
Then again, this dream may have nothing whatsoever to do with Aquatine. I may have been thinking about "Aqua Teen Hunger Force," a cartoon on cable's "Adult Swim" channel. I've never actually seen it, but have seen a trailer for it at the movie theater, and it has probably been mentioned in Entertainment magazine. From the little that I have seen, it appears to be completely retarded.
I was working for a company that was developing a new product called "Aquatine." We were gathered in a conference room to discuss our sales strategy and someone was handing out the marketing budget. As soon as I saw it I said, "I'm going to need an answering machine."
*****
I googled Aquatine and found that it is an "endodontic cleanser solution" (actually, hypochlorous acid) which has been shown to be effective in disinfecting tooth root canals. How in the world did I know about that? I had a root canal operation when I was a kid, but I think this product is newer than that, because the report that I found, testing its effectiveness against bleach (sodium hypochlorite), was dated May 2007, and was presented at this year's American Association of Endodontists meeting in Philadelphia. Maybe I saw a trial package of this stuff the last time I was at the dentist, or maybe I glanced at an ad for it in a magazine. Weird.
Then again, this dream may have nothing whatsoever to do with Aquatine. I may have been thinking about "Aqua Teen Hunger Force," a cartoon on cable's "Adult Swim" channel. I've never actually seen it, but have seen a trailer for it at the movie theater, and it has probably been mentioned in Entertainment magazine. From the little that I have seen, it appears to be completely retarded.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Grand Opening / Spoilsport
Friday night
Dream 1: Grand Opening
A previously-unpublicized Manhattan art studio used by the late John Lennon was opening as a gallery to permanently house his artwork. I was one of many members of the media who were invited to attend and to view the collection.
Dream 2: Spoilsport
I was attending a large picnic, and had leapt at the chance to take part in a game of Wiffle ball. There were male and female players of all ages. My team seemed to have only three players aside from myself. Apparently the game switched back and forth between Wiffle ball and hardball, because as I looked out at the other team I saw a young woman catch a line drive and shake her glove hand because it stung. I also noticed an old family friend, Jim B., who was playing first base. He had a large mitt -- almost the size of a hockey goalie's glove -- and it was filled with holes. It wasn't worn out; it seemed to have been designed that way for some reason. Maybe it was a softball glove. I think that that was a third option for the batters.
Eventually it was my turn to bat, and I was really pumped up. There was only one problem: the kid who was supposed to pitch to me was standing about two feet in front of home plate. He stared me down and started into a very elaborate windup when I called "Time Out!" and dropped my bat. I put my hands on his shoulders and together we walked off a certain number of paces until we got to where the pitcher's mound should be. Again, he started with the windup, and I stopped him, because he was going to throw the ball over-hand. I said, "If you are pitching softball, you have to do it like this." I proceeded to pantomime an underhand pitch. I went back to the batter's box, picked up my bat, and waited. The kid was wild. He threw one in the dirt, and then he threw the next one over my head. I was pretty exasperated; I wanted to hit that ball. The next thing I knew, the kid was distracted by someone behind me -- presumably his mom. He said, "I want to see how to put the baby carriage together!" and ran "off camera." That was the last straw -- I put the bat down and trudged off across the infield and through right field to get back to my friends and our picnic blanket.
*****
Dream 1
I'm still fascinated by John Lennon, and wish with every fiber of my being that that pathetic miscreant who killed him never crossed his path.
The other day I was talking with a coworker about the upcoming Harry Potter movie and the last book in the series, "The Deathly Hallows." I told her that I was recently reminded of a feature in several of the Potter books, the Mirror of Erised (that's desire written backward). Professor Dumbledore had to warn Harry that people had been known to waste their lives away sitting before that mirror, because it reflected their fondest wishes and dreams back to them. (For example, when Harry stared at the mirror, he was shown standing happily with his two deceased parents.) I mentioned that I spent hours and hours the other night on youtube, seeking out videos from the past, but mainly clips of John Lennon and George Harrison. As I watched Lennon being interviewed by Dick Cavett in 1971, I thought, "Man, he's so witty, so smart... he seems so alive!" And suddenly it was almost 4:00 in the morning. That's when it hit me -- youtube is the real version of the Mirror of Erised. If one wants to seek out the past, one in which John Lennon is still alive, as well as George Harrison, Johnny Carson, Robert Kennedy, etc., they are all there -- living and breathing, funny or inspiring as ever. For someone like myself, who frequently liked the way things were in the past more than he likes society of today, youtube can be a dangerous waste of time. It's great in moderation, but the problem is that I tend to dive into things. A youtube moritorium may be in order for me, at least for now.
One other thing may have inspired this dream. The other night my wife and I watched a fascinating documentary on PBS about an American watercolor artist named Walter Anderson, who spent much of the last 20 years of his life living on Mississippi's Horn Island. He was married, but had mental problems, and his family supported his decision to live alone. After his death in 1965, his family went to the cabin that he had built there and found hundreds, if not thousands, of amazing paintings that he had created over the years. Today a museum in Mississippi is dedicated to preserving the works of Walter Anderson, and that of two of his brothers. Unfortunately, his heirs kept some of his work in the cabin, where it was damaged during Hurricane Katrina. In any case, the story of Walter Anderson and of the preservation of his work probably filtered into this dream, too.
Dream 2
Last night I went down to McCabe's Pub to pick up some carry-out, and caught a few minutes of a baseball game featuring the Cincinatti Reds. I watched the shortstop throw somebody out at first, and was impressed by the accuracy of his hard, fast toss. That putout probably led to the scene in dream 2 in which the girl shakes her glove hand after catching the line drive. I was probably wondering if the Reds first basemen's hand ever hurt after catching a throw like that.
I certainly do love Wiffle ball and softball, although my reflexes may not be quick enough to play softball anymore -- at least not in the infield. This dream may have been inspired by a family reunion I attended in South Carolina many, many years ago. It was a gathering of families who shared my last name. Most of the people there were distant cousins, and I didn't know any of them. Anyway, we were having a picnic, and at one point somebody organized a game of Wiffle ball. I was probably already feeling insecure, but I liked Wiffle ball, and wanted to play. The pitcher for the other team was a tall, thin guy, who was pretty mean to me. I thought of him as a grown-up at the time, but he was probably no older than 25, if that. I wanted to do well, but struck out a few times, and was tagged out once or twice. I still remember that guy holding me up for ridicule, pointing to me at the end of one inning, saying, "He made all of their [team's] outs!" I've never been keen on attending family reunions since, at least not with people that I don't know.
It's funny that in this dream it seemed time for me to be the intolerant, jerky adult.
Dream 1: Grand Opening
A previously-unpublicized Manhattan art studio used by the late John Lennon was opening as a gallery to permanently house his artwork. I was one of many members of the media who were invited to attend and to view the collection.
Dream 2: Spoilsport
I was attending a large picnic, and had leapt at the chance to take part in a game of Wiffle ball. There were male and female players of all ages. My team seemed to have only three players aside from myself. Apparently the game switched back and forth between Wiffle ball and hardball, because as I looked out at the other team I saw a young woman catch a line drive and shake her glove hand because it stung. I also noticed an old family friend, Jim B., who was playing first base. He had a large mitt -- almost the size of a hockey goalie's glove -- and it was filled with holes. It wasn't worn out; it seemed to have been designed that way for some reason. Maybe it was a softball glove. I think that that was a third option for the batters.
Eventually it was my turn to bat, and I was really pumped up. There was only one problem: the kid who was supposed to pitch to me was standing about two feet in front of home plate. He stared me down and started into a very elaborate windup when I called "Time Out!" and dropped my bat. I put my hands on his shoulders and together we walked off a certain number of paces until we got to where the pitcher's mound should be. Again, he started with the windup, and I stopped him, because he was going to throw the ball over-hand. I said, "If you are pitching softball, you have to do it like this." I proceeded to pantomime an underhand pitch. I went back to the batter's box, picked up my bat, and waited. The kid was wild. He threw one in the dirt, and then he threw the next one over my head. I was pretty exasperated; I wanted to hit that ball. The next thing I knew, the kid was distracted by someone behind me -- presumably his mom. He said, "I want to see how to put the baby carriage together!" and ran "off camera." That was the last straw -- I put the bat down and trudged off across the infield and through right field to get back to my friends and our picnic blanket.
*****
Dream 1
I'm still fascinated by John Lennon, and wish with every fiber of my being that that pathetic miscreant who killed him never crossed his path.
The other day I was talking with a coworker about the upcoming Harry Potter movie and the last book in the series, "The Deathly Hallows." I told her that I was recently reminded of a feature in several of the Potter books, the Mirror of Erised (that's desire written backward). Professor Dumbledore had to warn Harry that people had been known to waste their lives away sitting before that mirror, because it reflected their fondest wishes and dreams back to them. (For example, when Harry stared at the mirror, he was shown standing happily with his two deceased parents.) I mentioned that I spent hours and hours the other night on youtube, seeking out videos from the past, but mainly clips of John Lennon and George Harrison. As I watched Lennon being interviewed by Dick Cavett in 1971, I thought, "Man, he's so witty, so smart... he seems so alive!" And suddenly it was almost 4:00 in the morning. That's when it hit me -- youtube is the real version of the Mirror of Erised. If one wants to seek out the past, one in which John Lennon is still alive, as well as George Harrison, Johnny Carson, Robert Kennedy, etc., they are all there -- living and breathing, funny or inspiring as ever. For someone like myself, who frequently liked the way things were in the past more than he likes society of today, youtube can be a dangerous waste of time. It's great in moderation, but the problem is that I tend to dive into things. A youtube moritorium may be in order for me, at least for now.
One other thing may have inspired this dream. The other night my wife and I watched a fascinating documentary on PBS about an American watercolor artist named Walter Anderson, who spent much of the last 20 years of his life living on Mississippi's Horn Island. He was married, but had mental problems, and his family supported his decision to live alone. After his death in 1965, his family went to the cabin that he had built there and found hundreds, if not thousands, of amazing paintings that he had created over the years. Today a museum in Mississippi is dedicated to preserving the works of Walter Anderson, and that of two of his brothers. Unfortunately, his heirs kept some of his work in the cabin, where it was damaged during Hurricane Katrina. In any case, the story of Walter Anderson and of the preservation of his work probably filtered into this dream, too.
