Tuesday, January 22, 2013
I was accompanying my dear friend Bree Van de Kamp, a fictional character who doesn’t exist in real life, on a pseudo-blind date with some guy. Bree had been having a lot of troubles in her personal life because it was Season 1, and she just wanted some moral support. She hadn’t really wanted to go on the date but felt obligated.
The guy was nice enough, and attractive, but he took notice of Bree’s vulnerabilities. At one point, only half-joking, he made some reference to her crying easily and said, “Come on, Bree, you’re kind of a weak person.”
I was incensed, but I held my tongue for a moment.
Then I launched into an eloquent and calm, but forceful, speech about how Bree was actually one of the strongest women I knew, and that he in fact had no idea of the kind of strength of which she was capable, but that I see it every day. By the end of it, the guy was holding back tears of shame.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
I was with a handful of friends in this nice outdoor rocky area near a stream. Nearby us was a door built into the rock. The door led to a girl’s bedroom that looked like it hadn’t been used in decades.
While I was exploring the area along the stream, I found a couple necklaces tucked into holes in the rocks. I took them, and got this weird haunted vibe from them. Sure enough, when I got back to the group, I noticed a couple pillows wearing dresses floating toward me.
I tried to convince my friends that the necklaces had summoned some ghosts, but they laughed it off. I soon realized there was some connection to the bedroom too, because when I went inside, the door kept trying to slam on me and lock me in. I tried to stop it with a doorstop, but the door was too high for it. Ultimately I blocked the latch with one of the pillows while I explored the bedroom. It was filled with creepy dollhouse horror movie ghost stuff, probably.
Finally the ghosts all came out in the open. It was a family that I guess had died a long time ago. A mother, father, and teen daughter. I confronted them, asking why they were trying to haunt me anyway. They didn’t really have an answer.
I asked them what happens if I defeat them. Do they go to Hell?
“Probably Heaven, actually,” the mother said.
I flipped out. “Then why the hell are are you attacking me? Do you not want to go to Heaven?”
They kind of looked at each other. Clearly they hadn’t thought of this before. Out of frustration, I asked them why shouldn’t I just put the necklaces back where I found them, and let them wait till someone else randomly ran across them? “What’s another 200 years of purgatory?” I asked, throwing my hands up.
The dad mumbled that it was more like another 1300 years, since they had died around 1000 AD. I told him his math was off, but he was missing the point anyway.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
My friend Zack was arrested and taken to jail. Shortly afterward I suspected he was actually innocent, and that my own father committed the crime but Zack was just taking the bullet for him. I tried to convince Zack to tell the authorities the truth, but he wouldn’t.
I went home to Clear Lake. While I was helping Dad remove the wooden supports he’d installed over the holidays to hold the indoor Christmas lights, I quietly called the police and fretted for the next several minutes over their arrival. I wasn’t looking forward to the revelation of my betrayal.
The police never came, so I went to visit Zack in jail. He was in high spirits! It was extremely low security: Mostly just one large, open room with a handful of cells that were almost all open. A single prison guard sat at a desk near the open door, welcoming me with a wide smile.
Most of the prisoners were milling about, visiting one another or playing cards. Everyone seemed to be in a great mood. There was only one person actually locked in a cell, a tough-looking man who looked to be dead or asleep, with his head and arms sticking through the bars separating his cell from another.
I asked Zack, “Is he dead from a broken neck?” His head was twisted at a painful angle.
Zack laughed cheerfully and nodded. The prisoner had beaten another prisoner up, and was subsequently killed. In this jail, Zack explained, the only acceptable means of dominating another prisoner was by poking them with a pushpin. Zack produced a pushpin from his pocket and, giggling, demonstrated on me.
The jail allowed its prisoners to run errands in the outside world, so Zack left with me to go to the gym with Damien. There were a lot of physical obstacles along the way, including platforms we were walking on being knocked over by construction vehicles.
The gym we ended up in was a large, mostly-empty room with hardwood floors, similar to a dance studio. I think we zip-lined into it.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
I was in Austin visiting friends.
Walking down a street that actually looked a lot like Havemeyer in Brooklyn, I ran into Matt S. I stopped and said hi, but he seemed to be in a hurry so I told him I had to get back to class and left.
About a block later, I approached the little cafe where I was meeting up with Chris U. and Becky A., the latter of whom lives in New York in real life. As I was walking in the door, I got a glimpse of the new Katy Perry video, “Finding Out My Dad’s in Jail”.
The thrust of the song is that a young woman laments her discovery that her recently incarcerated father has been made someone’s bitch in prison. One of the lines of the song went like this:
When Dad’s asleep, he takes him
It’s pretty easy to tell who’s on top
In the dream, this rhymed. The video was just a bunch of obscene still images of prison sex, with a scantily clad or nude Katy Perry in each one.
