Last night I dreamed about a weird softball game that included both kids and adults. The kids were using Heelies when they ran the bases and didn’t seem to have any idea this might be against the rules. There didn’t seem to be any kind of umpire, and it wasn’t a real league. I’m not clear on why the game was happening.
Blog
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On Second Glance
I’m sitting at the piers west of Greenwich Village. There’s another dude sitting on the bench around the corner from me—wonder if he’s cruising, what the signal is. He’s youngish, about my age I guess, dressed casually but stylishly. Could be waiting for someone. I didn’t see any headphones or a book. He’s just waiting there.
*
On second glance, he did have headphones. It would have been better if he didn’t.
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Dreamlog
Last night’s dreams were like a zany comedy. I was investigating some mobsters by pretending to work in the building they used as their office, assisted by Paula Abdul, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and some other guy whose name I don’t remember (if he had one) and who wasn’t very bright. The final chase scene came when we were caught by the mobsters, but we convinced them that we really had been hired to do some job in that building, like run a sort of post office. This was working even though Kareem and Paula were playing themselves, and the mobsters recognized them. But it all came crashing down when we were moving our belongings out, figuring we’d lost and would have to give up the investigation, when the dumb guy starts moving his several pairs of Reebok tennis shoes. (There was an earlier chase scene that involved a carload of Reeboks). This somehow clued the mobsters in to who we really were.
In another part of the same dream, Kareem was making jokes about my last name, which in retrospect, didn’t make any sense.
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Doormat Stolen
I’m doing everything out of order today. My morning was disrupted by the apparent theft of my DOORMAT—a crime so retarded that I can scarcely believe it still. However, as doormats go, it was relatively stylish, and I had just bought it maybe a week ago. What’s even more bizarre is that this appears to have been planned. A couple of days ago, when M left for work, we saw that the doormat had been upturned. In the current context, I gather that someone was attempting to take the doormat and was interrupted by someone leaving their apartment. So they came back 2 days later to finish the dastardly deed.
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Dreamlog
Had dreams about Birmingham last night. The Birmingham in my dreams is bigger and more confusing than the real Birmingham, much like it seemed to me when I was a kid. I dreamed that my parents still owned a house in Bluff Park and were preparing it to sell. I was walking around the neighborhood and saw Chris Rich jogging down the street. I ran to catch up with him, telling him who I was, and he wasn’t interested in talking to me. It was weird. He said “I don’t know you anymore,” and went on his way.
The last time I saw Chris in real life was his wedding, which had to have been around 1994. Before that I probably hadn’t seen him since we were about twelve, probably 1984.
It was with him that I expanded the Monkeyman mythology. When I was taking on the role of Monkeyman, I dubbed him Apeface—not the most flattering nom de guerre. But it didn’t seem to bother him particularly.
All this home renovation going on in my dreams lately is very curious. I wonder who I’m supposed to be trying to help.
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Dreamlog
In last night’s dream, I befriended a wealthy family who may have been connected to the Chinese mafia. I was helping them build a dock at their lake house. The saga covered years of the relationship. They were always watching this British scandal show on TV that frequently talked about their secret family history. In the end, the mother was selling chicken wings at some sort of fair or festival, but they weren’t selling well, so I was eating the leftovers.
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Snarf
Something people used to say when I was growing up (not necessarily to me) was “you’re so stupid, you fart in the bath tub and try to bite the bubbles.” I always thought this was an extremely lame joke, but I woke up this morning with it in my head, and it struck me as a curiosity. I Googled it, and it turns out to be much more common than I would have thought. There are even a number of slang terms for a person who participates in such an activity, including, apparently “snarf” and “darf.”
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Dreamlog
My dreams have had a very straight narrative flow lately. Last night I dreamt I was traveling by motor scooter. First, I was helping make a documentary about a notorious New England preacher and also helping fix up the house where he had lived. One of the things I had to do was replace some window screens, and I got in a fight with the guy at the hardware store because he was rude. Then I was on my way to New Orleans, and somehow I found where my friend Mike Schandorff was living (I real life, he used to live in NO, but left after Katrina, and he’s now in Birmingham). He was asking me what I thought of some books, and they were all sci-fi. He got offended when I identified them as such. Then we went to get some lunch.
The night before, I dreamt I was dating some younger woman, but I fell in love with her mother. They were living in a hovel in Tampa, which I bought for $12,000 from a shady businessman two doors down, and I was helping them fix it up. Both mother and daughter were redheads.
The night before that, I had a dream that I was in love with my friend Suzanne, but she was dating some jerk who treated her badly. I convinced her to break up with him and go out with me. When we confronted him, I got in a fight with him, but I got the girl, But after a couple of weeks, she left me for no particular reason.
I’ve been out of Lexapro for a couple of days. I wonder if it has something to do with that.
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Alternative Chorus to "The Smell of Romance"
You were up all night dancing to the Tennessee waltz.
The way you move is one of your biggest faults,
At least as far as I can tell.
But you’re fatally attracted to the smell of romance.
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Dreamlog
I drank a cup of coffee at my gig last night, and it didn’t keep me awake, but I did start having weird dreams again. It partially involved several anxiety dreams that I have fairly often about pets escaping and about drinking. There was also a travel aspect to it. In one part of the dream, M and I (and two of the three cats—Frankie was absent from the dream) stayed with a family who lived in a house attached to a General Store, which they ran. They also had a lot of pets, including two big dogs, at least one small dog, and some kind of rodent like a guinea pig. Out back, literally in the back yard of the house, there was a market where people sold exotic herbs and peppers.
At some point, there was an opportunity where we might take over the house, as well as the store.
Somewhere near the end of the dream, I was searching through the fridge for a beer and drank a PBR. I poured it in a glass, hoping nobody would ask what it was I was drinking. I couldn’t remember if I’d already relapsed, but I suspected that I had.
A sign, or just anxiety? Who knows?
M. David Hornbuckle 