Dream 2
Last night I went down to McCabe's Pub to pick up some carry-out, and caught a few minutes of a baseball game featuring the Cincinatti Reds. I watched the shortstop throw somebody out at first, and was impressed by the accuracy of his hard, fast toss. That putout probably led to the scene in dream 2 in which the girl shakes her glove hand after catching the line drive. I was probably wondering if the Reds first basemen's hand ever hurt after catching a throw like that.
I certainly do love Wiffle ball and softball, although my reflexes may not be quick enough to play softball anymore -- at least not in the infield. This dream may have been inspired by a family reunion I attended in South Carolina many, many years ago. It was a gathering of families who shared my last name. Most of the people there were distant cousins, and I didn't know any of them. Anyway, we were having a picnic, and at one point somebody organized a game of Wiffle ball. I was probably already feeling insecure, but I liked Wiffle ball, and wanted to play. The pitcher for the other team was a tall, thin guy, who was pretty mean to me. I thought of him as a grown-up at the time, but he was probably no older than 25, if that. I wanted to do well, but struck out a few times, and was tagged out once or twice. I still remember that guy holding me up for ridicule, pointing to me at the end of one inning, saying, "He made all of their [team's] outs!" I've never been keen on attending family reunions since, at least not with people that I don't know.
It's funny that in this dream it seemed time for me to be the intolerant, jerky adult.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Curtain Call
Thursday night
I vaguely recall standing on a stage between Barack Obama and another guy, being acknowleged by an audience. It may have been after a debate, but I think that we'd been performing one of Shakespeare's plays. Obama was wearing his standard business suit.
*****
I'm still trying to carve out time to finish the book I'm reading, about the Lincoln administration. Lincoln loved the works of Shakespeare, and often entertained friends and guests by reciting long passages of The Bard's works from memory.
I like Obama, but I'm not yet convinced that he's presidential material. After watching the recent CNN/Youtube debate (on youtube, of course) I felt that I was hearing too many platitudes and not enough specifics, and that Obama dodged too many questions. Don't you hate it when a politician is asked a question, and he or she answers, "I think the real question is..."
I vaguely recall standing on a stage between Barack Obama and another guy, being acknowleged by an audience. It may have been after a debate, but I think that we'd been performing one of Shakespeare's plays. Obama was wearing his standard business suit.
*****
I'm still trying to carve out time to finish the book I'm reading, about the Lincoln administration. Lincoln loved the works of Shakespeare, and often entertained friends and guests by reciting long passages of The Bard's works from memory.
I like Obama, but I'm not yet convinced that he's presidential material. After watching the recent CNN/Youtube debate (on youtube, of course) I felt that I was hearing too many platitudes and not enough specifics, and that Obama dodged too many questions. Don't you hate it when a politician is asked a question, and he or she answers, "I think the real question is..."
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
They're Baaaaaack...
Monday night
I was presumably back in Arlingon, and was meandering through a neighbor's overgrown property. I pulled up a large rock next to a stream, and heard the sound of a frog jumping into the water. Later, as I walked through the tall grass toward higher ground, I came across a hooded King Cobra. Soon, I found two more. They didn't hurt me and I didn't hurt them -- I don't kill snakes -- but they were all rearing up and blocking me from where I was trying to go. I set off to find the owner of the property to alert him that they were there.
*****
As far as I know I had never dreamed about cobras in my life prior to this month, and now I've dreamed of them twice (see "Snake," July 16). What do they signify? Obstacles? Danger? Anxiety? All of the above? More than likely, they are a manifestation of work stress (again).
When I was a kid I'd often go down to the creek to explore "the natural world." I'd turn over rocks to find eels, crayfish and all kinds of interesting critters. This past weekend my wife was saying that when she was young she used to find frogs and toads in her yard, but she never sees them here. That conversation probably filtered into this dream.
I was presumably back in Arlingon, and was meandering through a neighbor's overgrown property. I pulled up a large rock next to a stream, and heard the sound of a frog jumping into the water. Later, as I walked through the tall grass toward higher ground, I came across a hooded King Cobra. Soon, I found two more. They didn't hurt me and I didn't hurt them -- I don't kill snakes -- but they were all rearing up and blocking me from where I was trying to go. I set off to find the owner of the property to alert him that they were there.
*****
As far as I know I had never dreamed about cobras in my life prior to this month, and now I've dreamed of them twice (see "Snake," July 16). What do they signify? Obstacles? Danger? Anxiety? All of the above? More than likely, they are a manifestation of work stress (again).
When I was a kid I'd often go down to the creek to explore "the natural world." I'd turn over rocks to find eels, crayfish and all kinds of interesting critters. This past weekend my wife was saying that when she was young she used to find frogs and toads in her yard, but she never sees them here. That conversation probably filtered into this dream.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Pizza and Beer
Sunday night
I was late for a class, but I was running around the house, collecting my lazy roommate's many beer bottles and throwing them into recycling bins. He stood by watching, not able to comprehend how important it was to me that he should be doing this. He kept saying saying, "What?" (In other words, "What's the big deal?")
When I got to class, my teacher was facing the blackboard. I walked in through the door behind her. She turned around to face me, and I could tell that she was resigned to hearing my latest excuse for being late. Suddenly her countenance changed as she fixed her gaze upon the pizza box that I held under my arm. (I hadn't intended to bring it with me; I'd picked it up when I was cleaning and forgot to throw it out.) Gauging her intense interest, I handed the box to her.
This wasn't an ordinary pizza box -- it featured full-color graphics on a black background -- and it didn't include an ordinary run-of-the-mill pizza. Studying the box, the teacher said, "Oh, this is VERY good." She lifted the lid and took out the leftovers; the slices didn't seem to have any toppings. She took a big bite and then looked out at the class and said, "I had forgotten what it's like to be single."
*****
My wife would probably be amused at the idea of me scurrying around and cleaning up the house, but I do believe wholeheartedly in recycling, and I took a bunch of stuff to the recycling center this past weekend.
The roommate in this dream reminds me of a wierd dude who was one of many revolving roommates in a group house that I shared back in Virginia in the 1990s. We forgot to have the guy sign a lease, so he felt that he had every right to move out in the middle of the month, stiffing us on part of the rent. Nice.
I'm known to be time-challenged; my wife has probably heard all of my exuses already.
I was late for a class, but I was running around the house, collecting my lazy roommate's many beer bottles and throwing them into recycling bins. He stood by watching, not able to comprehend how important it was to me that he should be doing this. He kept saying saying, "What?" (In other words, "What's the big deal?")
When I got to class, my teacher was facing the blackboard. I walked in through the door behind her. She turned around to face me, and I could tell that she was resigned to hearing my latest excuse for being late. Suddenly her countenance changed as she fixed her gaze upon the pizza box that I held under my arm. (I hadn't intended to bring it with me; I'd picked it up when I was cleaning and forgot to throw it out.) Gauging her intense interest, I handed the box to her.
This wasn't an ordinary pizza box -- it featured full-color graphics on a black background -- and it didn't include an ordinary run-of-the-mill pizza. Studying the box, the teacher said, "Oh, this is VERY good." She lifted the lid and took out the leftovers; the slices didn't seem to have any toppings. She took a big bite and then looked out at the class and said, "I had forgotten what it's like to be single."
*****
My wife would probably be amused at the idea of me scurrying around and cleaning up the house, but I do believe wholeheartedly in recycling, and I took a bunch of stuff to the recycling center this past weekend.
The roommate in this dream reminds me of a wierd dude who was one of many revolving roommates in a group house that I shared back in Virginia in the 1990s. We forgot to have the guy sign a lease, so he felt that he had every right to move out in the middle of the month, stiffing us on part of the rent. Nice.
I'm known to be time-challenged; my wife has probably heard all of my exuses already.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Stopping Traffic/On the Town/House Party
Saturday was a rare three-dream night, maybe because I got in bed to read instead of sitting in front of the computer for hours.
Dream 1: Stopping Traffic
I was driving a long tractor trailer when I noticed that the driver in the car behind me was upset about something I'd done, and was trying to flag me down. I guess I cut him off, or maybe I had been the cause of a fender-bender or something. I stopped the huge rig in the middle of the street, and got out to talk with him. He parked his car behind the truck, and approached me, too. When I found that he was upset, I told him that I had a lawn mower in the back. I thought that by offering it to him, I could appease him and get on my way. He took one look at it and said, "Are you sure that it works?"
Dream 2: On the Town
My wife and I were vacationing in New York, and I had left our hotel to pick up some movie tickets for later that evening. It was nighttime, and the city was lit up like a Christmas tree. I loved it. It was fantastic and exciting, but a little scary, too. As I waited in line, a car filled with young people drove by and the kids shouted something at me. I didn't know if they were just having fun or if they meant me harm, so I hid behind some other people in the line until they passed. Just then, my old boss, Maurice, walked up. We were both surprised; neither of us knew the other was in Manhattan. We greeted each other warmly. (He was wearing a light brown sportcoat over a dark green sweater.) It turned out that he and his wife were also going to the movies later, and he was there to pick up their tickets. I asked what they were going to see. He said, "The documentary about Brian Wilson (of The Beach Boys)." I said, "Oh, it's great! We saw it at noon. It's all about his music, and doesn't focus on drugs and stuff like that."
Dream 3: House Party
My brother Andrew and I were back at our folks' old house in Arlington, and a bunch of friends were coming over. Actually, most of these people were unfamiliar to me, except for a few whom I'd known practically all my life. The rest were work friends of Drew's, and he seemed to be the "master of ceremonies." I didn't really mind. I walked in and sat down in the "family room." Our friend "Brud" was lying on the floor, reading an old newspaper that I had saved for some reason. It featured a prominent article about a "Banana Splits" theme park in Maryland. I thought he might be upset that I hadn't told him about it before. I said, "We would have called you if we were really going to go there, but it never got past the planning stage." His sister Becky was also in the room, and she was incredulous at the thought of such a wonderful place. She said, "The Banana Splits?!"
Drew was back in the kitchen, taking calls on the wall phone, telling people to come on over, and giving directions. Most of his work people were congregating downstairs, below the family room, in "the basement playroom." One of the guests had brought some breadsticks. I tried one, but it was mushy instead of crunchy, so I took what was left of it and jabbed it into the top of the wastebasket.
