Dream Journal

Code Elimination & Tattoo Protest

Working on a section of my code where my Dreamkeeper does a check for various IDs on a page to query and keep the IDs. But a few are redundant? And it doesn’t keep them by name, but some in between specified identifier? My wife points out that she doesn’t understand if it’s working. I don’t bother explaining how it’s supposed to work, as I’m concentrating on trying to eliminate unnecessary code, trying to understand how it’s supposed to work.

I hear about a former friend, Emily W., getting a new tattoo. I ponder how fun it would be to show up outside their tattoo parlor dressed like Frank Chu and protest it, not even acknowledge it was me or I was dressed as Frank Chu.

Meanwhile, it’s the yearly release of a list of neighborhood businesses that have either recently renovated, or turned over ownership — something that’s not quite bad exactly, but that long-time residents ought to be trepidatious about. I walk up a steep asphalt shared driveway to one of them, peering into other commercial back doors along the way. This place is a bit too fancy for me, with its siding styled to look like riveted airplane fuselage. Yet from below, the steep angle makes it appear as though it’s drifting through the sky. Looks very cool actually.

Cellspace is on the list and I’d like to check them out, too. They would be someplace to the right. But they’re not there anymore to the best of my knowledge.

Dream Journal

Old Friends, Covering Up Accidental Terrorism

In the city, walking along the sidewalk to a favorite Mexican place of mine when a light but colorful rain starts falling. Waiting in line alone, I’m concentrating on what my order will be, rock-a-pulco and some kind of snack ball. People keep cutting in front of me though I try to ignore it, when I finally reach the counter I go to the right hand side, I’m told only the left hand side has what I want. I knew this already but I suppose I’m stressed by all the people cutting. I place my order with the smaller, narrow family-run side, round the corner benches, and run into an old childhood friend, Robby T. There’s some tension as we haven’t seen each other in so long, but eventually we make friendly and I move the big wooden tables around.

I leave headed around the back way, down a dirt trail between clusters of buildings. Riding a bike, I pull over in a clump of bushes as I suspect my GPS is misleading me. Decide I need to pee anyway, but reconsider when I spot a group of women I know standing gathered under a tree nearby. Among these is Robin, but also… Emily Wentz. Somehow we begin a friendly conversation, we even smack butts, climbing into a wooden wall alcove for a longer chat. She’s herself, but older, with the reserved energy of most middle-aged adults.

I’m one of a pair of small companion robots (like PintSize from Questionable Content), and my human/creator/master is worried she’ll be caught for a terrible crime. We revisit what must’ve happened — a fiery explosion at the top of a mountainous roller-coaster, a disaster compared to a lava eruption, crowds fleeing in panic. Although she intended no such destruction, she did miscalculate, and she feels no responsibility for the accident victims. Authorities treat it as a terrorist attack even though there’s no motive.

Moving about hastily among backyard garden ponds, we obscure evidence, knowing we’re running out of time. At this point she knows she will be caught, and is only trying to protect people who helped her. While I scratch red marks into a note-taking board (mounted on the wall, using a broad flat scraper, with feigned-purposeful arcs) one such couple speak in Italian from inside their bus home. Able to robotically translate, I understand they’re trying to decide if they can pin some of their unrelated crimes on my friend/master. Something involving a kid I think. Creepy.

Dream Journal

Osmosis versus… what was the other one’s name?

I find my former roommate Emily’s dating profile. Her first pic is from our apartment hall, which tells me that she’s still nostalgic for our time together but also doesn’t share what she looks like now.

In a store’s lost and found, I discover about 30 mini discs in a CD case which I, realizing their rarity, covertly steal in my hoodie. As it happens the attendant saw me and wryly confronts me, but after I tell him what they are and what I’m going to do with them — transfer them to archival digital — he gives a mysterious little nod of passing. Despite what I’d usually do I go right to work on them but there’s something amiss and none of them read correctly.

Sitting in a middle row of a classroom, Robby in the row ahead of me, Michael (Mickey before he was Mickey) in the row behind. Unusual as it’s the second night in a row I’ve dreamt of both of them.

I creep quietly toward the door of Aislinn’s North Beach apartment where there’s a bright glowing fishtank in window, but the rest of her lights are off so I leave without knocking.

