dream journal 2000

well, you didn't ask for it, but here it is. welcome to my subconscious. i don't know why anyone would care, but for the last 5 years or so i've taken it upon myself to share my dreams -- sometimes amusing, sometimes mundane -- with the on-line community. if this is your first visit here i recommend that you start at the beginning and work your way up to the present day me. archives are linked below. and if you're a regular visitor, i can't say that i understand why you keep coming back, but thanks and enjoy.

11 december 2000
i am on my hands and knees crawling through a skanky public restroom. the ground is wet and grey and this painstaking process makes my stomach turn. when i am finally able to stand (why was i crawling in the first place? i do not know) i immediately spit on the ground. noticing how the spit conjoins and swirls with the water already on the ground, i cringe; how many others had done the same? and why the hell did i do that anyway? feeling nauseous, i reel into an empty stall

10 december
i'm at the zoo during their big holiday shindig. i'm not a part of the party, i'm just there to visit the zoo and by coincidence have arrived on the day of the event. there are lots of people around dressed in their finest shmoozing like mad. there's a sudden commotion coming from the champagne table. the fops are gasping in my general direction. i turn to discover a chimpanzee has escaped its cage and is now headed straight for me. not wanting to make any sudden moves, i begin to inch away from the animal, but you know one really cannot dissuade a chimp from its goal and before i know it the monkey has attached herself to my shoulder. she's not biting or scratching, really, but she is quite firmly in place. adjusting to my new appendage, i walk around the park looking for help. i should mention that this is no small primate. we're talking, like 80 pounds, 4 feet tall. i'm mostly concerned that at any moment the chimp could freak out and maul me, but for now we're okay. slowly i wend my way down to the main area where people are congregated. the gathered partygoers continue to express dismay at my friend, but no one is doing anything about it. my chimp friend starts to get anxious and fidgety. she points up into the bleachers. there is a man there with an assault rifle. "gee," i think to myself, "that's an overreaction to a docile escaped animal. animal tranquilizers are more routine." just then, the chimp leans down and whispers in my ear, "it's not me they're after, it's you." i look back up at the assassin in the bleachers and sure enough his gun is trained on me. in a panic i dive behind the first person i see, who happens to be my aunt. the gun fires and my aunt screams in pain. i curse my selfish reflexes. "auntie, are you all right?" i ask. she thinks for a moment and says, "yes, i'm fine" with a shrug.

i'm on a roadtrip through the american south. "next stop, kentucky!" we pull up to a scenic ocean beach. "where are we?" i ask. "west virginia, of course," comes the answer. well, that makes more sense than kentucky, cuz where's the ocean in kentucky? but how did we get here so fast? i decide not to worry about it and go for a swim.

7 december
i'm at the studio retreat/holiday party. this year, it is being held at some mountain resort. we're showing films (in a theatre that looks suspiciously like the guild) of old animation -- chuck jones, and the like. i wander off in the middle of the screening and go to one of the smaller rooms in the complex.

6 december
i have decided to buy a pick up truck and where else does one get a good deal on big ass trucks? central oregon. natch. so i drive out to some podunk town out in the middle of nowhere and get a great deal on an enormous toyota tacoma. the sticker price is in the low 5 digits, but when i offer $7500 the dealer shrugs and accepts my offer. a little belatedly i try to do some math in my head to try to figure out how much my payments will be and whether i can afford to buy this truck... and why did i need it anyway? as i'm getting ready to leave i realize another flaw in my thinking: how the hell am i going to get my old car *and* my new truck back to portland? i wasn't trading in my old car, i just wanted the truck, too. unable to work it out in my mind i decide to leave my car, drive my truck back to town and worry about the logistics later. after all, i'm late for work. as i drive back i figure that i can get darcy to drive me out there tomorrow and we can caravan back. however, that's an awfully big favor to ask -- it would be a time committment of, like, 6 hours -- and i'm not sure if she'll even have time. then, darcy is in the car in the passenger seat and i'm trying to drive frm the backseat, kind of leaned ofver the driver's seat. but, not surprisingly, my driving is erratc so i ask darcy if she'll take the helm. she does, but she gets terribly lost and we wind up in some unknown section of portland. somehow we do manage to get on the right track back to the house.
at some point as i approach my house and pull into the parking lot my car is no longer in central oregon; it's now parked downtown, which does make fetching it a little easier, but now i have to worry about the whole meter thing. right now t's after 6 so i don't have to worry about it, but i know i won't be able to get down before 8 AM so i'll have to get the car soemtime tonight -- or just accept another parking ticket.
when i go inside mom is there, snacking on delicacies from taco bell. she is trying to teach the cats how to sit, stay, etc. using raw chicken scraps as treats. the cats are tiny, smaller than my fist, and they scamper about ike mice.