I got into the cafe and sat down at a table that Chris and Becky were standing around. A minute later, a young couple from Spain started dragging the table away. I stopped them and said it was our table, and added, “Yeah, that’s why we have our food on it.”
They looked upset at my brusqueness. There was a second’s mild shame where I realized I probably didn’t need to be that rude even if they were annoying.
But then I realized the food on the table wasn’t Chris’s or Becky’s, it was the Spanish man’s. He was actually taking his own table away that I had sat down at, uninvited. Embarrassed, I was just about to apologize profusely, but then I woke up.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
I was a character on a show that was basically the same as 30 Rock. In one scene, I was lying on a couch when Tommy Lee Jones walked by. I guess in the show he was my arch nemesis, because we circled each other dramatically and then I made fun of his eye makeup, which I said made him look like a panda.
In another scene, Stevie Nicks — who in the show was male — had entered the building, and I was trying to hide this fact from Alec Baldwin’s character. Alec asked me if he had arrived yet, and sensing I was evading the question, pressed me to admit he was there.
I responded, “You know, for years I thought Stevie Nicks was a woman. I mean, no man would write those lyrics. Come on — Landslide?” I think in the show this was considered hilarious.
In another scene, I and several other people were shooting a parody hip-hop music video that was intended to celebrate gang culture. The video had all of us standing before the back end of a van, which was parked horizontally in the driveway of a suburban home.
At the end of the video, we were all to begin acting in slow motion while I turned around and shot into the van with two Uzis. There were three gas cans in the van, so the idea was to create this cinematic explosion with all of us running away from it in slow motion.
I hit two of the cans and they exploded, but it didn’t create a big enough fireball and didn’t ignite the third can. So, with all of us still moving in slow motion, I shot at the third can directly.
It punctured and leaked gas, but didn’t ignite. Instead, there was just a puddle of gas sitting in the driveway. So I shot at the puddle directly, which finally ignited in an anti-climactic way. All the while, all of us were still running in slow motion, occasionally tripping and stumbling, purposely making the scene more ridiculous. At one point I was tangled in a sheet and complaining about it in a Jerri Blank voice.
Monday, October 17, 2011
This was a post-apocalyptic survival dream experienced in several acts.
I think the world ended because of zombies. There were a few I was fighting in the very beginning of the dream by throwing stakes into their hearts, even though they were definitely zombies and not vampires. There was one surprisingly smart zombie, who told me he’d help me out if I captured two beautiful women for him. I considered it, but not seriously.
After a while, though, the focus of the dream shifted to surviving in this new, ruined world.
Enough time had already passed that society was sort of reshaping itself. Energy and transportation were of course in short supply, but there was one guy who kind of established himself as a merchant of vehicles and home energy. If you squatted in an abandoned home, he’d set up the electricity for you, and he could get you a working car.
Unfortunately, he was incredibly corrupt and cruel, and there were no consumer protection laws in this largely anarchistic society. So people’s homes and cars would regularly explode, killing whomever was inside, because of this man’s laziness or his intentional acts of sabotage if he didn’t like you.
At some point my friend Zack and I needed to travel about 16 miles. We could walk, but we were sort of in a hurry, so we decided to call a taxi. (There were already taxi services popping up.)
One arrived almost immediately, and the guy seemed nice enough, but we discovered that he’d bought his car only a couple days ago from the corrupt car merchant. We knew it could explode at any time — there had been a rash of explosions recently — and didn’t want to take that chance.
Eventually we found a guy who had owned his car for a couple months already, which made it seem safer. We paid him $23.
When we got to our destination, Zack was shot in the neck with poison darts. The wounds oozed some sort of noxious gray liquid before he expired. The two people responsible for his death, a man and a woman, took me captive and brought me to a room to question me.
I had a new set of house keys that Damien had just had copied (in real life), and they were still pretty sharp, so while I answered the man’s question I prepared to tear out his throat with the keys.
However, he and the woman began asking about the vehicle merchant. I told them how corrupt and borderline evil he was, and we set about forming a plan to take him down. It turned out these two people were actually good guys, and had killed Zack after mistakenly believing him to be bad.
It did occur to me that they could actually be spies lying to me about their intentions, but for whatever reason I discounted that possibility.
I don’t think anything really came of those plans to take down the car-and-energy merchant. At some point while we were traveling through some forresty, meadow-ish area, we had to hide because some people suddenly came up from behind us.
In a lawless society, it’s always prudent to assume other people mean you harm.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Our publishing company had received threats from the local union that they would come by at some point and spray the building with machine guns. The CEO decided to close the office except to essential staff. Everyone stayed home out of fear.