*****
Dream 1
The guy in the car behind the truck was Ray B., an old friend from high school, but I'm not sure that that's who he was playing in the dream. There was no indication that we knew each other. Ray and I had a falling out, and I haven't spoken to him in 20 years. He still shows up in my dreams from time to time. We met in Driver's Ed class back in '79, and I was intrigued. He was a black kid who loved soul music, new wave, Springsteen, and thin red leather ties -- and I loved those things, too. Somewhere I have a photo album containing a picture of the two of us mimicking the "Born to Run" album cover.
We did have a lawn mower that crapped out last year. I took it to the repair shop twice, but it was still really tempermental, and I could frequently be heard screaming obscenities at it in the backyard. Finally, I'd had enough, and the question arose: Just how does one get rid of a non-working lawn mower?" The answer? Leave it in the alley outside your back gate. Sure enough, two days later, it was gone. We bought a great lawn mower from someone at my wife's office who was moving out of the state. It's red, just like the previous one. So, now I'm wondering if I was giving Ray the good mower or sticking him with the bad one.
Huge tractor trailers are frequently pulled up outside of the building where I work. Sometimes I have to make a wide circle around one of them to get to the entrance.
Dream 2
My wife and I went with a friend to see the latest "Harry Potter" movie last night, and I did pick up tickets in advance. We spent some time in New York on our honeymoon, and I've been there two or three other times. The feelings in the dream are genuine; the city is exciting and filled with really cool things to see and do, but I suppose that it's also a little intimidating and daunting. Still, I can't wait to go back.
My recent dreams about the beach, Paris, and now New York betray that I'm dying to get out of Nashville and visit another place. Job upheavals during the past two years have really screwed with our vacation plans.
I enjoyed working for Maurice; he was my boss from about 1998 through 2001. He and his wife are still here in Nashville. Yesterday I was thinking that I should call him.
And I like the music of The Beach Boys, particularly the songs written by Brian Wilson. A biographical film about him or about the band was shown on TV a few years back, but I never got around to seeing it.
Dream 3
Our parents were pretty cool about letting us have large numbers of friends over from time to time, particularly on our birthdays. This dream represents other "group" parties that happened every so often during our high school years. We used to have a Ping-Pong table downstairs, and folks would sit under it and listen to records. At one point we even had some kind of an oscillating light down there, in a wooden box. You could change the mood by inserting different colored plastic sheets in front of it. It was pretty groovy.
I probably dreamed about Brud because I was explaining his nickname to someone the other day. His real name is Jim, but when he was born, his sister, Becky, mispronounced "brother"; instead, it came out "brudder," so he's been "Brud" ever since. He lives in Ohio now. Andrew and I met him in elementary school about 40 years ago. Becky is a little older than we are, and back in the '70s she had long, straight brown hair, so, of course, she was the focus of several schoolboy crushes -- not that we ever told her about it.
The Banana Splits was a TV show from the late '60s that served as a lead-in for various cartoons and live-action serials, such as "The Arabian Knights," "Gulliver's Travels" and "Danger Island." It was all very strange, and, if I remember correctly, the B.S. gang amounted to grown-ups in animal suits running around and acting stupid. The characters were Fleagle (a beagle), Bingo (a gorilla), Drooper (a lion) and Snork (an elephant). I looked them up on Wikipedia and the article stated that they were based loosely on the Beatles and the Monkees, and that the show only ran for 31 episodes from 1968 through 1970. It must have been syndicated later than that. The show was sponsored by Kellog's. We frequently ate Kellog's cerals at our house, and I think that we had a Banana Splits 45 at one point, which might have come off of the back of a cereal box. They did that back in those days. We had a few of those by The Monkees, too.
It's fascinating to me to see what long-buried stuff will show up in my dreams, for no apparent reason. This is a good case in point. As far as I know, there never was a Banana Splits theme park, in Maryland, or anywhere else.
I like breadsticks, but prefer long pretzels. Drew and I always bring them to our yearly poker tournament. Gotta have the pretzel "cee-gars."
****New Info.**** Well, I'll be danged. I got on youtube and searched on "Banana Splits," and watched the opening to the show for the first time in well over 30 years. The characters are shown running around in an amusement park; riding in cars, falling down on the slides, splashing on the log floom ride, etc. So that's where the amusement park idea came from. Lord knows what other long-forgotten stuff lies dormant in my brain.
Dream 1: Stopping Traffic
I was driving a long tractor trailer when I noticed that the driver in the car behind me was upset about something I'd done, and was trying to flag me down. I guess I cut him off, or maybe I had been the cause of a fender-bender or something. I stopped the huge rig in the middle of the street, and got out to talk with him. He parked his car behind the truck, and approached me, too. When I found that he was upset, I told him that I had a lawn mower in the back. I thought that by offering it to him, I could appease him and get on my way. He took one look at it and said, "Are you sure that it works?"
Dream 2: On the Town
My wife and I were vacationing in New York, and I had left our hotel to pick up some movie tickets for later that evening. It was nighttime, and the city was lit up like a Christmas tree. I loved it. It was fantastic and exciting, but a little scary, too. As I waited in line, a car filled with young people drove by and the kids shouted something at me. I didn't know if they were just having fun or if they meant me harm, so I hid behind some other people in the line until they passed. Just then, my old boss, Maurice, walked up. We were both surprised; neither of us knew the other was in Manhattan. We greeted each other warmly. (He was wearing a light brown sportcoat over a dark green sweater.) It turned out that he and his wife were also going to the movies later, and he was there to pick up their tickets. I asked what they were going to see. He said, "The documentary about Brian Wilson (of The Beach Boys)." I said, "Oh, it's great! We saw it at noon. It's all about his music, and doesn't focus on drugs and stuff like that."
Dream 3: House Party
My brother Andrew and I were back at our folks' old house in Arlington, and a bunch of friends were coming over. Actually, most of these people were unfamiliar to me, except for a few whom I'd known practically all my life. The rest were work friends of Drew's, and he seemed to be the "master of ceremonies." I didn't really mind. I walked in and sat down in the "family room." Our friend "Brud" was lying on the floor, reading an old newspaper that I had saved for some reason. It featured a prominent article about a "Banana Splits" theme park in Maryland. I thought he might be upset that I hadn't told him about it before. I said, "We would have called you if we were really going to go there, but it never got past the planning stage." His sister Becky was also in the room, and she was incredulous at the thought of such a wonderful place. She said, "The Banana Splits?!"
Drew was back in the kitchen, taking calls on the wall phone, telling people to come on over, and giving directions. Most of his work people were congregating downstairs, below the family room, in "the basement playroom." One of the guests had brought some breadsticks. I tried one, but it was mushy instead of crunchy, so I took what was left of it and jabbed it into the top of the wastebasket.
*****
Dream 1
The guy in the car behind the truck was Ray B., an old friend from high school, but I'm not sure that that's who he was playing in the dream. There was no indication that we knew each other. Ray and I had a falling out, and I haven't spoken to him in 20 years. He still shows up in my dreams from time to time. We met in Driver's Ed class back in '79, and I was intrigued. He was a black kid who loved soul music, new wave, Springsteen, and thin red leather ties -- and I loved those things, too. Somewhere I have a photo album containing a picture of the two of us mimicking the "Born to Run" album cover.
We did have a lawn mower that crapped out last year. I took it to the repair shop twice, but it was still really tempermental, and I could frequently be heard screaming obscenities at it in the backyard. Finally, I'd had enough, and the question arose: Just how does one get rid of a non-working lawn mower?" The answer? Leave it in the alley outside your back gate. Sure enough, two days later, it was gone. We bought a great lawn mower from someone at my wife's office who was moving out of the state. It's red, just like the previous one. So, now I'm wondering if I was giving Ray the good mower or sticking him with the bad one.
Huge tractor trailers are frequently pulled up outside of the building where I work. Sometimes I have to make a wide circle around one of them to get to the entrance.
Dream 2
My wife and I went with a friend to see the latest "Harry Potter" movie last night, and I did pick up tickets in advance. We spent some time in New York on our honeymoon, and I've been there two or three other times. The feelings in the dream are genuine; the city is exciting and filled with really cool things to see and do, but I suppose that it's also a little intimidating and daunting. Still, I can't wait to go back.
My recent dreams about the beach, Paris, and now New York betray that I'm dying to get out of Nashville and visit another place. Job upheavals during the past two years have really screwed with our vacation plans.
I enjoyed working for Maurice; he was my boss from about 1998 through 2001. He and his wife are still here in Nashville. Yesterday I was thinking that I should call him.
And I like the music of The Beach Boys, particularly the songs written by Brian Wilson. A biographical film about him or about the band was shown on TV a few years back, but I never got around to seeing it.
Dream 3
Our parents were pretty cool about letting us have large numbers of friends over from time to time, particularly on our birthdays. This dream represents other "group" parties that happened every so often during our high school years. We used to have a Ping-Pong table downstairs, and folks would sit under it and listen to records. At one point we even had some kind of an oscillating light down there, in a wooden box. You could change the mood by inserting different colored plastic sheets in front of it. It was pretty groovy.
I probably dreamed about Brud because I was explaining his nickname to someone the other day. His real name is Jim, but when he was born, his sister, Becky, mispronounced "brother"; instead, it came out "brudder," so he's been "Brud" ever since. He lives in Ohio now. Andrew and I met him in elementary school about 40 years ago. Becky is a little older than we are, and back in the '70s she had long, straight brown hair, so, of course, she was the focus of several schoolboy crushes -- not that we ever told her about it.
The Banana Splits was a TV show from the late '60s that served as a lead-in for various cartoons and live-action serials, such as "The Arabian Knights," "Gulliver's Travels" and "Danger Island." It was all very strange, and, if I remember correctly, the B.S. gang amounted to grown-ups in animal suits running around and acting stupid. The characters were Fleagle (a beagle), Bingo (a gorilla), Drooper (a lion) and Snork (an elephant). I looked them up on Wikipedia and the article stated that they were based loosely on the Beatles and the Monkees, and that the show only ran for 31 episodes from 1968 through 1970. It must have been syndicated later than that. The show was sponsored by Kellog's. We frequently ate Kellog's cerals at our house, and I think that we had a Banana Splits 45 at one point, which might have come off of the back of a cereal box. They did that back in those days. We had a few of those by The Monkees, too.