4 december
i am screening a movie in my apartment. it looks nothing like my apartment. in fact it looks nothing like any aprtment i'v eever lived in. it's lovely, all hardwood floors and high ceilings. it's san francisco spacious -- i.e., small, but efficiently laid out, attractive and open. surprisingly, it is spacious enough to fit several people for the screening. actually, almost 200 people by my count. as i look around at how crowded the apartment is i wonder how we'e going to fit even more people in the place for my up-coming birthday party. (in real life, i don't think more than 200 people will come to my birthday party, tho i am worried about the space issue.) i wander out into the hallway to see just how much space we have available. i notice that there is another, also very spacious apartment just accross the hall from mine. then i remember that sinead o'connor lives in that apartment. the door is open so i peek inside. her place is much larger and more open than mine. the living room has a kind of musuem pristineness to it. there are lots of expensive looking art pieces and artifacts carefully arranged on plinths and in cases. i wonder if she would allow my party to spill over into her place as that would be the ideal solution to my space problems for my birthday. i wonder if she would worry about her obviously expensive and delicate art objects. in particular i worry about a buddhist shrine set up behind the door. i'd feel terrible if that got broken, but i figure we can put a screen around it or something.

3 december
i have made plans to go out with suzie and jenn e. i'm in my apartment (which kinda looks like the old gladstone apartment), playing video games while i wait for them to show up. i hear a key jingling in the lock and i fear that someone is trying to break into the apartment. i sneak up to the window and peek out. it's ray. i remember that he said he'd be around. he wanted to check all the locks because someone had been breaking into the apartments. i realize that jenn and suzie are both very late. have they stood me up? i remember that several people that neither of them like are going to be where we had planned to go so they've decided to skip out.

1 december
i receive a package in the mail. a pleasing size and shape, it looked to be a paperback book. ripping the package open i notice the return address is cam's. funny, i think, why is cam mailing me a package instead of just giving it to me at work? i pull out my delivery to find a handsome zine with a full color cover. strangely, though great attention was given to the design of the cover, it's been photocopied crooked so that it doesn't quite line up right and the staple goes through the title. i can't remember the title (it was hard to read anyway), but i see that it is in fact written by cam. i figure he wanted to mail it to me rather than just give it to me because maybe he was embarassed or something. anyway, on the cover he lists some of the titles of the articles and i am surprised to note that there is an article i wrote. it's something from off of my website. at first i'm miffed that he took my writing without asking, but then i'm flattered that he included it in the zine. i settle in to read my own article.

26 nov
i am in a bar (looks like the gypsy, only brighter) with my mom and my sister. mom decides that she really wants to sit at a round table, but the only round table in the room is already occupied by a lone woman. mom makes a big scene of demanding that the woman give up her table, but the woman holds her ground. over mom's exhorations the woman just keeps shouting "rectangle! rectangle!" and points to a rectangular table. vanessa and i try to look small and removed

18 nov
what is this beastie boys thing? i think maybe at this point it's just self-perpetuating. what do you think? dereth said maybe it has to do with tibet. anyway. here's the dream: i'm watching television in my living room flipping channels. as i cruise past mtv i see that they're doing a story on the beastie boys so i stop and watch for a bit. as voice-over narration outlines the bios of the beastie boys, each boy in turn walks silently up to the camera and stands motionless in all white room (think gap ads) until the narration is no longer about them at which point they move aside and the next boy comes up. i note that mike d is cuter than i had previously thought and in a moment of subconscious confusion i wonder if he's still married to ione skye. (just for clarity's sake, in real life, mike d is not now nor has he ever been married to ione skye. that's adam horovitz.)

