Lifeboat

It’s been a coon’s age forever since I’ve written about a dream I’ve had. It’s not that I haven’t had good ones, it is just that I wasn’t really remembering them too much in detail.

Saturday night it was one that has just stuck with me…..for no good reason.

The dream was a hybrid of the stories of the Edmund Fitzgerald and the Exxon Valdez. …and it was done in computer graphic simulation, as if being recreated by the Discovery channel or something. ….and it was in its entirety…from leaving port to sinking – even though the Valdez, in real life, did not sink. There was music (no, not Gordon Lightfoot) and narration. This was a quality production.

The boat, which in my dream it was the Valdez, roars out of port, out of control, scrapes along the sides of rivers and break walls, tearing chunks of the hull away from said ship and eventually sinks. The background was pitch black, but the ship and buildings and maps used to portray this “tragedy” was done in almost neon like displays – something like Tron.

(you can click on the image to make it ‘go’, I believe)

There was also a part of the dream that included my contact case – and the bottom of each compartment had black sludge on them. Spilled oil in Prince William Sound? Or my subconscious telling me that I just didn’t clean the lenses good enough when I took them out before bedtime?

Yes, I could have called this post ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald’, but that seemed too easy.  And I have a better story about that anyway.   Years ago, in sports bar in Monterey, they had live entertainment (instead of the NBA semi-finals – not that I really cared about those).  The “entertainment” was a guy and his guitar.   He opened his set (opened!) with that Gordon Lightfoot chestnut.  I could not stop laughing.

Seriously, where does one go from there?

Song by: Marti Jones

Cuyahoga

I had a dream.

Yes, another dream. But this one could possibly have national or international repercussions. I swear it.

Last night I dreamed that I was on a large bridge that spanned over the Cuyahoga River. And while the river does indeed have a number of bridges that can get you over the water from point A to point B – the bridge in my dream doesn’t really exist……at least in Cleveland. It was just a dream bridge.

On the bridge with me was an old co-worker from a few jobs ago (yeah Betsy – it’s you……if you ever read this blog. oh wait! if you even know it exists!!) along with Barack Obama.

Barack slaps me hard on the back, sending me over the bridge and into what should be frigid waters. Within seconds, both Betsy and Barack follow – missing me by inches. There was not much else to the dream, except that the river was actually warmer than I imagined, which I attributed to not being as deep as Lake Erie, so quicker to heat up in the rays of the sun – even though this all happened in the dead of night. Both Bets and Barack have gashes in their backs – not that they seem to notice them.

What could this all mean? Is he an attempted murder? Has he affected water temperature through climate change ? Did he jump in to save me? WHAT??????

……in other related political / democratic news: Hillary and Barack are finally hitting Ohio. Now that they are moving on to Texas and here, we are getting the barrage of ads – print and television. At least Huckabee knows that he’s not going to win, so we haven’t seen that crap.

But in my mind, Barack’s print ads smell of desperation – and they are ineffective. Case in point, there is an ad that is to supposed to bash Clinton on NAFTA. However, his name doesn’t appear on the first page of the four page ad….only hers…and it is highlighted at that. Open it up and there is her picture on page 3, but that is where your eye is drawn. On page 2, there is a picture of Obama, but with his back almost turned away as he talks to a group.

Unless you read for content, which most probably do not, you’d assume it is an ad for Hillary. For all the Hillary haters or the on-the-fencers, just seeing her picture and name, you might toss it away assuming it is from her camp. Barack should fire those ad exec’s asses.

That being said – I’m still not settled on a candidate. …..and tick tick tick.

The primary is two weeks away. While I was on the road last week, I got my absentee ballot. I signed up for two reasons: I didn’t know if I’d be in town, as I’m traveling a lot lately. And I don’t trust any of our voting systems – though it seems like we are canning the electronic voting systems.

I’m 90% sure I know who I am going to check the box for – but since I’m not 100% sure, I won’t say just yet.

No matter who it is – I don’t want them tossing me over a bridge…….literally or figuratively.

Song by: R.E.M.

Carmen Ohio

So two nights ago I had a dream. Yes, a weird dream. Do I have any other kind?

In the dream, I was about to have sex with this guy I know…..or should say have ‘known’. Biblically. But this was a long long long long time ago. Where and how I pulled him back in my sleep-state is beyond me.

