Crazy Dreams

Last night’s dream: It started out with me selling a white Ford truck to Spike Hyssong. We were in the parking lot of Wasses, and strangely the slope of the parking lot was the other direction–it went downhill to the west. Anyway, we jump in “my” old truck, which I haven’t used in six months, and try to get it started. It cranks, but won’t catch. I put the pedal to the floor to get the carburated engine more fuel. It still won’t fire. So then I pull up the choke handle, and it still won’t catch. (Side note: Though I’ve owned a white Ford truck, it was fuel injected. I owned a carburated Ford truck, but it was blue. I’ve never owned any vehicle with a manual choke handle.) Thankfully, due to the slope of the parking lot, we start rolling away from Wasses. I pop the clutch just before we fall into a quarry (where’d that come from!), and we start driving.

Next thing I remember, we’re driving on Old County Road. It’s there I realize that this isn’t my truck at all, but it belongs to Harley Colwell. Spike asks me if there’s anything wrong with the truck, and I tell him “It needs a battery.”

Next up. I’m at a house owned by Barbara Koster Pratt Stewart. It’s a small Victorian style New England farmhouse, and James Thompson is trying to sell it for her. Barbara isn’t living there, so she’s let Jim and his family stay in the main house.

Outside the main house is a big old barn. Inside the barn is a shooting range. a bunch of people are in there shooting, but I don’t remember who other than Blaine Curtis and Spruce Head lobsterman Jim Tripp. I’m there with my M1 Garand, and I’m teaching Paula Sutton how to shoot. She claims she’s never shot before, but she loads the Garand, drops into the prone position, and fires of a string of shots all in the black with a great grouping except for one flyer. I’m impressed.

We’re sitting around talking when Jim Tripp walks up to me, points a loaded revolver at my head, and starts laughing. I push it away from me and say “That’s not an ok thing do.” He insists he would never shoot me. And while I believe him, I’m very shook up. I say something to “Look, this wasn’t some quick ‘I accidentally passed the muzzle in front of you while I was drawing from a shoulder holster” moment. You deliberately pointed that gun at me!” I walked off the range.

I went into the main house, which was small, but immaculate. I found the living room, and Jim Thompson had the complete Monty Python collection of DVDs. Every movie, every TV show, every sketch, on 40 DVDs. I decided I needed to find one particular bit, but I couldn’t remember the name of it. I was going to fast forward through 40 DVDs until I found it. Then I heard Susan in the other room.

I went up to her, and she was telling me about her bad day. I cut her off and said “Jim Tripp held a gun to my head and thought it was funny.” Then I started crying. I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t really afraid, but just emotionally spent. Susan, sensing that, didn’t say anything. She just held me and rubbed my head. Then I woke up.

In last night’s dream, I was playing some club in Bangor. I walked into the restaurant, and Blind Albert was sitting at a table with his wife Lee. I went and sat down. I was looking at the stage. I remembered (isn’t it funny how dreams have a memory–like a past tense–even though you didn’t dream that part?) that I had to arrive early to set up. My drums were already on stage. The Blind Albert bass player, Glenn, was on stage playing guitar. Apparently he had a solo set booked before our main show. In addition to Glenn, some guy was on stage playing MY drums. I was a little miffed someone would play my drums without permission, and I hoped someone wasn’t playing me for a fool, having me come set up early so this other guy wouldn’t have to bring his own drums. But, I figured ‘No sense in getting bent outta shape about it. Might as well relax, and talk about it after the gig.’

I decided that I’d take a walk over to some music store. It was just a building or two over. It was raining, so I did a quick jog to the store, and went inside. It was a big music store. I noticed what appeared to be some snare drums in a room just off the main room, so I walked over to investigate. Outside the main drum room was some used stuff against the wall. There was a Tama Granstar bass drum in Cherry Rose with a tag that said “Make Offer.” I thought “Man, it’s hard to move a single bass drum, let alone one that’s pink.” I also saw an old North kit. Asking price? $1200. Not an unfair price, but too rich for my blood. I entered the drum room, and looked around. Nice stuff, but nothing stood out at me, and there were no good deals. I exited the room, and was just about to leave when I saw a salesman approaching.

“Can I help you find something?”
“No, I’m just looking, really. I like that ol’ North set you have.”
“Yeah, that’s a cool kit. I’m surprised I haven’t sold it yet. I don’t have that much into it.”
“I’d give you $800,” I said, feeling like he’d never jump at that price.
“OK, I’ll take it,” he said, very fast. I was now thinking ‘Um, how did I just end up buying a North set, when I have more sets than I need, and this one certainly isn’t going to be played at gigs any time soon.’
So I said to him “Before I take it, I need to check a few things. First, I need to make sure the rubber bumper edge is still on the kick drum.”
He said “Yup, it’s still there.”
“And,” I said “I need the rack.”
“Not only do you get the rack, but you get TWO racks. There’s ALL KINDS of hardware that goes with it.”

So we started pulling out the stuff. The guy was right. There were two racks. Plus, there were North cymbal stands, snare stand, and hi hat stand. You almost never see those. I started to put one of the racks together. It was a nightmare! It was so complicated, I was thinking ‘Who would ever use one of these racks? It takes forever to set up!’ Then I looked over at the salesman. He had his rack all together. He could see I was befuddled. “Last time I put this together, I took notes,” he said. “That’s how I can set it up so fast. Once you’ve done it a few times, you get the hang of it.”

Then I woke up.

I had this dream last night. I was in a bar next to the Rockland McDonald’s. (Locals, do you remember “Spanky’s”? Interestingly, someone brought that place up at the office yesterday.) They were having a fundraiser for some charity, and raffling of a motorcycle. Tickets were $2000 each! It was some Harley motorcycle, and the posters said you had really great odds of winning. I don’t know what possessed me to do it… I don’t have a motorcycle endorsement on my license. My motorcycle riding is limited, and I probably shouldn’t start out learning to ride a Harley. And I certainly don’t have the money. But I bought a ticket! I put the $2000 on my credit card! The lady behind the bar asked me to have a seat, and someone would be over to talk to me about my purchase.

I sat at this table with some umbrella over it. A little odd, since we were inside. As I was sitting there, a waitress delivered some complimentary hot wings. (I guess if you drop two grand on a raffle ticket you get free wings!) The bar manager came over, and gave me some other stuff. Apparently, just by buying the ticket, I was entitled to some stuff for free. I got a beer mug, a hat, and some plastic six guns and holsters.  (Apparently there was some theme Western theme to the contest.) He then asked me to follow him behind the bar.

I went through some swinging doors, and I was behind the bar in what I could only describe as a haunted house. The bar manager explained to me that the contest was thus: I would have to make my way through this walk through,  haunted house style carnival attraction. He assured me that everything was fake, and I wouldn’t be hurt by anything in the attraction in any way. But he told me it WAS very scary, and I could suffer a heart attack or some other issue. I could ask to be let out of the ride at any time. If I did, I would loose the contest. If I made it to the end, I would be asked to shoot (with my handy new six guns) one of four bottles off a shelf. If that bottle had a picture of a motorcycle taped to the bottom, I would win the prize. So if I survived the haunted house, I would have a one in four chance of winning the Harley.

Then I woke up.