8 novemeber
mom, vanessa and i are going to a beastie boys show at the aladdin , tho the venue actually looks like the 5th ave cinemas. too small for the b-boys, i think, but i'm surprised to find when we get there that there's hardly anyone else in attendance. maybe 5 people total. sure, teh opening band is still playing, but it's the beastie boys! we settle into seats and we're half-listening to whoever the opening band is when in walk the beastie trio in the flesh and sit down right behind us. adam horovitz is having difficulty sitting still (a la roadside prophets) and isn't really paying attention to the band so he leaves after awhile. i turn around to gawk at the two remaining. mike d sits slouched in his seat looking bored and annoyed. adam yauch isn't really adam yauch at all. in fact he looks exactly like michael franti, of spearhead, formerly of disposable heroes of hiphoprosy. when mca/franti notices us he turns on the charm. or rather, when he notices my sister. she is totally unimpressed with him and harumphs at his advances. me, i'm trying to talk to him , but he's not very interested. he thinks we don't know who he is so he introduces himself as "adam clayton powell, III" which i think is a pretty funny nod to the b-boys' adam dynasty AND, surprisingly, to the historic black leader. he seems both impressed and apalled that we brought our mother to their show.

5 november
i am at the studio at 8 AM one morning because cam asked me to come in early. i had worked a regular shift the night before (i.e., until 1 AM) so i am very VERY tired. i have these boards i have to get off of the storyboard computer and import into filemaker, but something's going really wrong with filemaker and the boards won't import. i go to see ken -- whose desk was in the back in the art department -- to see if he could fix the computer. he was working on it for some time and i realize that i still haven't seen cam yet this morning so he didn't know that i had indeed come in early. as i start to make my way to the avid rooms, i realize that when he said i needed to come in early he meant, like, noon, not 8 o'clock. i feel like a dweeb, but figure, well, since i'm here i might as well work. there are some shots i need to bring into avid 2 for some reason so i go into chris's office. he seems to have just woken up and is getting dressed, tucking his shirt into his pants and he seems terribly embarassed that i've caught him doing this, though i don't know why since he's fully clothed. his outfit is truly impressive: a dark blue shark skin suit and a diaphanous pink shirt, embroidered on the chest. he looks older than usual and his hair is longer and greyer. hmmm... now that i think about it he actually looked exactly like chel w. anyway. he laughs off his embarassment and says "at least i wasn't licking crumbs off my chair." at least. i explain that i need to bring in these shots and does he mind if i do that now? and he says go ahead and then he leaves the room so i can get to work. i start up film composer (which i have to log into like aol), but once i get past the log in screen i get an error message that says the computer doesn't recognize the mouse, nor the cd drive. i try a few different things to get it to work, but i'm suddenly so very tired. i can barely think i'm so tired. it is, after all, quite early in the morning for me. i turn around and realize that chris has a HUGE king-sized bed in his office with lots of fluffy, inviting comforters and blankets. well, i think to myself, i can certainly take just a short little nap. i crawl into bed and as i'm drifting off to sleep i notice a big painting on the wall of a man's head that's been covered up by a poster. the man in the portrait is some famous spiritual leader (but i can't remember who... maybe gandhi?) and the last thing i remember thinking before drifting off to sleep is that covering up that portrait is probably bad karma.
a brief aside : dontcha just love dreams where you sleep in the dream? they're so restful.
when i wake up i realize that i've been asleep for some time, hours perhaps. i feel terribly bad about this because i know that chris didn't come in to the room to work at all in that time because he didn't want to bother me. i pull myself together and go look for either cam (to see if he has anything for me to do) or chris (to apologize for sleeping for so long). i go by cam's office, but he's not there. apparently, there's some problem with his computer and thee's a tech support person there trying to fix it. the tech support person is a young japanese woman in totally hipster garb. in fact she looks so hip it's hard to believe she's doing this job and not working at an art gallery or something.
much, much later in the dream and probably unconnected: i am in a small-ish room with about 20 other people and someone in the crowd is very angry with me. he looks like he's about to punch me when several people hold him back, but it's taking, like, five people to hold him back and i'm really scared that he's about to break free. a friend of mine rushes in and whips a big-ass shot gun out from under his trenchcoat. as he tchung-tchunks! it everyone in the room simultaneously reaches for their weapons and in a moment all twenty people are trapped in a ridiculous tarantino-esque mexican standoff. each person has a different weapon, and it's almost comical the number of different weapons in the room. one person has a bazooka, another a grenade launcher, another has a musket. i'm the only unarmed one. with my hands in the air i say "whoa! whoa! everyone calm down! slowly put your wepons down and sit on the floor." to my surprise everyone does this. i guess they were just as scared as i was. everyone is now sitting cross-legged on the floor with their weapons sitting in front of them. "okay," i say to the tension-filled room, "we can work this out." just then a gun goes off. there's a brief volley of gunfire in reaction but it stops and we try to figure out who started it. who could have? nobody had their hand on a weappon. and then it happens again and chaos breaks out. in the melee i run over to a wall where i thought i heard the gunshots originate. there i find a gun on the floor shooting by itself. above the gun is taped to the wall a manifesto of the national front party, the radical right wing french faction, signed by a man named "alain retour" who i understand to be the leader of the party. the national front is obviously trying to incite a race war with me at the center. isn't that what you would do if you were trying to take political control of france?

