Snoozin' Away
*Hey, still some time to write some sweet nothings to Alan David Doane for his comics retailing poll. I just finished off 2000 words' worth now.
*Which means I don't have a lot of time to lavish on this week's adventures of the Punisher (tomorrow, maybe!), but I would like to get something down about the dream I had the other night. It was a 'chain dream,' of the type you sometimes see in movies or television shows - the dreamer wakes up from one dream, only to wind up in a different dream, and so on so forth.
I get this kind of dream sometimes when I know there's something I have to do as soon as I wake up; it hooks me through anticipation. In this case, I had to check a website pertaining to my job. Who knows how many links of the chain I went through before I woke up for real. Ten? Fifty? I only recall three links of this one.
1. I wake up. My apartment is larger than it usually is, and sunlight is flooding the room. I head over to my laptop, and notice that my two roommates are behind me. One of them is blogger Dick Hyacinth; he looks like a young Gary Groth (I don't know what he really looks like; bear with me). The other one is my younger brother; he tells me that since he's moved his stuff to the other side of the apartment, we don't see each other very often. I bend over to plug in the laptop, but the plug won't go in all the way. The power strip starts belching sparks; those assholes said it was shockproof!
2. I wake up. Much to my dismay, a legal hearing is going on in my very large, well-furnished apartment. This pisses me off, since I can't get to my laptop. I head out the door (since I'm suddenly on the first floor of my building), and decide to get some money from the ATM down the street.
On my way, a family of joggers cross my path; almost all of them are women and girls with pale skin, and hair so blonde it's almost white. I wait for them to pass, and try to continue on toward the ATM, but it's blocked by a nervous young women attempting to explain to a group of people that she didn't mean to just utter a racial slur. Her explanation only digs her in deeper, and I'm so embarrassed to be standing there that I give up on the ATM altogether.
I decide to check that website on one of the public computers at the library across the street. I'm blown away as I step inside; all of the technology inside is cutting-edge, which I instantly understand is due to the local college annexing the building. I sit down at one of the fancy computers, but the screen asks me for a password. The guy sitting at the computer next to me tells me that I have to belong to a fraternity to log in. I close my eyes, and try to recall a jingle I made up to help me get down an old password from law school.
3. I wake up. It's dark, and my television is on. It's a special, hosted by Stephen King, on the greatest horror movies you've never heard of. He's up to #2 on the countdown, and it's a movie Joe Perry of Aerosmith spearheaded back in the '70s. I can't believe I've never heard of it; it looks neat, if a little heavy on the optical effects. Then Stephen gets to #1, and it's some Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movie; he must be playing tricks. I suddenly recall that Paul O'Brien reviewed this show on The X-Axis, in a week with no X-Men comics. He gave it a B, noting that it was little more than King reading from a book he wrote. UK-only, I think.
I turn on the lights, and notice that my apartment is almost empty. My books are all gone, and the carpet is different. It's too clean. My laptop is waiting for me, but there's a clear plastic dustcover over the keyboard, with a child's marker drawings all over it. I realize it's something I used to have a few years ago, but I'd lost it. I hear a noise behind me, and turn. My bed is suddenly made. Neatly. I hear a rustling in the kitchen. Somebody has gotten inside my apartment.
And... that's all I recall.
Thinking back on it, I can track where some of the dream elements came from. For example, Dick Hyacinth posted the other day about laying around sick in his living room; hence, he's laying around in my dream. I don't get to see my younger brother much anymore, since we live in different states. The racial awkwardness by the ATM was likely prompted by comments made the prior day by Pennsylvania Gov. Ed Rendell, concerning the state primary chances of Barack Obama. Hey, I've read a lot of deluxe horror movie books released only in the UK.
I'm not sure where Aerosmith came from. Or the pale women. Or Paul O'Brien, or the frat library, or Stephen King, or my apparent terror of neatness.
I did get to check that website. Nothing important was there.
*Which means I don't have a lot of time to lavish on this week's adventures of the Punisher (tomorrow, maybe!), but I would like to get something down about the dream I had the other night. It was a 'chain dream,' of the type you sometimes see in movies or television shows - the dreamer wakes up from one dream, only to wind up in a different dream, and so on so forth.
I get this kind of dream sometimes when I know there's something I have to do as soon as I wake up; it hooks me through anticipation. In this case, I had to check a website pertaining to my job. Who knows how many links of the chain I went through before I woke up for real. Ten? Fifty? I only recall three links of this one.
1. I wake up. My apartment is larger than it usually is, and sunlight is flooding the room. I head over to my laptop, and notice that my two roommates are behind me. One of them is blogger Dick Hyacinth; he looks like a young Gary Groth (I don't know what he really looks like; bear with me). The other one is my younger brother; he tells me that since he's moved his stuff to the other side of the apartment, we don't see each other very often. I bend over to plug in the laptop, but the plug won't go in all the way. The power strip starts belching sparks; those assholes said it was shockproof!
2. I wake up. Much to my dismay, a legal hearing is going on in my very large, well-furnished apartment. This pisses me off, since I can't get to my laptop. I head out the door (since I'm suddenly on the first floor of my building), and decide to get some money from the ATM down the street.
On my way, a family of joggers cross my path; almost all of them are women and girls with pale skin, and hair so blonde it's almost white. I wait for them to pass, and try to continue on toward the ATM, but it's blocked by a nervous young women attempting to explain to a group of people that she didn't mean to just utter a racial slur. Her explanation only digs her in deeper, and I'm so embarrassed to be standing there that I give up on the ATM altogether.
I decide to check that website on one of the public computers at the library across the street. I'm blown away as I step inside; all of the technology inside is cutting-edge, which I instantly understand is due to the local college annexing the building. I sit down at one of the fancy computers, but the screen asks me for a password. The guy sitting at the computer next to me tells me that I have to belong to a fraternity to log in. I close my eyes, and try to recall a jingle I made up to help me get down an old password from law school.
3. I wake up. It's dark, and my television is on. It's a special, hosted by Stephen King, on the greatest horror movies you've never heard of. He's up to #2 on the countdown, and it's a movie Joe Perry of Aerosmith spearheaded back in the '70s. I can't believe I've never heard of it; it looks neat, if a little heavy on the optical effects. Then Stephen gets to #1, and it's some Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movie; he must be playing tricks. I suddenly recall that Paul O'Brien reviewed this show on The X-Axis, in a week with no X-Men comics. He gave it a B, noting that it was little more than King reading from a book he wrote. UK-only, I think.
I turn on the lights, and notice that my apartment is almost empty. My books are all gone, and the carpet is different. It's too clean. My laptop is waiting for me, but there's a clear plastic dustcover over the keyboard, with a child's marker drawings all over it. I realize it's something I used to have a few years ago, but I'd lost it. I hear a noise behind me, and turn. My bed is suddenly made. Neatly. I hear a rustling in the kitchen. Somebody has gotten inside my apartment.
And... that's all I recall.
Thinking back on it, I can track where some of the dream elements came from. For example, Dick Hyacinth posted the other day about laying around sick in his living room; hence, he's laying around in my dream. I don't get to see my younger brother much anymore, since we live in different states. The racial awkwardness by the ATM was likely prompted by comments made the prior day by Pennsylvania Gov. Ed Rendell, concerning the state primary chances of Barack Obama. Hey, I've read a lot of deluxe horror movie books released only in the UK.
I'm not sure where Aerosmith came from. Or the pale women. Or Paul O'Brien, or the frat library, or Stephen King, or my apparent terror of neatness.
I did get to check that website. Nothing important was there.
posted by Jog at 11:48 PM
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