I went out on a mother-daughter outing to an aquarium of sorts. We were allowed to swim with the marine life, which the aquarium staff claimed were all perfectly tame. Yeah right. The moment my mom climbed into the pool, the water churned and turned an oily black around her. I only had brief glimpses of fins and flippers through the murky chaos seeking to pull her under. The aquarium employee dove in, wrestling blindly with the creature. He drove it off long enough for my mom to resurface and swim to the side where I hauled her out. A second later, the employee joined us, gasping for air.
It turned out that a ravenous ink shark had been recently introduced to the aquarium. Someone's head surely rolled for that mistake, but I didn't worry too much about that. I was more concerned with my mom, who'd gone into a semi-catatonic state from the experience. She needed an indefinite leave of absence from her job, which according to dream logic was managing a bridal store for Greek weddings.
During this leave of absence, the other women working in the store competed bitterly to see who would take over the shop. They jumped on every opportunity to make a dress or a cake or specialty banners saying "Opa!" I was disgusted by the women's lack of concern for my mom, whom I visited frequently at the resort stationed in the backroom of the shop. One day, she looked out her window and saw a bunch of gorillas playing rugby crossed with soccer on a field painted like a basketball court. When I came into her room to say hello, I didn't see her. When I looked out the window, I saw a gorilla grabbing her and jumping up and down angrily to get her to let go of the ball she'd grabbed.
Somehow I got her out of the gorilla area and they went back to their game. I recall scolding her for an hour: "You're trying to recover from an animal attack! Why would you go out in the middle of the gorillas? Don't you know they're like Wookiees? Let them play however they want!" etc.
As I left my visit and went through the shop again, I saw the mother of a friend of mine trying on wedding dressed. This encounter was strange for two reasons: 1. She's Puerto Rican , not Greek; 2. She had shrunk by two feet. However, I wrote it off as cultural differences and decided to hang out with her and my friend for the rest of the day.
As the three of us went to her car in the parking garage, we saw three punk-looking teenagers trying to break in to it. Rather than shooing them off, we carefully opened the hatch of the car and climbed into the back without them noticing. We then waited. The punks finally broke into the car, rummaged around in the front seats, turned to search the back, saw us smiling at them, and froze. They then carefully put everything back, closed the doors, and walked stiffly away.
However, we didn't leave it at that. My friend's mom grabbed a bag of Rice Krispie Treats that she had come close to squishing while hiding in the back, and walked up to the punks before they could get too far away. "Do you want some food?" she called out. The punks turned, eyes bursting with confusing, fear, and shame in turns. Finally, a particularly lanky girl asked, "Wat'cha got?" as coolly as she could muster. When they saw the treats, they agreed to join us, so we all sat in a circle on the cold cement floor and shared the snacks. The punks seemed wary at first, but as we introduced ourselves and talked a bit, they began to relax. Finally, the lanky girl caved and asked, "What's the catch? Why're you doin' this?"
"No catch. We just wanted to show God's love to other people," the mom replied, sincerity written on every inch of her.
We actually proceeded to share the gospel with the punks, who seemed quite interested. By the end of the dream, they were agreeing to go to church with us and actually telling us their real names as opposed to the fake ones they gave early on in the conversation. It was perhaps the best religious/spiritual discussion I never had.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
Dream Log 4: Summer Camp
I have worked at summer camps in the past, so it was no great surprise that I was roped into group leading at the start of the dream. What was odd was that everyone insisted that I had done this particular camp before. What is more, I had been an all-star.
Now, this did not mean that I was skilled at corralling eighth graders and keeping them entertained and happy. It meant that during the Hunger Games-esque basketball game between group leaders, I had performed so miraculously well that no one else had ever dared to wear my jersey number, 105. Yet, despite the vivid descriptions they gave to me, and even pictures of me slam dunking in a neon orange uniform with the legendary number on it, I could not remember actually having done any of that. However, I let it go and chalked it up to coincidence.
On the first day of camp, I felt a bit flustered. I had only recently joined the program, so no one had fully explained where I was supposed to be and when. They didn't even tell me which group I had to lead. After a little guessing, I figured out that I had to lead the blue group comprised of eight or ten spunky little middle-schoolers wearing bright blue tees. They seemed to get along with me well enough, although one of them had a tendency to walk through walls if I took my eye off of him.
After the opening ceremonies, we sat with our groups and distributed the snacks, or more accurately, snack. You see, I was given one gigantic chocolate and prune cookie to divide among my campers. One of them, a small mousy boy, stared longingly at the fragment I offered him, but refused to take it. When I asked him why he didn't want it, he explained"I, um, oh that looks good, but....I'm a recovering plum addict." I let the subject drop.