2 november
i'm standing on the lawn in front of elliott with my sister and darcy. vanessa explains that we need to go to the moon to pick up the baby, who i believe is rebecca, but i'm not sure. she points to the moon, large and luminous on the horizon and says "it shouldn't take long." we all climb into a helicopter that looks like it was built by fisher-price -- all heavy plastic in bright primary colors with rounded edges. ness checks the tank and says "i hope this is enough to get us there and back. i don't think there are any refueling stations up there." we set up with a quickly accelerating taxi run down the middle of the lawn. and before i know it we're floating in space, hurtling toward the moon. the ride is remarkably smooth and comfortable and, true to vanessa's word, we're on the moon in no time. rebecca is there, as a baby, in an elaborate car seat made of metal. since there isn't enough room for all of us plus the baby in the fisher-price helicopter, we have to take one of the moon transports back. it looks like the desert transport vehicles from "return of the jedi" -- kinda like a very large hoverboard with handlebars with a 5-10 person capacity. i'll drive this thing with the baby and darcy as my passengers and vanessa will take the fisher-price copter. i briefly worry whether or not it's a bad idea to travel in outer space in an open vehicle, but then i realize that if i'm standing on the moon breathing freely, then i should have no problem traveling through space without any breathing/atmospheric presure apparati. we take off and i have some difficulty balancing the baby and steering, but i manage. we land safely back on campus and unload. i suddenly feel that i need (or just really want) to go back to the moon. i get back on the hoverboard. darcy says "you won't have enough gas." i initially shrug off her warning, but just in case i check the tank and see that it's only about half full. now i begin to worry. "i don't think i can make it," i say and i point to the moon which is now high in the sky. "when we went the first time the moon was much closer, and i'd have enough gas to go that far, but now that i's farther away i won't be able to make it." although darcy already seems to understand,i ilustrate to her the problem by leading her into sallyport where on the walls is written all the names of the senior students who have orals that day. i explain that it would take teh time of four orals to go to the moon and back now whereas our first trip took the time of one.

31 october
a little background first: as anyone who's been around me in the last several months can tell you, i've been an insufferable nader-supporter. i won't go into my reasons here, but just understand that i've been talking big afor a while now about defending democracy and the american way. so last night i dream that it's electn night and i'm watching the results on tv. gore is winning, and quite handily. an intense sense of relief -- INTENSE -- washes over me. whn i wake up i feel my nader resolve waver.