Anyhoo…we were about to do ‘it’ in my parent’s bedroom. ICK. ….on so many levels. (seriously – if nothing else, the decor is beyond dated!)

Just as we were about to do ‘it’, somewhere in the background Carmen Ohio came on….and I had to stop what I/we were doing and sing it.

I woke up with a boner. I’m not sure if it was from the almost simulated sex or the song. Or both.

What? TMI?

Anyway, OSU had nothing to sing about. Not last night. I’m disappointed, but not surprised.

How firm thy friendship, indeed!

Song by: any chorale group or drunk football crowd @ Ohio State

High Dive

It all happens in such slow motion – yet at the speed of light.

She is standing on a train platform with her back to the tracks. I am approaching, but still at a considerable distance. People are scattered at the large outdoor station on the slight hill – waiting for their morning transport.

With no one seemingly around, she falls. Backward. U-shaped. Almost like a reverse jackknife, but not as severe in the bend of her back.

I arrive at the platform and walk to the edge, just as others do at the same time – though oddly not as many as you’d think.

She is there – the small of her back, broken on the closest rail, as her body lays across it and spills into the space between the second one. She doesn’t move – nor will she ever again.

The train will not come this morning.

….such is my dream.

song by: Maria McKee

Chimpan A to Chimpan Z

The other night I had a dream. I know I know – you’re shocked. But you know, I haven’t really posted my dreams as of late. There has been nothing outstanding. Weird? Yes. But they have been so nebulous that they are too hard to conjure into a blog post.

This one isn’t too weird. It just kind of came out of nowhere. So here we go:

I was sitting in the backseat of a car and Becky was in the front passenger seat. There were other people in the car, all seats taken, but the only one I remember was Ditto (I do not remember her seat positioning).

Becky is all excited saying she got gifts for us and rummages through some bag and pulls out copies of the book, Planet of the Apes. Dith was non-plussed. I was thrilled. I loved the book.

The dream went on into more of a memory from there. Me in 11th grade (I think) reading this for a literature course. Go figure. We read a number of books along these lines, by Orwell, Huxley & Shute (I loooooved On the Beach). I still struggle with calling ‘PotA‘ to be “literature”. But I’m not Dewey Decimal – so who am I to say?

Mr. Gavalinski was my teacher. He made Rip Taylor, Liberace and Paul Lynde look uber-butch. But he had a wedding ring, so I’m sure he was more like “Lyle: the Effeminate Heterosexual“. NOT.

Naturally, with each selection we were assigned to read there was discussion, a paper or both. Mr. Gavalinski was what I always considered to be a cruel fag man. He took pleasure at other people’s mistakes – especially the students. And that is really what you want out of your educators. He was like a fey(er) Professor Snape.

Oddly enough, in the dream/memory, I remember exactly where I sat in that class (first row – stage right, second to last seat from the back). I also remember how “Gav”, as the students referred to him when he was not around, pulled a paper and made the student who wrote it read the entire thing aloud.

For the life of me, I do not remember who the student was. The poor guy had no idea what was coming. For that matter, neither did we. This was uncharted waters for this class. It soon became apparent to all but said student why this was done.

This guy didn’t even read the Cliff Note version (if there is one), but opted to write his paper from the screenplay.

If you have ever read the book and seen the movie – you will know, except for being astronauts (French at that!) and apes, there is very little similarity between the two. That can be true of many film interpretations.

Hoots and hollers from the class were priceless and I sat there silently thanking some unnamed deity that it was not me being singled out for humiliation.

The kid wanted to stop reading – without knowing exactly why, as he still had no idea what exactly was going on – but as he was nearing the end, Gav made him finish. Suffice to say, in the book there is no Statue of Liberty buried up to her chest with the waves crashing against her open book. But the teacher had to rub that final bit of salt into the wound. The F that was inevitably coming wasn’t going to be enough I guess.

Anyway – I have no idea where any of this came from. The dream part only lasted a few minutes if that. The scarring of high school – a lifetime

The image above is from a Simpsons when Troy McClure was attempting a comeback with a musical stage version of PotA. The song Dr. Zaius (sung to Falco’s Amadeus) was priceless, as was the song that contains the title of this post. You must watch it when and if you get a chance.