Once the cookie was fully devoured, the real fun began. The activities director instructed us to head off to the simulation grounds. I had no idea what that meant, but whatever. I was getting good at pretending I had a clue. We arrived at a massive room filled with fake terrains of all types, rocky, hilly, wet, dry, etc. Each group was directed to a different starting station in the complex and told to do whatever the leaders decided. All I could think of was to try and get out of our zone, a mountainous, cliff-like territory, into the next zone over full of streams and lush vegetation.
As we started, some members of the group went out of bounds onto the ordinary concrete floor of the room. A referee came promptly and kicked those members out of the complex, saying that they had left the simulation and could not return. He then handed me a manila folder full of plot details and maps, which I had to use to guide the game, revealing as little to my group as possible. I leafed through the instructions and saw that they did indeed need to get to the next zone, but that the way would be blocked by simulated monsters we would have to defeat. Simple enough, right?
While the group goes on, more and more people manage to drop out. I couldn't tell how though. Some seemed to simply lose interest in everything. They refused to move and just lay down, so we had to keep going. The referee would reappear from time to time, pointing out that I'd lost group members, simultaneously approving and condemning me, but of what I did not know.
Finally, only two members remained, but we had gotten to the cliff top and were ready to cross the boundary. I consulted the notes. And saw that signs of the monster included wind. Every the subtle one, I pretended to sneeze as the wind picked up, remarking, "All this pollen is being kicked up by the wind. I wonder what could be causing this wind. Maybe we should pay attention to the wind." Amazingly, the two campers picked up the hint and started to look around. Seconds later, a three headed Blue Eyes White Dragon flew down upon us. It looked like a hologram, but there was nothing holographic about the white lightning it used to fry the first camper.
At that moment, I was not afraid, nor angry, nor sad. I was simply annoyed that this punk dragon was getting in the way of my job as group leader. I had no choice but to charge in, readying my wooden shield and sword I'd inexplicably acquired. The surviving camper took cover while I swung wildly at the monster. I managed to cut of a head, and for a moment, the hologram faded out. Seconds later though, it reappeared, this time with just two heads. Well, I thought, at least it's not a hydra. Before the referee could come in and accuse me of cheating by one remaining group member, I woke up.
Now, this did not mean that I was skilled at corralling eighth graders and keeping them entertained and happy. It meant that during the Hunger Games-esque basketball game between group leaders, I had performed so miraculously well that no one else had ever dared to wear my jersey number, 105. Yet, despite the vivid descriptions they gave to me, and even pictures of me slam dunking in a neon orange uniform with the legendary number on it, I could not remember actually having done any of that. However, I let it go and chalked it up to coincidence.
On the first day of camp, I felt a bit flustered. I had only recently joined the program, so no one had fully explained where I was supposed to be and when. They didn't even tell me which group I had to lead. After a little guessing, I figured out that I had to lead the blue group comprised of eight or ten spunky little middle-schoolers wearing bright blue tees. They seemed to get along with me well enough, although one of them had a tendency to walk through walls if I took my eye off of him.
After the opening ceremonies, we sat with our groups and distributed the snacks, or more accurately, snack. You see, I was given one gigantic chocolate and prune cookie to divide among my campers. One of them, a small mousy boy, stared longingly at the fragment I offered him, but refused to take it. When I asked him why he didn't want it, he explained"I, um, oh that looks good, but....I'm a recovering plum addict." I let the subject drop.
Once the cookie was fully devoured, the real fun began. The activities director instructed us to head off to the simulation grounds. I had no idea what that meant, but whatever. I was getting good at pretending I had a clue. We arrived at a massive room filled with fake terrains of all types, rocky, hilly, wet, dry, etc. Each group was directed to a different starting station in the complex and told to do whatever the leaders decided. All I could think of was to try and get out of our zone, a mountainous, cliff-like territory, into the next zone over full of streams and lush vegetation.
As we started, some members of the group went out of bounds onto the ordinary concrete floor of the room. A referee came promptly and kicked those members out of the complex, saying that they had left the simulation and could not return. He then handed me a manila folder full of plot details and maps, which I had to use to guide the game, revealing as little to my group as possible. I leafed through the instructions and saw that they did indeed need to get to the next zone, but that the way would be blocked by simulated monsters we would have to defeat. Simple enough, right?
While the group goes on, more and more people manage to drop out. I couldn't tell how though. Some seemed to simply lose interest in everything. They refused to move and just lay down, so we had to keep going. The referee would reappear from time to time, pointing out that I'd lost group members, simultaneously approving and condemning me, but of what I did not know.