It's fascinating to me to see what long-buried stuff will show up in my dreams, for no apparent reason. This is a good case in point. As far as I know, there never was a Banana Splits theme park, in Maryland, or anywhere else.
I like breadsticks, but prefer long pretzels. Drew and I always bring them to our yearly poker tournament. Gotta have the pretzel "cee-gars."
****New Info.**** Well, I'll be danged. I got on youtube and searched on "Banana Splits," and watched the opening to the show for the first time in well over 30 years. The characters are shown running around in an amusement park; riding in cars, falling down on the slides, splashing on the log floom ride, etc. So that's where the amusement park idea came from. Lord knows what other long-forgotten stuff lies dormant in my brain.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Newspaper Stories
Friday night
Tony Soprano decided that it was time to shake things up and add some new blood to his "work family," so he placed a large ad in his local newspaper. On the day the ad ran, he opened up the paper to find that his bold-face headline had been screwed up. It did say "TONY SOPRANO & CREW" at the top of his ad, but the ampersand was printed backward. He felt that the mistake reflected badly on him and his organization, and made him seem incompetent. He was mightily pissed off about it.
At the same time, I happened to be sitting in the HR office at that same newspaper. I'd come there because I felt that I was in a rut, and wanted to know if they could cast me in a play, or offer me something to do that was creative. The HR rep asked me about my background. I said, "Well, I graduated from high school in 1980." She rolled her eyes. I stammered, "But I've done some other things since then... I've been to Europe a few times." She said, "Well, we've got an opening for someone to report on what's happening around town."
*****
Last night my wife and I watched an episode of "The Sopranos" from season two, called "The Happy Wanderer." Tony was making some changes to his crew, and he also seemed dissatisfied and p.o.'ed most of the time. Another character, Christopher Moltisanti, was shown taking part in an acting class for writers.
This dream seems to highlight a restless longing within me to be creative. I don't have those opportunities at work, so I have to find other ways to express myself, whether it's making elaborate CD collections, organizing photo albums, drawing pictures for my nieces and nephews, making Halloween decorations, or writing in this here blog. Not long ago I was talking with one of my coworkers about local theater. I've always loved going to see plays, and have thought from time to time that it would be neat to see if I could immerse myself into a role. She said that it takes a big commitment of time. Maybe someday.
Yesterday another coworker mentioned that she had been to Spain. I told her that my wife and I were there five years ago. It turned out that the coworker and I had visited some of the same places. I went home at lunchtime and brought back my photo album of the Spain trip, and she enjoyed going through the pictures. It was fun reminiscing about the beautiful places I'd seen, but hindsight and the photographic record reveal that my wife was right about one thing all along. The next time we go on vacation, I've got to ditch the shorts-with-white-tube-socks look.
One more thing: when the HR rep talked about "what's happening" around town, she was referring to entertainment. In other words, the job she was proposing would be more fun and less drudgery.
Tony Soprano decided that it was time to shake things up and add some new blood to his "work family," so he placed a large ad in his local newspaper. On the day the ad ran, he opened up the paper to find that his bold-face headline had been screwed up. It did say "TONY SOPRANO & CREW" at the top of his ad, but the ampersand was printed backward. He felt that the mistake reflected badly on him and his organization, and made him seem incompetent. He was mightily pissed off about it.
At the same time, I happened to be sitting in the HR office at that same newspaper. I'd come there because I felt that I was in a rut, and wanted to know if they could cast me in a play, or offer me something to do that was creative. The HR rep asked me about my background. I said, "Well, I graduated from high school in 1980." She rolled her eyes. I stammered, "But I've done some other things since then... I've been to Europe a few times." She said, "Well, we've got an opening for someone to report on what's happening around town."
*****
Last night my wife and I watched an episode of "The Sopranos" from season two, called "The Happy Wanderer." Tony was making some changes to his crew, and he also seemed dissatisfied and p.o.'ed most of the time. Another character, Christopher Moltisanti, was shown taking part in an acting class for writers.
This dream seems to highlight a restless longing within me to be creative. I don't have those opportunities at work, so I have to find other ways to express myself, whether it's making elaborate CD collections, organizing photo albums, drawing pictures for my nieces and nephews, making Halloween decorations, or writing in this here blog. Not long ago I was talking with one of my coworkers about local theater. I've always loved going to see plays, and have thought from time to time that it would be neat to see if I could immerse myself into a role. She said that it takes a big commitment of time. Maybe someday.
Yesterday another coworker mentioned that she had been to Spain. I told her that my wife and I were there five years ago. It turned out that the coworker and I had visited some of the same places. I went home at lunchtime and brought back my photo album of the Spain trip, and she enjoyed going through the pictures. It was fun reminiscing about the beautiful places I'd seen, but hindsight and the photographic record reveal that my wife was right about one thing all along. The next time we go on vacation, I've got to ditch the shorts-with-white-tube-socks look.
One more thing: when the HR rep talked about "what's happening" around town, she was referring to entertainment. In other words, the job she was proposing would be more fun and less drudgery.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Chill Out
Thursday night
My father-in-law and I were visiting a house filled with cats. It wasn't one of those foul-smelling houses in which one nutty person is overrun by hundreds of felines; this place was very clean, and the cats on the premises served a particular purpose. Stressed people made appointments to go there to see, pet and hold the nice cats in order to pick up on their calm vibes and relax. As the dream came to a close, both my father-in-law and I were surrounded by people contendedly holding cats in their laps. He and I were both reaching out toward a very large and handsome cat. It wasn't fat, just very long, with a luxurious striped coat. It looked as though it must have weighed 30 pounds. He was the king of cats, at least in that house.
*****
The last few nights we've seen some pretty interesting and strange documentaries on PBS about animal lovers gone overboard. Don't get me wrong; I love all animals, but these folks were a little "out there." One was about people bringing their pets to a ferret convention; the other was about a guy who spent half a millon dollars collecting turtles which he kept in his home. The idea of the house full of cats may have been inspired by the turtle guy.
Another thing that I read recently might have tied into this dream. There's a museum on the site of Ernest Hemingway's former compound down in Florida. Hemingway had some cats when he lived there that had a peculiar genetic mutation; they had six toes. Six-toed descendents of those cats are still there, and apparently they have the run of the place. Local authorities are saying that the cats must be removed because it's a museum and not a zoo, so there's a big brouhaha about it.
My father-in-law tends to be high-strung, and I can be that way, too, especially at the end of a hard week at work. It helps when I get home and sit down long enough for The Foo to climb up into my lap.
I wonder why my dad-in-law and I seemed to be competing for the attention of the same cat, and that it was the biggest and most handsome one of all? My wife says maybe that cat represents her.
My father-in-law and I were visiting a house filled with cats. It wasn't one of those foul-smelling houses in which one nutty person is overrun by hundreds of felines; this place was very clean, and the cats on the premises served a particular purpose. Stressed people made appointments to go there to see, pet and hold the nice cats in order to pick up on their calm vibes and relax. As the dream came to a close, both my father-in-law and I were surrounded by people contendedly holding cats in their laps. He and I were both reaching out toward a very large and handsome cat. It wasn't fat, just very long, with a luxurious striped coat. It looked as though it must have weighed 30 pounds. He was the king of cats, at least in that house.
*****
The last few nights we've seen some pretty interesting and strange documentaries on PBS about animal lovers gone overboard. Don't get me wrong; I love all animals, but these folks were a little "out there." One was about people bringing their pets to a ferret convention; the other was about a guy who spent half a millon dollars collecting turtles which he kept in his home. The idea of the house full of cats may have been inspired by the turtle guy.
Another thing that I read recently might have tied into this dream. There's a museum on the site of Ernest Hemingway's former compound down in Florida. Hemingway had some cats when he lived there that had a peculiar genetic mutation; they had six toes. Six-toed descendents of those cats are still there, and apparently they have the run of the place. Local authorities are saying that the cats must be removed because it's a museum and not a zoo, so there's a big brouhaha about it.
My father-in-law tends to be high-strung, and I can be that way, too, especially at the end of a hard week at work. It helps when I get home and sit down long enough for The Foo to climb up into my lap.
I wonder why my dad-in-law and I seemed to be competing for the attention of the same cat, and that it was the biggest and most handsome one of all? My wife says maybe that cat represents her.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Frank
Monday night
Frank Sinatra was being interviewed in New Jersey by Mike Wallace. Wallace said, "Why do you still live in Hoboken?" Sinatra replied that that's where his mom was from. He said, "Besides, this is where she introduced me to my first wife." Sinatra went on to say that his mom's death had been caused by a trucking company, and he was going to make them pay for it...
*****
Sinatra is frequently referenced in "The Sopranos," which may account for his showing up in this dream. We have a couple of collections of his recordings for Capitol Records in the 1950s, and they are terrific.
Sinatra did grow up in Hoboken, New Jersey, but, as far as I know, the rest of this dream is bogus. His mother was not originally from Hoboken; both of his parents came over from Italy at the end of the 19th century.
Frank Sinatra was being interviewed in New Jersey by Mike Wallace. Wallace said, "Why do you still live in Hoboken?" Sinatra replied that that's where his mom was from. He said, "Besides, this is where she introduced me to my first wife." Sinatra went on to say that his mom's death had been caused by a trucking company, and he was going to make them pay for it...
*****
Sinatra is frequently referenced in "The Sopranos," which may account for his showing up in this dream. We have a couple of collections of his recordings for Capitol Records in the 1950s, and they are terrific.
Sinatra did grow up in Hoboken, New Jersey, but, as far as I know, the rest of this dream is bogus. His mother was not originally from Hoboken; both of his parents came over from Italy at the end of the 19th century.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Congratulations
Sunday night
A young woman was attending an awards banquet, honoring her for her charity work. When it was time for her to take center-stage, the master of ceremonies handed her a special prize; it was a book bound in black leather, with endpapers printed in gold and black. He went on to point out to the crowd that the inside cover had been signed by none other than Paul McCartney. The award winner squinted for a few seconds at the busy design and said into the microphone, "I can't read the signature." It turned out that that book had simply been a practical joke. The M.C. said, "Here's the real prize!," and out walked Paul McCartney himself, to deliver another book, with a signature that would be much easier to read. The woman was so surprised she impulsively kissed McCartney on his forehead, to the embarrassment of practically everyone.
*****
I was watching some videos on youtube yesterday of McCartney and The Beatles.