Dream Journal

Strange New Apartment with Strange People

Was moving out of a place on Mission street. Went through a lost and found hamper that turned out to be filled with my own clothes. My dad was there cleaning also and put his stereo system and a bunch of CDs in his car. He drove down Mission street fast enough to spin out into a storefront made with cutouts of San Francisco.

I was in the elevator to a possible new apartment with Lynae. I had a metal cart filled with our stuff. We were headed for the eighth floor but the elevator stopped at the seventh. Not noticing, we got off, but I got back on once we realized. Lynae couldn’t get back on and I couldn’t figure out how to get the elevator buttons to scroll up to the 8th floor. My doppelgänger came onto the elevator at this time; I was unsure whether to send him away or make out with him (as I’ve always expected I might). Finally I got to the 8th floor. Our former roommates Matt and Emily might’ve been the landlords. Outsides of people’s apartment doors was decorated with knickknacks and tasteful lighting. I entered my prospective home and met the roommates who lived there. Most were very attractive 20-something girls, including a pair of twins who looked like my attractive Australian acquaintance Hemmy. One of the twins had a developmental abnormality that affected her symmetry… she had three breasts and, when she casually rolled over, I saw two assholes. I engaged in easy, free-flowing conversation with all the roommates from a ledge in their open plan home. Due to the liberated vibe I was sitting with my dick hanging out; unfortunately where I was sitting only one girl could see it and she was the least attractive to me. The apartment was decorated with colorful lace curtains and pastels, underlit beds and fancy framed art. It had a view out to the city and as I and a few of the girls watched, a van driving a trailer drove off a nearby roof. It fell a ways before veering up, as if swimming against the force of gravity.

The dream began to fall apart as I realized how dream-like it was, but I pulled an interesting trick. I pretended that I had simply blacked-out in the dream world (perhaps taken a bad pill). This worked, and I ended up back in the sexy apartment with the two-breasted twin showing me that she had gone through my art works and found one she wanted to build off of (it was a pressed plastic sheet of a skateboard wheel with the word ‘concrete’ embossed above it). We made out and it was intense, pulling each other’s hair and fervently tonguing.

Dream Journal

Dino Hunting, Run-in with Old Roomie

Hunting/harassing a Stegosaurus that was more like a horse. We were Native Americans from the Twilight series.

Ran into Emily Wentz while going downhill in North Beach at night. Was so happy to see each other we immediately went to her open-air place to have sex. Was a rip in the condom, but I initially ignore it There was a hole in the next one too.


Flowers and Trees

A long while back, way in April 2004, I made a school project to impress a girl. +20 Dork points.

Good news and bad news about the outcome: it totally worked, she and everyone present thought it was a masterpiece. Even better, afterwards she wanted to get the software I used. From me. Bow-chicka-wow. Bad news: when I met her in the library, I acted the total dork-azoid. Had it not been for the timely appearance of my good friend Emily, I am certain I would have tumbled headfirst-chairlast into a piece of abstract art. Bad abstract art. Thankfully, Emily also gave us the topic of couples with matching hair (she and her dood both sported Pepé le Pew styles at the time—neither knew of the other’s current look until they first met—aww). The nervous klutz-ass factor, despite the presence of awesome friends, and combined with the fact the software later might’ve got that girl a virus (oops)… all of them accounted for why I didn’t do so well that season.

But that’s alright. I later learned on some pseudo-date with her roommate that she was a massive sto-o-oner rivaling Tommy Chong. Some things aren’t meant to be. Now that is hearsay and if you’re reading this, business major Maria T., you do have a chance to defend yourself. What totally reasonable explanation can you think of that we shouldn’t have worked out, other than the fact I acted like a doofus (the bad kind)? Cause that doesn’t count.

At least I got a movie out of it. It is what those involved in online, remix and collage culture might call a “mashup,” and what my parents might call “pretty neat.” Normal people might call it “putting the sound from one thing with the video from something else.” Your pick. Samples include:

  • 1932 Disney classic (now public domain) “Flowers and Trees”
  • Air and Jean-Jacques Perry — Cosmic Bird
  • Malagena something mourning song
  • Secret Chiefs 3 — Dolorous Stroke
  • Joan Jett

That’s all I have to say on that. I didn’t get the girl, but I did get the A+. Go figure.