Marquise, Paul, Damien, and I volunteered to go on a covert undercover mission to join the union and expose their violent ways. The idea was to secretly film them with our iPhones while they were doing something rowdy, then send it to the press to get public opinion against them. No one else at our company, except the CEO, knew we were doing this.
We found one of their meetings and blended in. Pretty quickly, they began advocating for the death of their enemies. We got it all on video without anyone noticing.
But then they all started collecting into carpool groups. It turned out the union boss had included in the agenda for that day to go down to the former Defense Secretary’s house and rough him up. Apparently the Secretary had hired an assassin to take out the union boss. The boss didn’t want to kill the Secretary, just scare him into submission.
The three of us were split up into different cars. The other union members in my cars started introducing themselves to me and asking me about my line of work. After only a second’s hesitation, I said, “Boiler rooms.” I almost said “plumber,” but then realized there could easily be another plumber around and I didn’t want him to start asking me specific things about plumbing, of which I knew nothing. Boiler repair seemed an exotic enough job without being too unbelievable. It worked.
We got to the the Defense Secretary’s house and actually parked our van in his garage. Then we all got our weapons, mostly blunt instruments. Mine was a board with a nail in it. The plan was to run around to the backyard, where the Secretary was, and overwhelm him. For some reason Marquise had to do this nude. I was barefoot and shirtless in shorts.
As we ran across the front lawn toward the backyard entrance, I heard someone call, “Yoo hoo! Oh, yoo hoo!”
It was the Secretary’s neighbor, calling out the window of her adjoining apartment! I decided to ignore her, hoping she wouldn’t realize what was going on until it was too late. But then she continued:
“Oh, Mr. Mittlefehldt!”
Horrorstruck, I turned around. It was Rita, a coworker. Not knowing I was undercover, she clearly thought I was part of the union and was doing bad things. She yelled out her window at me, making it clear that I should not continue my acts, and that it was in my best interest to come into her apartment before she called the police.
I didn’t know what to do. It didn’t occur to me to tell Rita that we were undercover. I motioned to Damien to go back to the car so we could get out — but we still needed to get Marquise and Paul. He clearly wanted to continue with the mission, saying out of exasperation, “I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
Then I woke up.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Damien and I were going to meet up with his friend Irena on a vacation to Hungary. In the dream, Irena was Hungarian, though in real life she’s Croatian/Macedonian.
In order to get there, we went to Clear Lake, then drove over a two-mile bridge into Hungary. We had to use the less direct bridge because the one we wanted was closed off for some reason. I was worried about traffic but it wasn’t too bad.
Once we were in Hungary, Damien got us around with his conversational knowledge of Hungarian because I didn’t speak a word of it.
At one point I had to help Sheila from work line a bunch of empty boxes against the walls of a warehouse that was there. Once that was over, several friends joined Damien and me to relax in this sort of amphitheater-courtyard along the edge of a sparse woods and near a lake. There was a bug crawling down the length of a nearby wall toward someone’s face. I thought it was a scorpion at first but it wasn’t.
Then a tiger showed up and tried to attack several of us. We were all pretty dispassionate about it. It caught someone by the shirt, but didn’t hurt them.
After watching from the steps of the amphitheater for a bit, I went over into the woods to grab a large enough stick to fight off the tiger, but instead attracted the attention of another tiger, which came bounding into the courtyard and started attacking us with the first one.
I woke up then because Damien turned over and pulled the covers with him. I was momentarily annoyed because I didn’t get to be a hero by battling off two tigers with my stick.
Friday, March 11, 2011
I’ve learned the best way to tame a horse: you just laugh in front of it. Even if it’s a fake laugh, the horse will respond in kind. Then you fake laugh again, and it fake laughs back at you, and then it will be okay with you touching it.
I practice it on this one horse using a stilted, choppy laugh:
Me: Ha ha ha.
Horse: Ha ha ha.
Me: Ha ha ha.
Horse: Ha ha ha.
Horse: *smiles at me*
Shortly after discovering this, Damien and I happen upon a blind horse, played by George Takei, running through a building, clearly distressed. After I laugh at George and gain his trust, he tells me he’s blind because his owner took his eyeballs to make a soup.
Damien and I vow to help him. Maybe we do, but I don’t really remember. Later we’re at a dinner party with other friends, where we’re all making gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches out of Swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, and wheat bread. Each ingredient is grilled separately.
A friend from work, Sheila M. E., is also there. She’s brought two bottles of wine, and asks me to fetch “the 2011 Pinot Grigio.” I get it and notice the label does indeed specify it’s a 2011.