30 october
so this wasn't really a dream, exactly, as my dreams are usually pretty narrative, even if in an illogical way. this "dream" was all about the miuntiae of my job at vinton. i was puzzling over frame counts, entering data into filemaker, wondering what the hell the logs are doing on this side of the room. say didn't that shot used to be 33 frames? so why does the log say 34? later, i am driving down 21st with joe in his car and we pass billy g who is walking down the sidewalk carrying a woman in his arms. we wave hello.
so i'm in this brazil-esque warren of a dystopian nightmare. gray concrete, high celings, cameras everywhere. and i'm supposed to be participating in some kind of eating contest. it's strange becuase i'm not sure what the participants in teh eating contest wil be judged on. it's not your usual kind of eating conetst judged solely on volume. or maybe it is. i'm not really sure. at some point someone leans over to me and says "it's not how much you eat, it's how smart." but i'm not sure what she means by it and i figure that in lieu of a clearer explanation i'd better just assume i'm being judged by volume. there is only one other contestant, a heavy set, middle aged man. the first course in a killer : pasta. stuffed shells, spaghetti, rigatoni in marinara sauce -- you name it. the contest is conducted at a long, black marble table in the middle of this cold, empty hall. the spectators watch with rapt interets, hanging on our every chew and swallow. it's difficult to bear their piercing stares, but in a way it helps because i'm so focused on them that i barely even notice when the pasta course is over. for teh next round i have to sit in a separate room all by myself in what looks like a dentist's chair (except taht it, and everything in the room, is all black). there's this fold out lcd screen on the sie of the dentist's chair which i understand to be a camera recording device of some kind. i'm supposed to record this portion of the contest -- for posterity, i suppose. i set up the camera and roll out a five tiered stainless steel tray (the only non-black thing in the room) and start the next course... mmm! sushi! i eat through the first tray and skip down to the bottom tray. it's full of dim sum, mostly baus and haw gow and othe rdumpling-like items. yummy. i start to dig in and then realize it's a trick. i shouldn't fill up on these doughy, greasy treats. i go back to the sushi, but i'm terribly full. even my favorite suhi seems unappealing. and with panic realize that i forgot to set the aperture on the camera. oh well. it'll probably be okay.
next course is dessert and it's back in the main hall. when i go back i remember that it doesn't matter if i win the contest or not. i'm actually here as a secret agent with an assignment to assasinate the other contestatnt. he seems to know this, too, and even jokes about it with me (something like, "well, if you don't kill me, the cheesecake will!") but i am not in a joking mood. i don't really want to kill this guy. how will i do it? he's toio big for me to take in a fight. i don't have any weapons. my fears subside somewhat when i see the pj's stage manager there. she is pouring wine for the two contestants and as she hands me my glass she winks. i understand that the wine is poisoned and she's taken care of the assasination plot for me. thank god. now i can just enjoy my dessert -- without wine, of course.

27 october
i have been given the task of logging every track on the new beastie boys box set which includes absolutely everything recorded by the boys. i mean, EVERYTHNG. even if adrock accidentally hit "record" between bong hits in the living room -- it's on the cd. even if mca hocked a loogie onto the mix console -- on the cd. even if mike d... well, you get the point. so anyway, i'm wearing headphones and going through hours upon hours of tape writing down a description of the track and its time code location (why is there time code on a cd? i don't know). someone comes up to me and says, "boy, you're so lucky you got this job." i grunt an acknoledgement. "you know," person continues, "this will be the most important album since 'sounds of science'."

26 october
i'm in the bathroom of auntie jojo's old house in clyde making soap. i've got my molds all set. my plan is to make a plain white soap on the bottom and then cover the top with a clear, gelatinous layer full of dried cranberries. the overall effect will be like a cherry cheesecake. as i slice up the molds i realize the error of my thinking -- how will the gelatinous layer hold its shape? as i am experimenting some of cranberry layer goes down the drain. i have no choice but to try to fish it out of the drain with my bare hands which i don't enjoy because it's really squishy down there. i pull up a handful of cranberries and am dismayed to note that the lye has completely discolored them and they are stark white. time to give up on this hwole project.

24 october
something about being very underdressed in a very fancy restauarnt. appetizers come to the table : shrimp. hmmm. am i supposed to use my fingers? i don't see a seafood fork so i do. gasps from the other side of the restaurant.