Finally, only two members remained, but we had gotten to the cliff top and were ready to cross the boundary. I consulted the notes. And saw that signs of the monster included wind. Every the subtle one, I pretended to sneeze as the wind picked up, remarking, "All this pollen is being kicked up by the wind. I wonder what could be causing this wind. Maybe we should pay attention to the wind." Amazingly, the two campers picked up the hint and started to look around. Seconds later, a three headed Blue Eyes White Dragon flew down upon us. It looked like a hologram, but there was nothing holographic about the white lightning it used to fry the first camper.
At that moment, I was not afraid, nor angry, nor sad. I was simply annoyed that this punk dragon was getting in the way of my job as group leader. I had no choice but to charge in, readying my wooden shield and sword I'd inexplicably acquired. The surviving camper took cover while I swung wildly at the monster. I managed to cut of a head, and for a moment, the hologram faded out. Seconds later though, it reappeared, this time with just two heads. Well, I thought, at least it's not a hydra. Before the referee could come in and accuse me of cheating by one remaining group member, I woke up.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Dream Log 3: The Evil Factor
It started off typical enough. Some friends were doing that Russian squat-kick dance, having a little competition. I decided to join in. However, for extra fun, I didn't just do the kicks. Physics took a coffee break long enough for me to do the Russian dance while goose stepping. Needless to say, my friends were all quite impressed.
However, this led to a conversation about nazism, which of course led to a conversation about evil, which led us to decide to find what the "Evil Factor" really was. We concluded that the only way to know for sure was to write computer program that found the greatest common factors of all evil people we could think of. I still do not know how one factors Cruella de Vil, but we managed it. It turns out, that the greatest common factor of evil, the key to what makes men and women turn to destruction, what made Satan turn on God...
is the bunny of doom.
Warn your friends.
However, this led to a conversation about nazism, which of course led to a conversation about evil, which led us to decide to find what the "Evil Factor" really was. We concluded that the only way to know for sure was to write computer program that found the greatest common factors of all evil people we could think of. I still do not know how one factors Cruella de Vil, but we managed it. It turns out, that the greatest common factor of evil, the key to what makes men and women turn to destruction, what made Satan turn on God...
is the bunny of doom.
Warn your friends.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Wouldn't you know it?
The night after resolving to record my dreams, I don't have any. At least, I can't recall anything past staring at a 27 on a homework assignment, wondering if it's 27 points or 27%.
Therefore, I'll briefly describe a previous dream, one which I have resolved to make a reality some day.
I dreamed of a printer...that printed hot chocolate.
You simply put a mug in a slot, and as your papers printed, the ink was converted somehow to chocolate and dripped steaming into the mug.
My friend in the dream seemed to think this was perfectly boring, but I knew better. I grabbed him by the shoulders, looked him square in the face and declared, "You don't understand. IT. PRINTS. HOT. CHOCOLATE."
What more can I say?
Therefore, I'll briefly describe a previous dream, one which I have resolved to make a reality some day.
I dreamed of a printer...that printed hot chocolate.
You simply put a mug in a slot, and as your papers printed, the ink was converted somehow to chocolate and dripped steaming into the mug.
My friend in the dream seemed to think this was perfectly boring, but I knew better. I grabbed him by the shoulders, looked him square in the face and declared, "You don't understand. IT. PRINTS. HOT. CHOCOLATE."
What more can I say?
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Progress
As anyone who looks at the last post date might observe, I have been rather diligently avoiding writing. This has secretly been an attempt at channeling some unspent productivity towards more pressing work and even more secretly been the result of laziness/forgetfulness.
NO MORE! I intend to post something (though most likely not part of the ongoing story) everyday. This content will instead consist of my dreams. After all, if my brain is kind enough to come up with a plot and write dialogue in my sleep, then I may as well put it to some use.
Without further ado....
Dream Log 1:
Hitler was climbing over a fence. More accurately, a man in a brown uniform, with a tiny patch of mustache and a name tag identifying him as Mr. Hilter was tying to jump a fence. Why? I haven't the foggiest. And apparently, neither did my Dreamself. It decided that this set up was too confusing and thus converted the live action into a photograph, which I found myself staring at while traveling on a bus to ancient Mayan ruins during the full Moon. Oddly specific? Perhaps.
My classmates and I got out of the bus and encountered a man ready to teach us about Mayan voting procedure. This consisted of taking a ten foot pole, laying it across everyone's laps, and forcing everyone to notch the pole once for yes and twice for no. When I notched the pole, I accidentally put in an extra notch. Have you ever tried to unnotch wood with a pocketknife? It doesn't work in dreams either.
After the demonstration, we moved into a pavilion to discuss protocol before going into the ruins. I got into a conversation with another student in which I spoke German and he spoke Portuguese (which, by the way, is clearly a dead language because obviously, Portugal was destroyed by nuclear fall out in the pie wars.)
