Tag: beer

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Dream Journal

Plarvolia’s Drop

I’m visiting a friend’s house, Andi. She lives in a converted Victorian shop with tall frame windows located on a corner somewhere in San Francisco, possibly SOMA. Her roommates aren’t home but one of them is Plarvolia. I’m not terribly worried about when she gets home; I’m here to see my friend and not to have anything to do with her. I’m relaxing on a couch that has a textural quality like dried noodles, enjoying the many plants and moss that grow in the excellent indoor sunlight. Plarvolia gets home and makes an offended noise for her own companions to hear, but otherwise doesn’t bother me. Then while I’m laying on the couch looking up I see her poke her head out of a square interior window upstairs holding a few full beer bottles. She drops them on me, aiming for my face. One lands on my neck which quite hurts. I bolt upright coughing and immediately lay into her demanding to know what the fuck, lady. This appears to be exactly what she wanted. With friends behind her she plays accusatorial, accusing me of all sorts of malice just being here. I know legally I’d be totally in the right (I could’ve been seriously injured if her aim was better) but with her loyalists barking behind her I’m chased out of the building.

The look on her face when she dropped those bottles. I don’t know. It wasn’t frightening or malicious, not particularly. There was an element of enjoyment that she knew exactly what to do. But it was something else, too. I put off writing about this all day despite taking some basic notes when I woke up. She’s become something so different to me in my dreams than where she started. I still only barely know this girl, really — mostly through old tweets way back when. What am I supposed to do with this character, this representation, who is so willing to harm me for a moment of her inconvenience? Is avoiding her at all costs really the best I can hope? I don’t *want* to hope for anything else. I certainly didn’t in this dream. Her face was the face of someone who I thought I could love, now become the face of someone who clearly hates me. Wtf, lady… who are you anyways?

Categories
Dream Journal

Too Long at the Library

As I’m about to wake up, I get my nipple piercing caught on the blanket while rolling over in bed. Though it’s quite painful I don’t call out. I don’t even know how I suppressed it — but perhaps a decent amount of dreams were lost due to that accident.

I’ve spent days or weeks at a library. Spacious oblique concrete-walled rooms, though the order of the shelves never makes sense. I remember in particular three shelves contained in a box of rectangle, lined up diagonal. There’s a stage show put on where the stage is level with the audience floor. As I’m finally hoping to leave I locate several Deep Space Nine station model kits that you can check out and build. Fair to expect my wife to be thrilled by this discovery.

Not long after I finally leave the library I set up a booth on the sidewalk. I pour myself a beer and start drinking, because that’s what I set up this booth for. On a wintry sandy curved road, I sit at the booth, and I drink beer. Anyone who wants to come can join me.

Categories
Dream Journal

Small Apartment in Tower above Asian Grocery

A very small Japanese-style apartment on its own floor at the top of a tower. So tiny when I sweep rat poo with my feet, it flies over the balcony. Every surface is covered with all my possessions.

At the base of the tower is an Asian grocery. They have great prices on packs of beer, specifically Kirin — a big label advertising it above the glass door in a refrigerated aisle. The catch is: the beer is dehydrated and a pack comes in a single can. I remember this only when I realize I still have a can-pack at home in the (tiny) fridge drawer.

The grocery also sells antiques in an aisle behind the beer. One such curiosity is an elaborate frame drum in the abstract shape of a lizard, paint-daubed with black spots. Made with different striking surfaces for different sounds (including part that looks like a cheese grater). I play contentedly for a bit. While sitting there I watch a tiny dinosaur, a miniature Triceratops perhaps, be chased over some hills by a rabbit or other small mammal. Filming it on my phone, I bemusedly note that no one is likely to believe it’s not even CGI.

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Dream Journal

Different Kind of European City

I’m traveling Europe with a friend. I’m drinking good beer from a very thin silver can. It’s from Crate and Barrel and its embossed. I attend an outdoor concert from one of the Balkan bands I used to listen to in the early 2000s. The crowd, mostly male, does a wave of the song “Kassaka”. The concert is over and we leave, paying for some poles but not the beer. We carry our bags of clothes on rafts through a canal. I see maintenance workers on an encased rock. A pair of exhausted teenagers swims up and wants to use one of our boats to rest on.

The city turns out to be Paris. I visit what’s supposed to be CCSF Paris, with a big red heart, but it’s just a site under some freeway overpasses on the outskirts. People are looking at faded but stunningly large graffiti and there’s light pouring in from above. I think I’ve lost two rings in the canal swim, but then I find them on the ground, bent and crushed. I also pick up.a watch band.

I’m nursing Chris’ dick back to health. I’m reassured, as I empty both mine and his, that they’re about the same size. His seems whiter and cleaner though. I think about testing whether it’s more sensitive, but decide masturbating with it would be uncouth.

I saw Steen across the street from my house getting into a convertible to drive away. I stopped getting in my car and came up to say hi. I told him I lived across the street, he asked “oh, in Pete’s old place?”

Categories
Glot

Spelling Bee(r)

I went to a spelling bee tonight. It was a special spelling bee… one made just for San Francisco. With beer.

A spelling bee for drunk adults, where the words are often inappropriate, misspelled, or shouted out by the audience. It ended with a cage match. Still with me? They put the last two drunk, adult spellers in a big giant plastic (or was it cardboard?) cage and make them spell things like “cunnilingus.” I didn’t have the fortitude to actually try and win, so instead I wore one of several metal colander bowls circulating about, placing it on my head, and given the word “xylograph” I spelled l-e-t-s-d-a-n-c-e. Which, yes, is kind of dumb—but entertaining nonetheless. For the record I could’ve easily spelled xylograph.

And I met a girl. Some cute nerdy kind, no doubt, the kind that wants to pick up dudes at a drunk spelling bee by giving them their Flickr screenname. Oh, who am I kidding… that girl would be Meredith, who is the primary reason that this entry didn’t get posted until January 2008, more than a year later. I didn’t have the analytic skills and distance skills necessary to make a fun entertaining lighthearted post for awhile. And, like many things, I just never got around to it. But—this being the impartial and startlingly complete record that it is—I’ll attempt an account.

After she gave me the Flickr-name, I kinda teased her a bit. See, no girl had ever tried to give me her number with a screenname before. Suppose I should’ve starting getting used to it this being San Francisco and all. But I was new to town; what can I say. After being adequately teased, she gave me her AIM name. Even funnier. Of course, if you understand women, you’ll understand the obviousness of why she gave me her number after that. Women respond to teasing, says I. Cool girl, I found out. I saw her again later, we hit it off, things progressed for a little bit and then they didn’t, petered off… old story. Didn’t last that long, maybe two weeks all told. Gave me a lot of happiness, but a dangling feeling. Left me wanting more, which I eventually found. “Worth it” is what I’m trying to say. That’s it. That’s all there was. All because of a spelling bee.

This is gonna be an awesome town to live in, huh?