The black leather book with the gold and black endpapers is actually my personal copy of a memoir of my mom that I put together back in 1996. I got the endpapers to match the black leather and gold stamping on the spine, but immediately regretted my choice, and regret it to this day. It's sort of ugly. I don't know why I thought I had to match the gold and black with the same colors. Any color at all goes with black, and any color would look better.
The signature that can't be read probably goes back to the autographed Springsteen poster which hangs in my kitchen. I tracked him down in D.C. one night in August of 1984 and got him to sign my poster. Of all the lousy moments in the world for my pen to give out and skip intermittently, mine chose that one. If only I had stopped at the drug store and bought a blue Sharpie. I may never get over it.
These are a few of the petty regrets that I carry around in my subconscious.
A young woman was attending an awards banquet, honoring her for her charity work. When it was time for her to take center-stage, the master of ceremonies handed her a special prize; it was a book bound in black leather, with endpapers printed in gold and black. He went on to point out to the crowd that the inside cover had been signed by none other than Paul McCartney. The award winner squinted for a few seconds at the busy design and said into the microphone, "I can't read the signature." It turned out that that book had simply been a practical joke. The M.C. said, "Here's the real prize!," and out walked Paul McCartney himself, to deliver another book, with a signature that would be much easier to read. The woman was so surprised she impulsively kissed McCartney on his forehead, to the embarrassment of practically everyone.
*****
I was watching some videos on youtube yesterday of McCartney and The Beatles.
The black leather book with the gold and black endpapers is actually my personal copy of a memoir of my mom that I put together back in 1996. I got the endpapers to match the black leather and gold stamping on the spine, but immediately regretted my choice, and regret it to this day. It's sort of ugly. I don't know why I thought I had to match the gold and black with the same colors. Any color at all goes with black, and any color would look better.
The signature that can't be read probably goes back to the autographed Springsteen poster which hangs in my kitchen. I tracked him down in D.C. one night in August of 1984 and got him to sign my poster. Of all the lousy moments in the world for my pen to give out and skip intermittently, mine chose that one. If only I had stopped at the drug store and bought a blue Sharpie. I may never get over it.
These are a few of the petty regrets that I carry around in my subconscious.
Snake
Saturday night
I'd gone to Paris on vacation, and was very excited about taking a guided walking tour of the city; that is, until I realized that the only other person on the tour aside from the guide would be my ex-boss, Rod. He and I were standing with our backs to a wall, waiting for the tour to begin, and he was to my left. For some reason he towered over me; he was much taller than he is in real life.
When our guide finally began our tour, she led us toward an empty lot which was filled with trash, and I noticed that a large snake was sticking his head out from the debris. I said, "Was that a cobra?" (I could see its hood.) When we got closer, the snake had turned into a giant millipede, and crawled back from whence he came.
*****
Rod was the manager who laid me off after 10 years at my previous job. I suppose that he was taller to indicate the power which he had wielded over my life. The sneaky snake speaks for itself.
I'd gone to Paris on vacation, and was very excited about taking a guided walking tour of the city; that is, until I realized that the only other person on the tour aside from the guide would be my ex-boss, Rod. He and I were standing with our backs to a wall, waiting for the tour to begin, and he was to my left. For some reason he towered over me; he was much taller than he is in real life.
When our guide finally began our tour, she led us toward an empty lot which was filled with trash, and I noticed that a large snake was sticking his head out from the debris. I said, "Was that a cobra?" (I could see its hood.) When we got closer, the snake had turned into a giant millipede, and crawled back from whence he came.
*****
Rod was the manager who laid me off after 10 years at my previous job. I suppose that he was taller to indicate the power which he had wielded over my life. The sneaky snake speaks for itself.
Grief / Night Game
Friday night
Dream 1
I'd heard that my twin brother, Andrew, had died, and I was devastated by the news; I numbly contemplated what life would be like without him.
Dream 2
I don't remember much about this one, except that I was talking to some friends about playing some sort of game. One of them, Eddie, had a suggestion. He said, "Let's play Wiffle Ball at night!"
*****
Dream 1
For once, I was glad to be awoken by our cat.
Just before going to bed I read about the death of Abraham and Mary Lincoln's son, Willie, of typhoid fever, in February 1862, and of the intense sorrow felt by the president's family and their friends.
I was certainly glad when Andrew called me later that afternoon.
Dream 2
I've been playing Wiffle Ball my entire life, and love it to this day. If I were a rich man, I'd build a Wiffle Ball stadium in my backyard, complete with lights and a high outfield wall, mimicking "The Green Monster" in Fenway Park.
Dream 1
I'd heard that my twin brother, Andrew, had died, and I was devastated by the news; I numbly contemplated what life would be like without him.
Dream 2
I don't remember much about this one, except that I was talking to some friends about playing some sort of game. One of them, Eddie, had a suggestion. He said, "Let's play Wiffle Ball at night!"
*****
Dream 1
For once, I was glad to be awoken by our cat.
Just before going to bed I read about the death of Abraham and Mary Lincoln's son, Willie, of typhoid fever, in February 1862, and of the intense sorrow felt by the president's family and their friends.
I was certainly glad when Andrew called me later that afternoon.
Dream 2
I've been playing Wiffle Ball my entire life, and love it to this day. If I were a rich man, I'd build a Wiffle Ball stadium in my backyard, complete with lights and a high outfield wall, mimicking "The Green Monster" in Fenway Park.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Birthday party
Wednesday night
Our old neighbors, the Dowdens, had invited me to a birthday party at their house, and I was walking around the living room, helping to clean up. I don't remember the party itself, so I think I showed up late; it was already nighttime.
For some reason, I was gathering up lots of candles; not just small, birthday-cake candles, but also tall candles, the type which would fit into a candelabrum. All had cake and icing on the ends. Supposedly, I missed many cakes.
I took all of the plates and candles into the kitchen, where Melissa, one of my current coworkers, was doing the dishes. Just then we heard a noise from downstairs. Melissa said, "I hope that's the pizza guy -- I'm starving." Apparently the Dowdens had fed cake to their guests, but nothing else.
*****
We have guests (family) staying with us this Saturday night, and last night my wife and I stood in the kitchen and discussed our plans for Friday night. We decided we'd get a pizza and do a little housecleaning.
I grew up in Arlington at the corner of 34th and Dinwiddie Streets. The Dowdens lived at the other end of 34th, next to its terminus at Dickerson Street. I haven't been in that house for at least 25 years.
Our old neighbors, the Dowdens, had invited me to a birthday party at their house, and I was walking around the living room, helping to clean up. I don't remember the party itself, so I think I showed up late; it was already nighttime.
For some reason, I was gathering up lots of candles; not just small, birthday-cake candles, but also tall candles, the type which would fit into a candelabrum. All had cake and icing on the ends. Supposedly, I missed many cakes.
I took all of the plates and candles into the kitchen, where Melissa, one of my current coworkers, was doing the dishes. Just then we heard a noise from downstairs. Melissa said, "I hope that's the pizza guy -- I'm starving." Apparently the Dowdens had fed cake to their guests, but nothing else.
*****
We have guests (family) staying with us this Saturday night, and last night my wife and I stood in the kitchen and discussed our plans for Friday night. We decided we'd get a pizza and do a little housecleaning.
I grew up in Arlington at the corner of 34th and Dinwiddie Streets. The Dowdens lived at the other end of 34th, next to its terminus at Dickerson Street. I haven't been in that house for at least 25 years.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
In the Spotlight
Tuesday night
I was on a combined work trip/beach vacation. As I walked through the lobby of my hotel, I stopped at the front desk to speak to a friendly older woman who worked there. I'd seen her several times over the past few days, and we'd developed a friendly rapport. For some reason, on this occasion I felt compelled to hoist my suitcase on top of the counter and show her what was inside. She noticed that I'd bought some new ties for my business meetings; the sales tags were still attached. There were also three colorful towels near the top of my kit that belonged to the hotel. I said, "I'll be returning these before I leave."
At that point her manager, a short, thin guy with a white shirt and black pants, overheard our conversation and decided that it would make a good commercial spot. He began filming us with a large hand-held movie camera. He must have stopped filming at some point because the next thing I knew, he was talking to me about my credit card. He said, "Since this is a holiday, we can't run your card through the machine (and can't prepare your invoice) but if you'll sign here, we'll run it later." I was suspicious, and not thrilled to sign what amounted to a blank check. It was a good thing for him that he turned off the camera when he did.
*****
I guess the beach is still on my mind. Many of my coworkers are on vacation this week.
But what is the significance of the suitcase? Does it mean that I'm carrying guilt? Maybe it's nothing more than towels and ties.
Then again, maybe I'm telling myself that I'm too hasty to open my personal life to strangers -- which, of course, I'm doing right now...
I was on a combined work trip/beach vacation. As I walked through the lobby of my hotel, I stopped at the front desk to speak to a friendly older woman who worked there. I'd seen her several times over the past few days, and we'd developed a friendly rapport. For some reason, on this occasion I felt compelled to hoist my suitcase on top of the counter and show her what was inside. She noticed that I'd bought some new ties for my business meetings; the sales tags were still attached. There were also three colorful towels near the top of my kit that belonged to the hotel. I said, "I'll be returning these before I leave."
At that point her manager, a short, thin guy with a white shirt and black pants, overheard our conversation and decided that it would make a good commercial spot. He began filming us with a large hand-held movie camera. He must have stopped filming at some point because the next thing I knew, he was talking to me about my credit card. He said, "Since this is a holiday, we can't run your card through the machine (and can't prepare your invoice) but if you'll sign here, we'll run it later." I was suspicious, and not thrilled to sign what amounted to a blank check. It was a good thing for him that he turned off the camera when he did.
*****
I guess the beach is still on my mind. Many of my coworkers are on vacation this week.
But what is the significance of the suitcase? Does it mean that I'm carrying guilt? Maybe it's nothing more than towels and ties.
Then again, maybe I'm telling myself that I'm too hasty to open my personal life to strangers -- which, of course, I'm doing right now...
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Flying
Monday night
I'd been visiting my friend Preston at his apartment back in Virginia, and exited through a back door, into a courtyard. We'd been watching an episode of "Seinfeld." It was wintertime, and snow was on the ground. Presto was going to meet me outside in a few minutes, and we were going to go somewhere -- probably to get something to eat. Anyway, since I knew how to fly, I decided to hop over to my car.