23 october
this is the mysterious part of my notes :
house has secret pasages -- "poison darts"
uh, right. but the rest of the dream i remember pretty well.
the film center was located in my apartment and we were preparing for some kind of celebratory festivities. howard was there and he was setting out the food. i noticed that he was eating something kind of strange looking and asked him what it was -- he showed me the box. it was teriyaki-cheddar flavored camembert cheese. good lord! i marvel at the heresy of flavoring camembert cheese - especially with a strong cheese flavor. ellen is bring out a cake decorated with fancy candles. she tells us that she has an extensive collection of birthday candles, but warns us that she cannot blow them out in teh dark because it makes her see stars which in turn makes her so dizzy that she passes out cold. so we must leave the lights on for the blowing out of the candles.
an unrelated dream: i am alone in mom's house, puttering around the kitchen. there's a sound coming from upstairs -- is that the television? no! it's someone playing the recorder! but i know i'm alone in the house -- or rather, supposed to be alone -- so, with great fear i deduce that some freak has broken into the house and is now waiting to kill me (but for now is just playing the recorder). i move quickly and quietly toward the door trying not to arouse suspicion. i dash off towards auntie helen's house, and just in time, it seems, as she is just leaving her house as i approach, she can see that i'm in distress so she helps me inside and i explain to her my situation. she asks if i want to call the police and i'm not sure. after all, i still don't know what the intruder's intentions are. maybe i should just wait for mom to get home. "well," she says, "while you wait for her why don't you relax in one of my hot tubs?" i look around and realize she's tranformed her house into a kind of spa. there are a dozen or so hot tubs lined up in her living room and people are soaking in the tubs. i don't have my swimsuit and i don't really want to strip down to my skivvies in front of her clientele (who are mostly middle aged men) so i roll up my pants and sit on the edge of the tub with my feet in the water. well, i think, if there is a homicidal maniac in my mom's house, this is a pleasant enough trade-off.

21 october
vanessa has come up to visit. we're shopping in northwest when i remember some errand i need to run and i tell her i'll meet her at the corner of 21st and johnson in a few minutes. i dash off. i don't recall what my errand was, but on my way to or from it i run into some friends who invite me to dinner with them and i go.we're at a rstaurant eating and having a good time when i realize t's been hours since i told vanessa i'd be right back. i say we'd better get going and we leave the restuarant. but instead of oing up to northwest we go down to an amusement park set up near the river -- kind of like the rose festival fun center only more elaborate. i worry about vanessa, but when we get out of the car i see that she is there talking to a friend. in an attempt to cover up my gaffe i say, "oh, there you are! i've been looking for you all over!" she only rolls her eyes and keeps talking to her friend.
later, i decide we should go to the coast. i just saw an item on the evening news about a statue of sylvester stallone that's just been built on a beach near astoria. i'd like to go visit it. we get to the beach and it's packed with tourists frolicking in the surf. i don't see the statue. so i walk along the beach noting how preciptous the sandy dunes are. finally i get to an isolated, unpopulated section of beach where i find the statue. it's quite impressive; several heads taller than life-size and dressed all in black, mr stallone looks quite imposing on this empty beach. to his left is a larger monument, this one commemorating the filming of "goonies" back in the eighties. i guess folks just wanted to be reminded of the good ol' days when oregon had a film industry. the momument features all the main characters frozen in a pose from the movie. the curious thing is that none of the characters have heads. it's conceptual, i guess. as i look at the monument i suddenly think, "wait a minute! wasn't _i_ in this movie? where's my character?" i try to walk around to the other side of the monument to find my statue but the tide is coming in now and quickly so i have to keep running up the beach to get away from the waves and then running back down to look at the statue. the waves are coming in fast and hard now; one knocks me off my feet and sweeps me all the wasy up to the road. i see a distant mountain and note that it is wet. "good god," i think, "the tide is going to go all the way up to that mountain!" so i give up trying look at the statue and wait for low tide.

18 october
i am on a film shoot with lots of people from the film center. we're shooting at some rural gas station, presumably in eastern oregon. for some unknown reason i am barefoot, but the gravel doesn't seem to be bothering me. i suddenly remember an important equipment thingy and start to run toward the van when a suddenly bolt of pain shoots through my body. with a wail i fall to the ground and i call out to one of the interns who runs over to help me. i've stepped on a piece of glass and as i look down at my foot i see that it has lodged it self deeply in the soft part of my foot. it's stuck in such a way that my foot is not bleeding, but it does hurt a great deal. ill-advisedly, i ask the intern to get me a pair of tweezers -- i'm going to get that glass out of my foot.

16 october
another one of those dreams i should have written down sooner. i took notes and all, but now they do't make much sense. here's a transcription of the notes: walking aound mall w/ D
dessert @ mcdonald's?
no, let's walkaround
trying to steal tampons
we're late to meet someone at the food court
see what i mean? the second part of the dream i remember a little. i had gone back to work for the opera again in the box office with steven. steve a. is working there as is elizabeth. steve smokes in teh office and i think it's not right that steven allows this because steve is his friend. sarah m. is trying to get everyone fired becuase she knows that allen might come look for work from the opera and she would rather destroy the whole organization than allow for the possibility that allen might work there.