…I’m both back in college and not sure why I’m not graduating and stuck living in a semi-finished shack somewhere in the woods surrounding, presumably, Evergreen. I’ve had this particular combo before. As the dream picks up, I’m frowning at the rude wood floors of my shack and wondering where to pick up some cheap carpeting. I’m also wondering if the rain will get in and ruin the cheap carpeting.
Then I’m off visiting someone, maybe a party (details blurry) and I “borrow” a dress and a baseball cap to wear to some other function later that night which I’d rather attend (wearing a dress and a baseball cap, obviously). I check to see if the dress matches the baseball cap color-wise, and I’m pleased to see that it does (in real life, Shawn’s been after me to wear matching colors). I’m carrying the dress and the hat back to my shack, but then either the shack is much bigger or I’ve stopped off at another, much-bigger shack, because a guy named Charlie that I know in real life, is there with a rock and roll band. He’s managing them, putting on the show, and playing in the band. In real life, Charlie and I had some rocky times before we lost track of each other, and in the dream I try to apologize to him, but he’s still stiff-necked about the whole thing. He and the band start tuning up (still no audience, oddly enough), and I try to figure out a place to slip away and put on the dress and the hat…
☆☆☆
…we’re down at the Pacific Science Center, you me Roy and maybe one or two other fellows, except that it’s deserted and run-down, as if it had been abandoned after the Fair. I get the impression that security still goes around there, though. We stop by this merchandise rack that we’ve looted before, and I find a few watches, including one that’s jet black with a tiny white face. You tell me not to take it because it’s a $20,000 watch, and we might get caught! I grumble because I need a watch, but we move on.
Then we’re somewhere at Northgate–Nordstrom’s–and I buy a normal-looking, shiny watch (like the one I had until recently in real life). I’m worried about my credit card going through, but we make the purchase; then you start saying, “Let’s go to the bathroom.” I wonder what you mean by this, but we go to the bathroom, and it turns out to be an illegal moonshine still. There’s also a picture window letting in light from the outside! A huge picture window. So, we run the still which blows a huge amount of bubble bath soap, and I keep freaking out thinking someone will look in the picture window…
★★★
…we’re with your parents at a truck stop. That is, I know it’s a truck stop through dream logic, but what it actually looks like is an internet cafe or a college computer room with keyboards and terminals. But I’m vaguely aware of some truckers milling about. Then we’re all watching something on one terminal and it’s your basic slasher scenario, with a guy knocking out a young woman, then picking up a power saw. Your mother gets that disconcerted air she’s prone to whenever she walks in on something really gross, and we agree, you, your father, and I, that maybe truckers should be watching something else during their breaks…
☆☆☆
I’m learning guitar. My cute guitar instructor says she can’t teach me barre chords. I pick out the melody of “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away,” one one string and flash back to doing this in real life on a strumstick. But I don’t know any of the chords.
I go to my guitar tech because my strings are loose. He tightens them, but then this imperious guy who looks a little like a wild-haired Muppet shows up. He’s very rich and he starts to spank my guitar tech for working on somebody else’s guitars. I decide to piss on the rich guy and take the consequences. He’s holding his eyes open furiously while I piss on his head.
★★★
I’m looking out the window of the dining room in the house where I grew up. The Striecher’s house is still down the hill from us as it is in real life, but so is a three-story glass-fronted structure with well-dressed people fine-dining on one level. The other two levels have electrical apparatus. I consider spying on the diners with binoculars, but I wonder if they’ll see the glint of the lenses…
☆☆☆
I’m watching an elaborate awards ceremony for PKA Full-Contact Karate, and flashing back to watching point karate before a PKA match, in the long-ago days of ESPN. Every man standing on stage has a huge medallion of dull metal around his neck with the number 37 on it. I’m trying to figure out what 37 means to them all and then O.J. Simpson’s head, big as a Honda Civic, shoots overhead and joins the honored on stage, only O.J. shrinks as he gets further away to me, eventually to the size of a nickel…
