I had a number of interesting dreams last night, some of them involving Dothan and Westgate Park, which was the recreational center down the street from our house when I was growing up. In my dream, Westgate Park was also a bus terminal. Also, I had a recollection (in the dream) that Kelsey Grammar was the “equipment director” there before he was on television. I don’t know what that could have been about.
Really crazy dreams this morning, just in the hour or so in between M leaving for work and when I woke up. They all just sort of melded together.
First, I was in a hotel with M and several other people, including Neil from the Bridge. M complained that Neil came in and didn’t seem like himself and ran into the bathroom. I didn’t see him, so I waited for him to come out. He never did.
Instead, a beam of light seemed to come from the bathroom, projecting an image on the wall that said “Squeaky” over and over again, definitely a reference to the Gainesville band of that name. The image changed, moved around variously to all four walls and eventually showed some sort of commercial with a number we could call for more information. I said out loud, “I’m more interested in how they’re doing this than what they’re saying.” I started examining the windows, and noticed several cameras outside, apparently dangling from the floor above us.
Meanwhile, a woman who was in the room with us called the number, but failed to find out what it was all about.
Then some giant (he must have been over 7 feet tall) came by to replace a chair and radio in the room, even though he admitted there was nothing wrong with the old ones. I talked to him about the projections, and he said that several people had had similar complaints. He was fascinated by it, but couldn’t do anything of course. Also, inexplicably, there was a hole in the floor, and we could see a kitchen below. The giant from hotel management didn’t care about that either.
At that point, the transition is unclear, but I was sort of attending a high school reunion that was also somehow a work conference (in the dream, I was still working for Karen Entner). The only reunion person I remember clearly was Tammy Tindal Taylor, who seemed genuinely happy to see me (utterly unrealistic). It was supposed to be some kind of dinner or maybe a lunch, but I was having a hard time finding a comfortable chair to sit in, so I left.
I went to go clean out my car, which was extremely messy. I got a call from Karen asking me when M’s conference would be over (apparently she was also at a conference in the same town, so we were staying longer than some others) and to just give her receipts for my meals.
The next thing I remember is M screaming at me to turn off the TV, and I woke up with a start.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
The dreams had stopped for a couple of nights, although I had a couple last night. In one, I was in high school, I think, and participating in some sort of statewide competition in Montgomery. I wasn’t sure if we were driving there from Birmingham or Dothan until I asked the bus driver, who said we were coming for Birmingham. He didn’t actually know how to get to I-65 from where we were, so I was trying to tell him, but we got lost. In another, the brakes went out in my car, and I was coasting backwards, eventually colliding with some parked cars. I read later in the paper that there was a passenger in one who had broken his back in the accident. The cops tracked me down and shot out the windows of my car during a chase. They finally caught up, and I was arrested.
In last night’s crazy assed dream, I somehow became friends with Steven Malkmus from Pavement, and then used that friendship to surreptitiously get my “friends” at Rolling Stone an interview with him by taking them, unannounced, to his house in New Jersey. Needless to say, this annoyed Steven greatly. I tried to smooth it over by acting casual about it and talking about some records I’d recently heard that sounded influenced by Pavement, including one by Jon Bon Jovi’s brother. Also, when Malkmus was just hanging out in his living room, he was listening to System of a Down, which seems pretty unlikely.
I had another one that was alternately in a bookstore and a library. Both were near our apartment, somewhere in the West 40’s. There was a book that was supposed to have one of my stories in it, and I was supposed to get a free copy, but I hadn’t gotten it yet, so I was trying to get the bookstore to give it to me. At one point, I walked into the bookstore/library and my mother was sitting at a table talking to my ex-wife Doris. I avoided them.