Insomnia

I’ve been awake since about 3:00 a.m.  I had a frickin’ dream about waiting for a dental procedure of unknown origin and could not go back to sleep.

Do you know who else should be awake?  George Bush.

Honestly, how does this man sleep at night?

If I have a big, or even medium project, at work that is troublesome (or dental dreams), it can keep me awake most of the night. It is not that I need or want to be liked so much, but I do want to do a good job. I want to do what is right for my boss or the client.

The way I see it, the boss or client here are the American people. Not Bushie’s cronies. Not the middle east (who don’t really want us there anyway).

But yes, W has a hit an all-time low in the polls regarding how people who think he is doing a good job. According to Newsweek, Shrub’s approval rating is 28%!!!! …and this is poll was taken after his veto of last week’s congressional try at war funding and a forced exit strategy.

If there is any doubt that the U.S. folks want out of Iraq and/or at least want a frickin‘ plan or time table, I think this would be it. If people really thought he was on the right track, these poll times are pretty indicative of current thought.

And though I cannot remember the source, I saw a poll last Friday (5/4/07) that said 71% of military families want the troops out of Iraq. I would think that 100% would, since they have a family member there – but a lot of those folks still believe that 9/11 was tied to Saddam and that there were/are WMDs….so 71% is still pretty fuckin‘ high for that population.

If Bush were the CEO of a company……any company….an only 28% of his shareholders liked the job he was doing, he’d be out on his fucking ass.

I think presidents should get annual performance reviews – not just once every four years!

…then maybe we could all sleep.

Unfinished Business

and i am nothing of a builder
but here i dreamt i was an architect
and i built this balustrade
to keep you home, to keep you safe
from the outside world

…or so sing the Decemberists.

The dreams just keep getting weirder and weirder. I wasn’t planning on this being a ‘dream blog’ – so unless I have other really strange/interesting dreams, I will try to refrain from posting here.

I titled the post the only way I know how according to the dream. I looked for a common factor and this seemed to be the only one. Well, at least it made sense at five in the morning.

It started out with me and others at a golf course, setting out to play. The foursome ahead of us consisted of Dave Foley from Kids in the Hall and Phil Hartman. I wasn’t sure if David Spade was in my foursome or whether he was just the starter. Technically, with David Spade in this, it might qualify as a nightmare.

Never once in the dream did I hit a golf ball. Never once did I have an opportunity to. The ground was sopping. I couldn’t get a tee to even sit properly in the ground, or get a ball to sit on the tee. The tee and ball would bend and rotate never allowing me to even square up to attempt to hit.

Jump to a kitchen somewhere. The set-up was like my mother’s but it wasn’t hers. Only two people in the kitchen besides myself: Rebecca and Jeff Redmond. Jeff whom I used to date. Jeff who, when breaking up with me, told me it was because he never saw me doing anything with my life career-wise. The same Jeff, who (allegedly) was sent to prison from stealing from his place of employment. (Jeff – if you’re Goooooogling yourself and come across this entry: blow me!….and not in that good kind of way.)

Anyhoo – Jeff and Becky were discussing some computer program that could replicate 3-D maps of Ohio State’s campus. They were specifically talking about Park-Stradley Halls – which is where I lived (Park) my freshmen year. Oh, they were doing the dishes at the time of this conversation. At this point I carried in Sophie – to which they both oohed and ahhed over her (as they should!).

.The last part of the dream now had Becky, Jeff and a walk-on by David Spade. I was still attempting to golf down a residential street that was in my parent’s neighborhood. Still, I had no actual contact with a golf ball. At some point Becky calls over a neighborhood dog who just loves loves loves her. Kisses for Rebecca!!!!

Next, we’re all in the backseat of a car (well…not Mr. Spade) and Becky is talking to Jeff about her novel. I rub in the fact to Jeff that there is a character somewhat based on me. Then Becky and I start talking about her new novel – which actually had a title! (sorry Becca – for the life of me I don’t remember what it was.) That was the dream.

I should make clear that I have NO unfinished business with Mr. Redmond. None. Well, he never did return my copy of Love in the Time of Cholera – but it certainly isn’t worth reopening that relationship for something I can get at a bookstore for $11.95.