I got a running start down the hill, and began soaring. (It seemed that I couldn't take off from a standing-still position any more than an airplane could.) Flying was fun, of course, so I took a few laps up and down the street -- as if I was swimming through the air; not with overhand strokes, but using my arms like the paddles of a sea turtle, and diving like a dolphin. I noticed that problems with my left rotator cuff made some turns a little difficult, but I was able to get around all right.
I landed at the curb outside the apartment just before Preston came outside. It occured to me that he might not know that I could fly. I said, "Hey, Presto -- check this out," and proceeded to give him a brief demonstration. Upon my return, he said, "That's pretty neat," and he got into my car on the passenger side.
*****
This is the second flying dream that I've had in the past month or so. The previous one took place at the beach. In that one, I was in a group of people that were able to fly only with the use of some silver disc that we were throwing around -- sort of like a magic hubcap -- and in that case we were able to take off from a standing position. It was more like levitation, I guess. As if that wasn't strange enough, once we got above the clouds, we were in water again, and began swimming. I'm not sure what that swimming/flying connection is all about.
I did injure my shoulder last year while trying to make an ill-advised left-handed layup in a game of HORSE with my brothers. It felt like I ripped that arm from my body. My family (on my dad's side) has a history of joint problems in our arms and legs.
Preston's understatement at my showing-off is amusing. He's a reporter by trade, and he even uses economical language in my dreams.
I'd been visiting my friend Preston at his apartment back in Virginia, and exited through a back door, into a courtyard. We'd been watching an episode of "Seinfeld." It was wintertime, and snow was on the ground. Presto was going to meet me outside in a few minutes, and we were going to go somewhere -- probably to get something to eat. Anyway, since I knew how to fly, I decided to hop over to my car.
I got a running start down the hill, and began soaring. (It seemed that I couldn't take off from a standing-still position any more than an airplane could.) Flying was fun, of course, so I took a few laps up and down the street -- as if I was swimming through the air; not with overhand strokes, but using my arms like the paddles of a sea turtle, and diving like a dolphin. I noticed that problems with my left rotator cuff made some turns a little difficult, but I was able to get around all right.
I landed at the curb outside the apartment just before Preston came outside. It occured to me that he might not know that I could fly. I said, "Hey, Presto -- check this out," and proceeded to give him a brief demonstration. Upon my return, he said, "That's pretty neat," and he got into my car on the passenger side.
*****
This is the second flying dream that I've had in the past month or so. The previous one took place at the beach. In that one, I was in a group of people that were able to fly only with the use of some silver disc that we were throwing around -- sort of like a magic hubcap -- and in that case we were able to take off from a standing position. It was more like levitation, I guess. As if that wasn't strange enough, once we got above the clouds, we were in water again, and began swimming. I'm not sure what that swimming/flying connection is all about.
I did injure my shoulder last year while trying to make an ill-advised left-handed layup in a game of HORSE with my brothers. It felt like I ripped that arm from my body. My family (on my dad's side) has a history of joint problems in our arms and legs.
Preston's understatement at my showing-off is amusing. He's a reporter by trade, and he even uses economical language in my dreams.
Monday, July 9, 2007
House Hunting
Sunday night
A real estate agent was showing my wife and me a large old mansion made of white stone that we normally couldn't afford under any circumstances. This time, however, we were in luck; it was being sold at a bargain-basement price. I began to get suspicious before we saw the interior. I noticed that some of the stonework on the side of the house had been considerably worn down by the way that water had been draining off of the roof.
The realtor led us inside, and my wife and I became separated among the many rooms. It became immediately apparent to me why the house was being sold so cheaply; it was a dump. Almost all of the walls would need to be repainted, and some of them would need to be replaced, due to the plaster bowing out. Restoring this house would cost a fortune, and would take up all of our time. It wasn't worth it.
I began to look for my wife, and soon realized that she was off somewhere else in the mansion with the real estate agent, affixing her signature to the papers. She'd fallen in love with the place.
*****
In reality, I'm the more impulsive member of this household.
My wife and I have lived in the same home since 2002. It was built in 1920, and we spent a good deal of time and money restoring it. We both still love old houses, but we're not inclined to go through all of that again. We've agreed that if we buy another old house in the future, it will have to be in better shape than this one was when we found it. (Then again, that's probably why we were able to afford this one in the first place.)
A real estate agent was showing my wife and me a large old mansion made of white stone that we normally couldn't afford under any circumstances. This time, however, we were in luck; it was being sold at a bargain-basement price. I began to get suspicious before we saw the interior. I noticed that some of the stonework on the side of the house had been considerably worn down by the way that water had been draining off of the roof.
The realtor led us inside, and my wife and I became separated among the many rooms. It became immediately apparent to me why the house was being sold so cheaply; it was a dump. Almost all of the walls would need to be repainted, and some of them would need to be replaced, due to the plaster bowing out. Restoring this house would cost a fortune, and would take up all of our time. It wasn't worth it.
I began to look for my wife, and soon realized that she was off somewhere else in the mansion with the real estate agent, affixing her signature to the papers. She'd fallen in love with the place.
*****
In reality, I'm the more impulsive member of this household.
My wife and I have lived in the same home since 2002. It was built in 1920, and we spent a good deal of time and money restoring it. We both still love old houses, but we're not inclined to go through all of that again. We've agreed that if we buy another old house in the future, it will have to be in better shape than this one was when we found it. (Then again, that's probably why we were able to afford this one in the first place.)
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Attack
Sunday morning
I was in my early 20s again, and was still living at my parents' house in Arlington, although, for some reason, it didn't look the same as it should. Mom and Dad weren't around, and neither was my brother, Andrew. At some point in the evening, my older brother, Jimmie, and his wife, Dawn, showed up. They used some hocus-pocus to turn the family cat into a warlock, or some other kind of monster, and then the three of them proceeded to gang up on me, Dracula-style, and drink blood from my neck.
At about 5:30 in the morning it was about to be light outside, so the three attackers vanished. Somehow, I was able to summon enough strength to get into the family car and drive away. I didn't want to return to the family home anymore after what had happened, and I began wondering how I could come up with a downpayment and first month's rent for an apartment, and where I'd find one that was close to my job. (The job wasn't specified in the dream.)
Later that day I brought the car back, but I was still afraid to enter the house. I had a very dramatic and upsetting conversation with Mom, in the middle of the street, and told her that I'd decided to move away. Her eyes were filled with tears, as were mine, and she said, "I knew this would happen eventually."
*****
Our cat, Lightfoot, woke me up at 6 this morning. I was groggy, but I got out of bed, gave her some breakfast, let her out onto the screen porch, and went back to sleep, which resulted in this dream. Gee, thanks, Foo. My family back in Arlington never had a cat, or a dog, for that matter, other than the odd stray that we fed for a day or two.
Lately I've been keeping a copy of the book "More of the Straight Dope" in the loo. It's a collection of amusing answers to some very strange questions, as written by the ascerbic columnist Cecil Adams. Not long ago I read his reply to a query about one "Vlad the Impaler," a very nasty dude, who inspired, at least in part, Bram Stoker's magnum opus. (I'm also a big fan of the classic 1930s Universal Studios monster movies, including "Dracula," "Frankenstein," "Bride of Frankenstein," "Wolf Man," "Invisible Man" and "The Mummy.")
My big brother Jimmie never knew his wife, Dawn, when we were all still living in Arlington; he met her years later, after he'd moved to Georgia, and after my mom had passed away. Jimmie and Dawn are both very nice people, and, to the best of my knowledge, are not involved in vampirism or similar activities, although I do recall that Jimmie owned a Blue Oyster Cult album once upon a time.
I didn't move away from my parents' home until I was in my mid-20s, but, as I like to needle my brothers, I'm also the only one who never moved back in. I moved into a group house with one of my co-workers and some other guys, around 1988. There was no emotional scene between Mom and me at the time, but we were close. That first week, I was pretty busy setting up my new flat, and when I finally got around to calling Mom to say "Hi," I recall that she said, "Boy, when you leave, you LEAVE." She wasn't upset or anything -- that was her way of saying that she missed our conversations. I guess I still feel guilty that I didn't call her earlier in the week, just to see how she was doing. Incidentally, at the end of the dream, when she said, "I knew this would happen..." she meant that she knew that the day would come when I'd move away, not that she knew that eventually my older brother, sister-in-law and cat would suck most of the blood out of my body.
One last observation -- in real life, my mom's eyes were blue. In this dream, they were green. Wonder what that means?
I was in my early 20s again, and was still living at my parents' house in Arlington, although, for some reason, it didn't look the same as it should. Mom and Dad weren't around, and neither was my brother, Andrew. At some point in the evening, my older brother, Jimmie, and his wife, Dawn, showed up. They used some hocus-pocus to turn the family cat into a warlock, or some other kind of monster, and then the three of them proceeded to gang up on me, Dracula-style, and drink blood from my neck.
At about 5:30 in the morning it was about to be light outside, so the three attackers vanished. Somehow, I was able to summon enough strength to get into the family car and drive away. I didn't want to return to the family home anymore after what had happened, and I began wondering how I could come up with a downpayment and first month's rent for an apartment, and where I'd find one that was close to my job. (The job wasn't specified in the dream.)
Later that day I brought the car back, but I was still afraid to enter the house. I had a very dramatic and upsetting conversation with Mom, in the middle of the street, and told her that I'd decided to move away. Her eyes were filled with tears, as were mine, and she said, "I knew this would happen eventually."
*****
Our cat, Lightfoot, woke me up at 6 this morning. I was groggy, but I got out of bed, gave her some breakfast, let her out onto the screen porch, and went back to sleep, which resulted in this dream. Gee, thanks, Foo. My family back in Arlington never had a cat, or a dog, for that matter, other than the odd stray that we fed for a day or two.
Lately I've been keeping a copy of the book "More of the Straight Dope" in the loo. It's a collection of amusing answers to some very strange questions, as written by the ascerbic columnist Cecil Adams. Not long ago I read his reply to a query about one "Vlad the Impaler," a very nasty dude, who inspired, at least in part, Bram Stoker's magnum opus. (I'm also a big fan of the classic 1930s Universal Studios monster movies, including "Dracula," "Frankenstein," "Bride of Frankenstein," "Wolf Man," "Invisible Man" and "The Mummy.")
