Dreaming of Laserdiscs

I had a dream last night that I was in a music shop. In the shop, they also had quite a few used laserdiscs. As a guy who still has a LD player, and as a guy who likes a bargain, I was checking tem out. Most of them were “slasher” movies: scantilly clad women running away from some gruesome killer. (One of them had the tagline “Like sex and murder? This is the movie for you!”) Not being into those kinds of movies, I kept looking. There wasn’t anything really good. I did find a copy of “Splash.” It was pretty beat up. At first, I thought “No, it wasn’t THAT good a movie.” Then I thought “Well, it DOES have Tom Hanks.” I pulled the beat-up jacket out of the bin, and the price tag read “$11.00, Rare.”

I looked at the clerk, my facial expressions reading “$11, are you kidding?” She understood my look, and said “According to the guidebook, that’s what it’s worth.” I thought to myself “Good luck selling that at ‘book value'” and put it back in the bin.

The clerk then held up a very large LD box. “Here’s the Jayne Mansfield box set: 80 laserdiscs, every movie she ever made. Interested?” I wasn’t.

That’s all I remember. Well, there was a part about me buying a restored candy green Jeep, but I don’t remember how that tied in.

Dreaming of Linc and Desirae

I can’t remember all of last night’s dream. I remember that I was going to art school, that I had some large project due, and mine wasn’t done. I remember I was going to try and pass off some quicky creation made of cotton balls, and call it “art.” I remember seeing Desirae Page sitting on a fainting couch in a courtyard area of the college. We chatted. I complimented her on her chiseled back (she was wearing some backless halter blouse), and said something to the effect of “You probably get that from roller derby.” (Desirae actually did used to skate in roller derby. She’s now retired due to injury and is training the new peeps.) She squeezed my flabby bicep and said “What’s your back like?” I said “White, spongy, and hairy!” She laughed in that “that’s TMI and gross” kinda way. As we were chatting, Lincoln McRae walked by. We asked how he was doing. He mentioned he was trying to earn some extra cash to buy his grandfather a really nice gravestone. “He’s 100 years old,” Linc said, “and I want to make sure he’s got a nice stone to be remembered by.” (Side note: I believe Linc’s grandfather is still alive, but I don’t think he’s near 100 yet.) He showed us some samples, and why there just happened to be three gravestones nearby is beyond me. (Like the rest of this dream makes any sense anyway! Why not have three sample gravestones in a common area of an art school!)

That’s all I remember.

Dreaming of Buddy Rich & Eggs

I somehow was notified that I was requested to be a Buddy Rich’s* funeral. They needed a flag bearer, and they wanted not only a drummer, but somebody who was “religious.” My job was to stand on the side of the church/hall/synagogue (whatever it was), and hold the flag for the brotherhood of drummers. (There is no official brotherhood of drummers, and there really is no official flag, but apparently in this dream there was.)

I stood on the side. Nancy Pelosi stood behind me. It’d been a long time since I’d been a Boy Scout, so my flag etiquette was a little rusty. The American Flag led the procession. When it passed, I dipped the flag of the Brotherhood of Drummers. Next came the officiant. Next was Buddy’s coffin. As it passed, Nancy poked me and told me to dip the drummer flag in honor of Buddy. I didn’t think I was supposed to, but I did in difference to her.

After the procession was over, Nancy pulled me aside. She said “Why didn’t you make that sign of the cross thing, you know, like priests do? ” I said “Well, I’m not a priest. In fact, I’m not even Catholic! And, since Buddy was Jewish, I don’t think the arch diocese will mind that I didn’t make the sign of the cross.” And she said:

“The arch diocese is Catholic?”

Then I woke up. But then there was more! I fell back asleep, and was rewarded with this little number.

I was walking from my grandmother’s house to my mother’s house (they are next door to each other in real life). I was carrying three flats of eggs. These eggs had been in my grandmother’s fridge for many weeks, and no one was eating them.** I was taking them over to my mother’s house to eat them.

While crossing the lawn, I met Ron (one of my employees) and his wife Heather. Ron said “You’re not going to eat those eggs, are you?” I responded “I think they’ll be ok.” Then I said “Heather, you’re a farm girl; are these eggs ok?” (In real life, Heather’s family owns a farm.)

I pulled the top off the eggs. Each egg was in a little crocheted pouch. One was cracked. “That’s probably not one we should judge,” I said. “Let’s crack one open right here. You can look at it and smell it, and tell me if it’s ok.” Heather said she’d really rather not smell what might be a rotten egg.

The end.

*Buddy Rich was discussed at the office the last two days.
**We also have some eggs at the office. A customer brought them by for us. No one has touched them. They’ve been there for some time.

More Devil Dreams

It’s not the first time I’ve dreamed of the Devil. Heck, it’s only been a few weeks since my last one! I don’t remember all the details. Susan and I were moving (or helping someone move) out of a very old mansion. The house was possessed by, you guessed it, Satan.  My job was to keep him at bay until we could move out. I remember I had two very old pulpit Bibles I carried around with me everywhere. Satan wanted them for some particular reason. I remember a scene in the courtyard where the Devil was giving a “pep talk” to some of the locals. As he was talking, he was slowly turning from a human form into his more natural “devil” look. And, I remember having him trapped at one point in a room. He turned into a frog and escaped down a hole used for a heating pipe. I went one floor below, and found a Haitian looking woman packing. I asked who she was, and she replied she was a servant helping us pack. I said “Or perhaps you’re the devil in human form!” She said she wasn’t, but that she had noticed the smell of brimstone in the room a few moments before. I went into the next room, and found the Devil over there.  That’s all I remember.

The Macquarium

For those of you who haven’t checked out the other parts of my site, you might not know that I’ve built a bunch of Macquariums. Most I’ve either given away or sold, but I’ve kept one in the office for many years. My kids have been asking me to build another one, so they can have one here at home. The fish at work died a couple of weeks ago. Today, I decided I’d bring the Macquarium home the office, and set it up at home. (The kids are at camp; I was hoping to surprise them when they got home.) I was washing the tank in the sink, getting it nice and clean, when I spied a small crack in the side. It was not there when it was at the office. Then SNAP, the crack got huge, and water began pouring out. I broke the tank. I have the glass downstairs to build another tank, but not the aquarium sealant. And, it takes a total of three days to build a tank–not enough time before the kids get home. Shucks!

Pizza Delivery Dreams

In the dream, I was in the parking lot of the Rockland AutoZone. For some reason, they were advertising some family pizza special from Snappy’s. I called Susan, and asked if she wanted me to pick up some pizza. She said she did, and that she was at my sister’s. She asked that, if Lisa wanted something, would I be willing to pick it up. I said “Sure.” I left it for her to call them and place the order.

Fifteen minutes or so elapse. I’m cleaning the trash out of my car. The Snappy’s guy shows up with the order. He hands me a bag with about four 2-liter bottles of soda in it. I figured “Wow, Lisa really did want something!” I’m putting the sodas in the back of my station wagon, and the guy pulls the pizza out of the car. I can see the guy eyeing my car visually measuring the width of my doors. He’s holding three or four huge pizzas. He’s handing them to me, and they’re super heavy! “I hope you’ve got a way to get these in your car. And I hope you have a way to pay for all this.”

“How much is the tab?” I ask.

“About $70,” he said.

“I don’t have that kind of cash on me,” I said.

“Well, I think I’ll need to take those back then,”

“You want to re-load those back into your car?” I asked. “Look, I bank at the credit union, and that’s right down the road. Why don’t you follow me there, and I’ll get some cash out of the ATM?”

He agreed. Then I woke up.