Having completely missed the orientation, we proceeded to the ruins. However, I decided instead to log onto my laptop and attempt to make a ghost program run properly. And by ghost program, I mean my computer was haunted. Shortly after setting up the program, the computer began to zip around on legs it spontaneously sprouted, trying to kill me by eating my toes with the USB ports. Holding my feet in the air while lying on my back kept the demon hardware at bay while I waited for the rest of the group to return.
After an hour of this, the computer and I became rather friendly. I was almost sad to leave it when the teacher came back and informed me that we had to go prevent a man from losing his mind do to an evil item in his possession.
As the other agents and myself approached the nearly mad man (because fighting evil items automatically makes us agents of some sort), I saw a sharpened hook in one of his hands and a red silk headband wrapped around his head. He sneered as he saw us and sprouted Shakespeare quotes. Unfortunately, I can't recall them, but I know for a fact, that every sentence he uttered made my stomach drop. He made it quite clear that he intended to kill his wife, who was the one that had contacted us, and that we didn't have much time. Finally, we determined that a bag full of sparkles was it, and we destroyed it. As soon as we did, the man broke out into a joyous grin, swinging the hook about. I grabbed a broom and let the hook catch and dig into it to stop him, afraid he was going into a murderous rage. However, the opposite was true. He had broken free of his blood lust and compulsive Shakespeare quoting. He thanked us profusely and led us out after offering us milk and cookies to celebrate.
The agents and I returned to our base, where I was happy to talk to the demon computer a bit more. Then, a few days later, the madman called us up. Instead of seeing this section of the dream from my avatar's perspective, I saw the man sprawled on his back on a futon, his hook bonded to his arm, dripping blood, his crimson head band tied firmly over his eyes. All he quoted, before I woke up fully: "Not a mouse stirring."
NO MORE! I intend to post something (though most likely not part of the ongoing story) everyday. This content will instead consist of my dreams. After all, if my brain is kind enough to come up with a plot and write dialogue in my sleep, then I may as well put it to some use.
Without further ado....
Dream Log 1:
Hitler was climbing over a fence. More accurately, a man in a brown uniform, with a tiny patch of mustache and a name tag identifying him as Mr. Hilter was tying to jump a fence. Why? I haven't the foggiest. And apparently, neither did my Dreamself. It decided that this set up was too confusing and thus converted the live action into a photograph, which I found myself staring at while traveling on a bus to ancient Mayan ruins during the full Moon. Oddly specific? Perhaps.
My classmates and I got out of the bus and encountered a man ready to teach us about Mayan voting procedure. This consisted of taking a ten foot pole, laying it across everyone's laps, and forcing everyone to notch the pole once for yes and twice for no. When I notched the pole, I accidentally put in an extra notch. Have you ever tried to unnotch wood with a pocketknife? It doesn't work in dreams either.
After the demonstration, we moved into a pavilion to discuss protocol before going into the ruins. I got into a conversation with another student in which I spoke German and he spoke Portuguese (which, by the way, is clearly a dead language because obviously, Portugal was destroyed by nuclear fall out in the pie wars.)
Having completely missed the orientation, we proceeded to the ruins. However, I decided instead to log onto my laptop and attempt to make a ghost program run properly. And by ghost program, I mean my computer was haunted. Shortly after setting up the program, the computer began to zip around on legs it spontaneously sprouted, trying to kill me by eating my toes with the USB ports. Holding my feet in the air while lying on my back kept the demon hardware at bay while I waited for the rest of the group to return.
After an hour of this, the computer and I became rather friendly. I was almost sad to leave it when the teacher came back and informed me that we had to go prevent a man from losing his mind do to an evil item in his possession.
As the other agents and myself approached the nearly mad man (because fighting evil items automatically makes us agents of some sort), I saw a sharpened hook in one of his hands and a red silk headband wrapped around his head. He sneered as he saw us and sprouted Shakespeare quotes. Unfortunately, I can't recall them, but I know for a fact, that every sentence he uttered made my stomach drop. He made it quite clear that he intended to kill his wife, who was the one that had contacted us, and that we didn't have much time. Finally, we determined that a bag full of sparkles was it, and we destroyed it. As soon as we did, the man broke out into a joyous grin, swinging the hook about. I grabbed a broom and let the hook catch and dig into it to stop him, afraid he was going into a murderous rage. However, the opposite was true. He had broken free of his blood lust and compulsive Shakespeare quoting. He thanked us profusely and led us out after offering us milk and cookies to celebrate.
The agents and I returned to our base, where I was happy to talk to the demon computer a bit more. Then, a few days later, the madman called us up. Instead of seeing this section of the dream from my avatar's perspective, I saw the man sprawled on his back on a futon, his hook bonded to his arm, dripping blood, his crimson head band tied firmly over his eyes. All he quoted, before I woke up fully: "Not a mouse stirring."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)