My big brother Jimmie never knew his wife, Dawn, when we were all still living in Arlington; he met her years later, after he'd moved to Georgia, and after my mom had passed away. Jimmie and Dawn are both very nice people, and, to the best of my knowledge, are not involved in vampirism or similar activities, although I do recall that Jimmie owned a Blue Oyster Cult album once upon a time.
I didn't move away from my parents' home until I was in my mid-20s, but, as I like to needle my brothers, I'm also the only one who never moved back in. I moved into a group house with one of my co-workers and some other guys, around 1988. There was no emotional scene between Mom and me at the time, but we were close. That first week, I was pretty busy setting up my new flat, and when I finally got around to calling Mom to say "Hi," I recall that she said, "Boy, when you leave, you LEAVE." She wasn't upset or anything -- that was her way of saying that she missed our conversations. I guess I still feel guilty that I didn't call her earlier in the week, just to see how she was doing. Incidentally, at the end of the dream, when she said, "I knew this would happen..." she meant that she knew that the day would come when I'd move away, not that she knew that eventually my older brother, sister-in-law and cat would suck most of the blood out of my body.
One last observation -- in real life, my mom's eyes were blue. In this dream, they were green. Wonder what that means?
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Hurry Up
Friday night
I was on a business trip with one of my co-workers. We were riding on a bus though a large city, and when we got to our stop she got out first. I had overpacked, and was taking so much time gathering up my luggage that she had to get back on the bus to see if I was coming or not. When I finally got to the street I glanced to the right and noticed an example of "public art." A painted sculpture of a man's head was balanced atop an orange traffic cone. It wasn't a great likeness, but I think it was supposed to be a portrait of director George Lucas. I called my wife to tell her that we'd arrived safely, and said that I'd call her back later.
*****
While at the office yesterday I was cleaning up a bunch of junk around my desk that I'd inherited from my predecessor. I stopped for a few minutes to peruse a guide to Nashville that had been published last year. The cover featured a composite photograph of multiple versions of the same sculpture of a guitar, all painted by different artists. They had been placed around town for awhile, and were later auctioned off for charity. I think that's where the George Lucas sculpture idea originated. Presumably the big city in my dream had many other orange cones scattered about which were holding up other portrait busts. Very strange. I probably thought about Lucas because my wife and I recently watched DVDs of the first three Star Wars films (1977-1983) in their original, un-screwed-up versions.
I've been known to over-pack for trips, and my brother Andrew says I'm "the slowest getting-out-of-the-car-person alive."
This dream isn't really notable, except that there was hardly any dialogue. That was kind of unusual.
I was on a business trip with one of my co-workers. We were riding on a bus though a large city, and when we got to our stop she got out first. I had overpacked, and was taking so much time gathering up my luggage that she had to get back on the bus to see if I was coming or not. When I finally got to the street I glanced to the right and noticed an example of "public art." A painted sculpture of a man's head was balanced atop an orange traffic cone. It wasn't a great likeness, but I think it was supposed to be a portrait of director George Lucas. I called my wife to tell her that we'd arrived safely, and said that I'd call her back later.
*****
While at the office yesterday I was cleaning up a bunch of junk around my desk that I'd inherited from my predecessor. I stopped for a few minutes to peruse a guide to Nashville that had been published last year. The cover featured a composite photograph of multiple versions of the same sculpture of a guitar, all painted by different artists. They had been placed around town for awhile, and were later auctioned off for charity. I think that's where the George Lucas sculpture idea originated. Presumably the big city in my dream had many other orange cones scattered about which were holding up other portrait busts. Very strange. I probably thought about Lucas because my wife and I recently watched DVDs of the first three Star Wars films (1977-1983) in their original, un-screwed-up versions.
I've been known to over-pack for trips, and my brother Andrew says I'm "the slowest getting-out-of-the-car-person alive."
This dream isn't really notable, except that there was hardly any dialogue. That was kind of unusual.
Friday, July 6, 2007
D.
Thursday night
It was winter, and I'd run into Denise, a young woman that I'd known and liked for years, but had never dated. She was just out of college and had recently gotten her first apartment, so her life was on an upswing. My fortunes seemed headed in the opposite direction, at least temporarily. I was down on my luck -- not homeless or jobless or anything that severe, but broke -- so she was driving me to her place for a home-cooked meal. That was all, but that was enough. It was a kind gesture. There was still a bond of friendship and affection between us. I sat in the back seat of her car, and leaned forward to speak to her as she drove through some nameless big city. She was wearing a stocking cap, and her brown hair spilled out on both sides. I said, "Are you O.K.?" She thought for a minute and said, "Yeah, I'm O.K." I said, "That's good. I'm glad." She said, "It's good that you're glad."
*****
Denise is a real person, the younger sister of an old friend back in Virginia. I watched her grow up and was crazy about her for a time, but a five and a half year gulf in our ages made it impossible for me to ask her out. (I'm older.) The last time I saw her was in 1987, when she was in her first year of college. We lost touch after that. She's 39 now, still in Virginia.
That cryptic last conversation in the dream can be deciphered as follows: CPC: "Are you happy with your life now?" D: "Yeah, I am." CPC: "I'm glad." D: "Good. I'm glad that feel that way, and that you're able to move on."
Later
It occurred to me tonight that the Denise that I knew bore quite a resemblance to the young Susan Dey, Laurie Partridge on "The Partridge Family." I wonder why I never thought of that before? No wonder I liked her so much.
It was winter, and I'd run into Denise, a young woman that I'd known and liked for years, but had never dated. She was just out of college and had recently gotten her first apartment, so her life was on an upswing. My fortunes seemed headed in the opposite direction, at least temporarily. I was down on my luck -- not homeless or jobless or anything that severe, but broke -- so she was driving me to her place for a home-cooked meal. That was all, but that was enough. It was a kind gesture. There was still a bond of friendship and affection between us. I sat in the back seat of her car, and leaned forward to speak to her as she drove through some nameless big city. She was wearing a stocking cap, and her brown hair spilled out on both sides. I said, "Are you O.K.?" She thought for a minute and said, "Yeah, I'm O.K." I said, "That's good. I'm glad." She said, "It's good that you're glad."
*****
Denise is a real person, the younger sister of an old friend back in Virginia. I watched her grow up and was crazy about her for a time, but a five and a half year gulf in our ages made it impossible for me to ask her out. (I'm older.) The last time I saw her was in 1987, when she was in her first year of college. We lost touch after that. She's 39 now, still in Virginia.
That cryptic last conversation in the dream can be deciphered as follows: CPC: "Are you happy with your life now?" D: "Yeah, I am." CPC: "I'm glad." D: "Good. I'm glad that feel that way, and that you're able to move on."
Later
It occurred to me tonight that the Denise that I knew bore quite a resemblance to the young Susan Dey, Laurie Partridge on "The Partridge Family." I wonder why I never thought of that before? No wonder I liked her so much.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Tickets
Wednesday night
I was in a parking garage with actor Tim Daly, although in this case he wasn't Tim Daly himself -- he was the character he played on "The Sopranos," a drug-addled screenwriter named J.T. Dolan. Suddenly we were approached by someone who wanted to sell some hard-to-get Springsteen concert tickets. A bidding war erupted between Dolan and some other very tough-looking characters who had been lurking about nearby. The other guys offered guns for the tickets; Dolan proffered a $100 bill plus two $100 gold coins. The seller thought about it and said he'd have to go with the cash. Apparently Dolan had outbid these bad guys in the past, so it was a pretty tense scene. I got into Dolan's car and said nothing. The seller said, "OK, they're yours, but you still owe me that bottle of wine from before." He got in the car with Dolan and me and we drove off to look for a wine store so Dolan could make good on the debt. On the way, Dolan talked to the ticket seller about the movie business, particularly the B- or C-level pictures with which he was associated.
The next thing I knew, I was on the set of one of the bad films mentioned above. I was standing in the background, watching a writer-director-actress act out one of her scenes. She was crawling on her hands and knees, calling out her lines in an exaggerated voice, and over-acting horribly. Apparently she was doing it on purpose. When her scene was finished, the crew clapped. The "actress" acknowleged the applause and said, "My secret? It's gotta be the full-size underpants." I guess she was referring to part of her costume. Maybe she was wearing an adult-size "onesie" or something. It was strange, but funny.
*****
My wife and I are big fans of "The Sopranos." We've watched the entire series this year, save for the last few episodes, which haven't yet come out on DVD. In fact, we just started over again with the first season.
I'm also a big fan of Springsteen's work in the first 15 years of his career (1973 - 1988) and have enjoyed a smattering of his songs since then. I caught every tour he played in the D.C. area from 1980 through the mid-1990s. He frequently shows up in my dreams.
I was a coin collector when I was a kid, and though I never had a gold coin, I love those designs from the early 1900s. If I had one of them, I wouldn't trade it for a concert ticket, no matter who was coming to town.
Incidentally, the new gold-colored "presidential dollars" have been out for a while, but I haven't seen any of them yet. At one point I went to the bank and asked for some, and they didn't even have them. How's that for an unpopular coin?
I was in a parking garage with actor Tim Daly, although in this case he wasn't Tim Daly himself -- he was the character he played on "The Sopranos," a drug-addled screenwriter named J.T. Dolan. Suddenly we were approached by someone who wanted to sell some hard-to-get Springsteen concert tickets. A bidding war erupted between Dolan and some other very tough-looking characters who had been lurking about nearby. The other guys offered guns for the tickets; Dolan proffered a $100 bill plus two $100 gold coins. The seller thought about it and said he'd have to go with the cash. Apparently Dolan had outbid these bad guys in the past, so it was a pretty tense scene. I got into Dolan's car and said nothing. The seller said, "OK, they're yours, but you still owe me that bottle of wine from before." He got in the car with Dolan and me and we drove off to look for a wine store so Dolan could make good on the debt. On the way, Dolan talked to the ticket seller about the movie business, particularly the B- or C-level pictures with which he was associated.
The next thing I knew, I was on the set of one of the bad films mentioned above. I was standing in the background, watching a writer-director-actress act out one of her scenes. She was crawling on her hands and knees, calling out her lines in an exaggerated voice, and over-acting horribly. Apparently she was doing it on purpose. When her scene was finished, the crew clapped. The "actress" acknowleged the applause and said, "My secret? It's gotta be the full-size underpants." I guess she was referring to part of her costume. Maybe she was wearing an adult-size "onesie" or something. It was strange, but funny.
