The following is posted for archival purposes, but feel free to comment if you feel so moved.
I am, per available evidence, at least somewhat dream-deficit. I sleep quietly, and I not only seldom remember my dreams, I seldom remember dreaming. And when I DO remember dreams, they tend to be, well, boring. Like this one. It is remarkable mainly for the level of detail that survived.
In the morning, I arrived with a diverse group of people I knew (co-workers? classmates?) at a disused storefront to wait for something. (A physcial?) The space had a glass front and dark green walls. It was 15 by 60 or so, and there was a door to elsewhere in the building at the left side of the back wall. There was a five foot high cublicle-style half wall that cordoned off a table and some chairs in the right rear corner, and two or three tables and and associated chairs in the main section of the room. (For the record, this is a somewhat simplified version of the layout of a now-defunct game store in Indianapolis called, "The Arsenal". But it wasn't the same space.) Fast forward to lunch time. I came back with food, and a brand new-in-box CRT-VHS player combo, and proceeded to comandeer the rear corner of the room. I set up my gadget, and watched whatever it was I had bought to watch. My program ended, and was replaced by a foreign-language story about a turbanned father and son setting up a new business. I turned off the gadget, and found that my friends had left, and that the sun had set. I assumed that I had gotten into one of my occasional self-hypnotic fugues, and was somewhat irritated that no on had shaken me out of it. The building superintendant, whom I knew, came in with some clients, sat down at one of the front end tables, and started to discuss something. I asked him, as he passed, if he knew what had happened to my companions, and he didn't. And I woke up.
And that is the most vivid and interesting dream I have had in at least a decade...
Just saw a fat man use a five pound octopus as a nunchaku. "Into the Badlands" is often silly, but it is also often a huge amount of fun...
Over the last few years, I have eaten a LOT of McDonald's ice cream cones, usually by way of paying for using the facilities. They are, like all McDonald's food, consistent and bland. Except... The McDonald's at US41 and Wadsworth Road was different. Their ice cream had a different texture, a different color, and tasted much, much better than the standard stuff; to my crippled sense of smell and taste, it tasted a LOT like real ice cream, to the point where I would occasionally go out of my way to eat one of THOSE cones. Which I did yesterday, and got... a standard McDonald's ice cream cone. Whatever magic had been going on at that store for the last three or four years has ended, and the world is ever so slightly less than it was.
Update: Tried one more time, and found out that the previous cone had been an abberation, and the good stuff is back!
Life in my household:
Something had been left behind...
Hyena: You couldn't count to six?
Dementia (displaying the "Tinner's Hares" tattoo on her forearm): I'm a bunny!
(This is a reference to "Watership Down", in which it was established that rabbits can not count higher than four...)
Due to a weird "Deadpool" related promotion, we picked up "My Cousin Vinny" on disk, and watched it tonight. It's a FUN movie, and it was well worth the time. The music over the end title is a customized verion of the Travis Tritt song "Bible Belt", and I was intrigued enough that I looked up both the original and the customized lyrics. The custom lyrics shoehorn the plot of the movie into the song's original rhyme scheme, and do a pretty good job of it. It's a fun version. The original turns out to be a classic demon lover story shoehorned into the sensibilities of the Bible-thumping segment of the country music audience. Being a fan of happy endings, I much prefer the custom version. But the original charms me by virtue being an old, old story supercharged and electrified and still drawing audiences. There is just SO MUCH magic in that...
Life in my household:
We were talking about the fact that many traditional editorial roles have been supplanted by the fairly recent phenomenon of beta readers...
Hyena: To quote Steve Jackson on game design...
Dementia: "Treasure your stupid friends."
Dementia is not a gamer, and has never played a single second of "Ogre" or "GURPS". But she has been married to me for a long time...
Someday, someone is going to make a scleral contact lens with a matte outer surface so that when the wearer is supposed to be dead, his (or her) eyes will look dry...
Why is that, even though my nails are so short I can't scratch effectively with them, I still get splinters under them?
Acura is using "Sympathy for the Devil" to SELL A CAR. Truly, the world has gone insane.
Just got cat called by a sweet young thing in a moving vehicle, and I am bewildered.
She called out, "Grandpa!" and I was the ONLY person in sight. It's not insulting, it's not flattering, it's not threatening, it's just... weird.
During the Christmas season of 1964, Remco released this really cool series of giant bug toys. Kids loved them, but the housewives of America did NOT like having giant bugs around, and the line was not extended past its original production. Eight-year-old me failed to convince my parents to buy me any, but my friend Randy got the whole collection. The name that stuck in my head was "Horrible Hannibal", which, it turns out, was wrong. The main bug was called "Horrible Hamilton", and the line was called "Hamilton's Invaders". And that is one strange little piece of my childhood confirmed and reinforced.