The book title – Becky might tell you, is unfinished business. Not necessarily the second novel title….but that’s her cross to bear. The golf – in dreamland, obviously is unfinished since I never got one hit. But as for golf overall, I’ve been done with that game for almost a decade. The game hates me and the feeling is mutual. I’ve played since I was 8 and oddly enough, I’m no better than the day I started.

Is it any wonder I haven’t had a restful night of sleep in years?

More Dreams

Last night it was me in NYC.  I kept going to ATMs to get cash.  But the increment was always $185.  Remember the days when ATMs did (or could) dispense in units of 5?  Maybe you’re all too young.

So at one point I stick in the bank card and punch in $185 and the machine opens up and dumps a huge roll of $0.39 stamps into my hands and then closes back up.  Ruckiry (not Jon’s boss), I snagged the bank receipt.  And yes, this morning I did the math and $0.39 doesn’t even go into $185 evenly – so either I got a deal or the USPS was ripping me off!

A nice looking Nordic man noticed my predicament and told me where the nearest post office was.  I immediately went over there and cut in front of everyone in line.  The woman at the front of the line, while looking haggard, was pretty nice about me cutting in front of her.

I guess this is how I knew it was a dream.  Who the fuck is ever nice at the post office – customers or workers?

Cruisin’ USA

Yes, I know you’re thinking because of the title that this is going to be some kind of sex post – but you’d be wrong.

Cruisin‘ USA is a full-on arcade game, where players sit in a car seat and via video game, race from west coast to east, if you have have enough quarters or are a good enough driver to win free turns.

The first time I played this was at Jillian’s Pool Hall. Slusser (that bastard owes me twenty bucks!) and his then partner, Tom Q were in town. I don’t know why and don’t even remember if they stayed with us. I do remember ending up at Jillians, shooting pool, drinking beer and then Slusser got me to go ‘drive’. I was horrible – probably because I was drunk. But the motion of the game made me queasy too.

Eventually, I got over that. Not during their visit, but with the multiple multiple times, per week, that I would go out drinking with my boss. We started driving drunk.  A dollar at a time. Being a creature of habit, I’d always pick the same car and eventually knew the roads from the hills of San Francisco, through the redwoods and Chicago, that I’d eventually end up in DC partying in a hot tub on top of the White House with Bill Clinton. I kid you not – that is how the game ended if you won. Oh – and there were lots of scantily clad women in said hot tub.

But our lives change:  Cruisin‘ USA games were eventually replaced by Cruisin‘ the World – which wasn’t nearly as fun. My boss was fired. And I wasn’t going out anymore – or at least to that degree. It’s been years since I’ve played this game.

Imagine my surprise last night when my dream was about this. Over and over and over.  The dreams wasn’t as animated and I was following (or losing to?) Denton’s BMW which was in the distance in front of me.  I drove over a repeating loop of road that went through Hartford.

Now I’ve only been to Hartford proper twice.  But on one trip, five years ago, I killed a day by walking a lot.  It was a main road that went through downtown and up through some scary neighborhoods to Trinity College.  Somewhere I had to pass a statue of Casimir Pulaski.   This was all in the dream.   Including a car crash and a police officer who was directing traffic around it.

I thought exercise was supposed to make you sleep better.

OK, DR. FREUD…

Do your work.

I’m rollerblading down a produce section of a really upscale grocery store. I mean, I was in full pushing-off and gliding mode on their pristine hardwood floors. All of the sudden, Martha Stewart appears from around the top of the aisle. For some reason I know she works there, but then she starts tossing crackerjack onto the floor. (No doubt she has grown, harvested and popped the corn herself – then maked the simple syrup to carmelize before gently folding in the popped corn!). She smiles the entire time, but I deftly avoid those hazards that could make me take a tumble.

All of the sudden, I’m in front of the office of Alanis Morissette (in the grocery store still) and she magically adorns herself with a gold lame bustier while singing “That I Would Be Good“.

Then I stand to the side while she talks to this man who has Retinitis Pigmentosa. I don’t know how I know this – I just do. But I catch him in “lies” as he says he ‘saw’ Rod Stewart last night in concert and mentions ‘seeing’ the blimp! I couldn’t get Alanis’ attention to let her know I was on to his game!

After that, I either woke up or changed dreams. I certainly don’t remember anything else. Like THAT wasn’t enough?