*****
My wife and I are big fans of "The Sopranos." We've watched the entire series this year, save for the last few episodes, which haven't yet come out on DVD. In fact, we just started over again with the first season.
I'm also a big fan of Springsteen's work in the first 15 years of his career (1973 - 1988) and have enjoyed a smattering of his songs since then. I caught every tour he played in the D.C. area from 1980 through the mid-1990s. He frequently shows up in my dreams.
I was a coin collector when I was a kid, and though I never had a gold coin, I love those designs from the early 1900s. If I had one of them, I wouldn't trade it for a concert ticket, no matter who was coming to town.
Incidentally, the new gold-colored "presidential dollars" have been out for a while, but I haven't seen any of them yet. At one point I went to the bank and asked for some, and they didn't even have them. How's that for an unpopular coin?
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Leaving / Ted's Bed
Tuesday night
Dream 1: Leaving
My (real-life) twin brother Andrew and I were working together in a crowded office of some sort, but he was about to leave for a different job. One interesting thing about this office was that a handful of employees had their desks way up high on top of what looked like file cabinets, and Drew was one of them.
At the same time, I was trying to reconcile a ledger filled with end-of-month numbers, and was having a very difficult time of it. Some amounts were in the wrong columns, figures were not adding up correctly, etc.
Dream 2: Ted's Bed
This dream opened with a view of what appeared to be a nice room in a bed and breakfast. The bed itself was quite long, with a white bedspread. There happened to be a couple in the bed already, at the far end. They giggled and got out good-naturedly because word had gotten around quickly that my dad, Theodore Roosevelt, was there, and wanted the bed for himself -- and I'd have to share it with him. I climbed in first, but awoke before TR showed up.
*****
Dream 1:
I went to a "happy hour" goodbye party for a fellow employee yesterday. My boss is on vacation this week, and for the first time I've been tasked with working on a sales and commission report for the previous month. The numbers aren't working out due to a variety of difficult problems, so I'm pretty stressed out about it. I don't want to be an accountant.
I got a nice e-mail from Drew yesterday. We are separated by 600 miles, and that's about 600 miles too many. I'm not sure why his desk was elevated in this dream, unless it means that I hold him in high esteem, which is true.
There's more than a hint of anxiety in this dream. I'd prefer that my boss was around to help out with some of the headaches at work, and I wish my brother was around on the personal side.
One more observation: there was definitely a "retro" feel to this dream. All of the desks were made of dark hardwood, and there wasn't a computer in sight. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen a computer in one of my dreams. Apparently they don't exist in my alternate universe.
Dream 2
Well, I've heard that politics makes for strange bedfellows, but this is a little ridiculous. Hopefully there wasn't anything weird going on -- it was just two guys sharing an available bed. Who knows. As previously stated, I have been reading a book about Lincoln, and have learned that when he was out "riding the circuit" as a country lawyer, he and his fellow lawyers (and judges) had to bunk wherever and however they could, and that often meant "doubling up."
I am very much interested in Roosevelt; the biography "The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt" by Edmund Morris is one of my favorite books of all time. Also, I got on youtube not too long ago to look for film of TR, as well as that of other early 20th century presidents. There was some footage of Roosevelt visiting Europe after his presidency, but none showed him in a bed and breakfast.
One of my current projects involves the attempt to determine which presidents met each other, so that research might have filtered into this dream somehow. So far I've definitely linked TR with Presidents Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, McKinley, Taft and FDR. He was supposed to be on the same stage with ex-president Grant on February 14, 1884, at a meeting at Cooper Union in New York, but TR did not end up attending; both his wife and his mother died on that day. What a tragedy. But I digress.
Dream 1: Leaving
My (real-life) twin brother Andrew and I were working together in a crowded office of some sort, but he was about to leave for a different job. One interesting thing about this office was that a handful of employees had their desks way up high on top of what looked like file cabinets, and Drew was one of them.
At the same time, I was trying to reconcile a ledger filled with end-of-month numbers, and was having a very difficult time of it. Some amounts were in the wrong columns, figures were not adding up correctly, etc.
Dream 2: Ted's Bed
This dream opened with a view of what appeared to be a nice room in a bed and breakfast. The bed itself was quite long, with a white bedspread. There happened to be a couple in the bed already, at the far end. They giggled and got out good-naturedly because word had gotten around quickly that my dad, Theodore Roosevelt, was there, and wanted the bed for himself -- and I'd have to share it with him. I climbed in first, but awoke before TR showed up.
*****
Dream 1:
I went to a "happy hour" goodbye party for a fellow employee yesterday. My boss is on vacation this week, and for the first time I've been tasked with working on a sales and commission report for the previous month. The numbers aren't working out due to a variety of difficult problems, so I'm pretty stressed out about it. I don't want to be an accountant.
I got a nice e-mail from Drew yesterday. We are separated by 600 miles, and that's about 600 miles too many. I'm not sure why his desk was elevated in this dream, unless it means that I hold him in high esteem, which is true.
There's more than a hint of anxiety in this dream. I'd prefer that my boss was around to help out with some of the headaches at work, and I wish my brother was around on the personal side.
One more observation: there was definitely a "retro" feel to this dream. All of the desks were made of dark hardwood, and there wasn't a computer in sight. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen a computer in one of my dreams. Apparently they don't exist in my alternate universe.
Dream 2
Well, I've heard that politics makes for strange bedfellows, but this is a little ridiculous. Hopefully there wasn't anything weird going on -- it was just two guys sharing an available bed. Who knows. As previously stated, I have been reading a book about Lincoln, and have learned that when he was out "riding the circuit" as a country lawyer, he and his fellow lawyers (and judges) had to bunk wherever and however they could, and that often meant "doubling up."
I am very much interested in Roosevelt; the biography "The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt" by Edmund Morris is one of my favorite books of all time. Also, I got on youtube not too long ago to look for film of TR, as well as that of other early 20th century presidents. There was some footage of Roosevelt visiting Europe after his presidency, but none showed him in a bed and breakfast.
One of my current projects involves the attempt to determine which presidents met each other, so that research might have filtered into this dream somehow. So far I've definitely linked TR with Presidents Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, McKinley, Taft and FDR. He was supposed to be on the same stage with ex-president Grant on February 14, 1884, at a meeting at Cooper Union in New York, but TR did not end up attending; both his wife and his mother died on that day. What a tragedy. But I digress.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Blue Chair
Sunday night
I was walking down the street behind St. Agnes Church in Arlington, VA, when I turned to my right and noticed a comfortable-looking armchair on the sidewalk, just in front of someone's house. The chair was light blue, with a strange pattern of orange circles all over it, and it had "wings" at the top, so you could lean your head in the corner. I thought, "Maybe they are throwing it out... or maybe I could take it without anyone seeing me." I walked down the front steps toward the house, which was on a lower level than the street.
As I approached the chair a woman came to the door and asked if she could help me. At first I thought she was Margaret, my friend Gordon's mother, but she wasn't; she just looked like her. I peered in the doorway and saw that this wasn't an ordinary house; it seemed much larger on the inside, and was filled with huge old wooden cabinets that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. It was an antique shop. I walked in and looked at the rows of beautiful cabinets and said, "What was this place -- an apothecary shop?" The proprietor said, "No, this used to be the Willard Hotel." I spent the rest of the dream taking my time, looking at all of the interesting antiques in the cabinets, and enjoying myself.
*****
We have a red armchair in one corner of our living room, and my wife and I have been thinking about replacing it. We like to browse around in antique shops, and lately I've been thinking about taking a trip to Bellbuckle, Tennessee, where a strip of 19th-century stores at a railroad crossing has been turned into a nice antique mall, filled with interesting old stuff.
My brothers and their wives are about to head to South Carolina for a family wedding. I can't go, due to other obligations, but it's been on my mind. When I was a kid, we went to South Carolina every year on vacation, and I remember spending many languid summer days in the appropriately-named Summerville. I frequently walked over to the local drug store (which still contained a soda counter) where I'd order milkshakes. The store also had floor-to-ceiling pharmaceutical cabinets which probably dated back to the turn of the century, if not earlier.
Lately I've been reading "Team of Rivals," which is subtitled "The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln." The Willard was a famous hotel in the Washington, D.C. of Lincoln's day. It still stands on Pennsylvania Avenue.
*****
I was walking down the street behind St. Agnes Church in Arlington, VA, when I turned to my right and noticed a comfortable-looking armchair on the sidewalk, just in front of someone's house. The chair was light blue, with a strange pattern of orange circles all over it, and it had "wings" at the top, so you could lean your head in the corner. I thought, "Maybe they are throwing it out... or maybe I could take it without anyone seeing me." I walked down the front steps toward the house, which was on a lower level than the street.
As I approached the chair a woman came to the door and asked if she could help me. At first I thought she was Margaret, my friend Gordon's mother, but she wasn't; she just looked like her. I peered in the doorway and saw that this wasn't an ordinary house; it seemed much larger on the inside, and was filled with huge old wooden cabinets that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. It was an antique shop. I walked in and looked at the rows of beautiful cabinets and said, "What was this place -- an apothecary shop?" The proprietor said, "No, this used to be the Willard Hotel." I spent the rest of the dream taking my time, looking at all of the interesting antiques in the cabinets, and enjoying myself.
*****
We have a red armchair in one corner of our living room, and my wife and I have been thinking about replacing it. We like to browse around in antique shops, and lately I've been thinking about taking a trip to Bellbuckle, Tennessee, where a strip of 19th-century stores at a railroad crossing has been turned into a nice antique mall, filled with interesting old stuff.
My brothers and their wives are about to head to South Carolina for a family wedding. I can't go, due to other obligations, but it's been on my mind. When I was a kid, we went to South Carolina every year on vacation, and I remember spending many languid summer days in the appropriately-named Summerville. I frequently walked over to the local drug store (which still contained a soda counter) where I'd order milkshakes. The store also had floor-to-ceiling pharmaceutical cabinets which probably dated back to the turn of the century, if not earlier.
Lately I've been reading "Team of Rivals," which is subtitled "The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln." The Willard was a famous hotel in the Washington, D.C. of Lincoln's day. It still stands on Pennsylvania Avenue.
*****
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