It's true what they say: you can never go back home. Back to the childhood home you remember at least. That being said, however, I must say I really can appreciate being home for even a weekend. Taking a break from having to cook for yourself, from having to worry about errands, or where dinner is coming from. Even with a term paper looming over me, I put on my armor of procrastination and enjoy some time spent away from the hustle of the city.
I have had a few dreams that I haven't recorded here, and I feel a little bad about it. One of the things that's most important about recording such cranial events is to write while their fresh, and I felt like I just didn't have the mental acuity at the time to record them in any clear meaningful way. I vaguely remember my grandma doing loop-de-loops in a small airplane trying to get us on the landing strip, and then having an asshole pilot in a private jet flying down a freeway, but it's the details between these events that make a dream important.
The other, more recent one involved a gigantic shopping mall, Patrice O'neal, and some of the cast of sex and the city shopping for honey and clothes during the holiday season. I distinctly remember one of the displays in a supermarket being built into an escalator. I think it may have been cheese.
My legal battle with my roommate has also kind of ground to a halt, like a tank without fuel. The deeper I get, the more confusing it gets. This has been keeping my up recently, as I think of extralegal solutions to my problems. Let's just say they are detailed, heavily planned, and have almost no chance of ever coming to fruition.
I suppose it's mostly just revenge fantasy at this point that I would ever see my money back. The strange thing is, I almost sympathize with him. It's become more clear why he is withholding the money, and although they aren't good reasons, and mostly revolve around him not taking the time to call or be active on his part, they make a sort of twisted logic. Plus he's living on Ellis and Leavenworth, so maybe that's punishment enough.
But probably not.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
lunchtime / housing dream
This is a dream in two parts. It started in a slightly underground cafeteria, elementary school style. All the people from the Pine dorm were there, but there were also a lot of kids. We were having breakfast, and I got a ton of eggs and bacon. I remember that this girl started playing a bizarre looking guitar with four strings. It looked like a plank shaped like a guitar, because it had no body. Everyone kept asking her to play piano man, but she only knew the chorus, and played that a few times. After playing piano man a few times, she pulled her collar down and flashed everyone. At this point the lunch ladies came out, and lunch was over. We all left the cafeteria, with a lot of people joking about the boobs as we walked up the stairs back to the surface.
Once we were on the blacktop, I started setting up my science project, which was a greenhouse. It had a little plant in the middle, and a plastic shield that went over it. As soon as the whole thing was setup, water droplets began condensing on the inside of the plastic. I remember that there were stickers on the inside, explaining the science behind this. I kept worrying that my teacher would discover the plastic greenhouse had been store-bought. My greenhouse was placed in the center of a big terra cotta pot in the center of the blacktop, which seemedto have cat-tails and some bushes growing inside it.
I went to some kind of suburbs, that had no trees. My apartment was still there, but it was inside a house, instead of a flat. Then I walked down the street, past all these mission-style houses and I find my old roommates have a new place, but it's covered in graffiti. There is a line of people dressed like hipsters: that is to say thick framed glasses, knit caps, tight pants, and flannel shirts and jackets. I keep walking and find another open house across the street. It also has a line of people trying to get in.
This other house has a blind 80-year-old woman and a 2 year old who apparently is very susceptible to disease. One of the things she advertises is that if you touch any of the baby's blankets, you'll have to pay to replace them. I walk into the house, and the old lady thinks I am her new tenant, but when I explain that I am not, she grows a little scared, then angry. She demands to know what I'm doing in her house, and I don't have a good response, so I sneak out.
I go back across the street, where my roommates are now cleaning the graffiti. Inside the house, there are two little offices, one where Jack Black and Michael Sera work, and the other housing a small asian girl. Black and Cera seem to spend all their time making fun of her, at one point they roll a blackboard with a big spider and a stick figure wearing glasses on it. It reads
" THEY ALMOST KNOW THAT I'M ALIVE."
She becomes very distraught at this, and I leave the room to go back outside. I offer to help clean the graffiti, and James accepts my offer. Chris suggests that I put the graffiti up, and I stumble across some excuses. I really am innocent, but I can't make them believe it. In any case, they hand me a plastic spoon and a paper plate, and I start scraping the graffiti off, holding the paper plate beneath it to catch the paint that comes off. Pretty soon though, the house paint starts coming off too.
The whole paint job seems to be done over these brown textured wallpaper squares that the entire outside wall is covered with. I start pulling them off, and underneath is drywall. Pretty soon the wall is almost bare, as everyone is helping clean graffiti and tear off these brown wallpaper squares.
Once we were on the blacktop, I started setting up my science project, which was a greenhouse. It had a little plant in the middle, and a plastic shield that went over it. As soon as the whole thing was setup, water droplets began condensing on the inside of the plastic. I remember that there were stickers on the inside, explaining the science behind this. I kept worrying that my teacher would discover the plastic greenhouse had been store-bought. My greenhouse was placed in the center of a big terra cotta pot in the center of the blacktop, which seemedto have cat-tails and some bushes growing inside it.
I went to some kind of suburbs, that had no trees. My apartment was still there, but it was inside a house, instead of a flat. Then I walked down the street, past all these mission-style houses and I find my old roommates have a new place, but it's covered in graffiti. There is a line of people dressed like hipsters: that is to say thick framed glasses, knit caps, tight pants, and flannel shirts and jackets. I keep walking and find another open house across the street. It also has a line of people trying to get in.
This other house has a blind 80-year-old woman and a 2 year old who apparently is very susceptible to disease. One of the things she advertises is that if you touch any of the baby's blankets, you'll have to pay to replace them. I walk into the house, and the old lady thinks I am her new tenant, but when I explain that I am not, she grows a little scared, then angry. She demands to know what I'm doing in her house, and I don't have a good response, so I sneak out.
I go back across the street, where my roommates are now cleaning the graffiti. Inside the house, there are two little offices, one where Jack Black and Michael Sera work, and the other housing a small asian girl. Black and Cera seem to spend all their time making fun of her, at one point they roll a blackboard with a big spider and a stick figure wearing glasses on it. It reads
" THEY ALMOST KNOW THAT I'M ALIVE."
She becomes very distraught at this, and I leave the room to go back outside. I offer to help clean the graffiti, and James accepts my offer. Chris suggests that I put the graffiti up, and I stumble across some excuses. I really am innocent, but I can't make them believe it. In any case, they hand me a plastic spoon and a paper plate, and I start scraping the graffiti off, holding the paper plate beneath it to catch the paint that comes off. Pretty soon though, the house paint starts coming off too.
The whole paint job seems to be done over these brown textured wallpaper squares that the entire outside wall is covered with. I start pulling them off, and underneath is drywall. Pretty soon the wall is almost bare, as everyone is helping clean graffiti and tear off these brown wallpaper squares.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Confusion
I am owed money, but I don't know how much money I am owed. It's my deposit to my old apartment, but I moved out first. My name wasn't on the lease, so I didn't get any notice or anything. Now my old roommates claim that the landlord took most of the money, and they were forced to buy cleaning supplies with the rest. But surely, you don't spend hundreds of dollars on cleaning supplies, and then lose the deposit on your apartment?
I have no idea how much we got back, how much of that they spent, or if any of this is real. The worst part is, if I do get the money it's going to an acquaintance who I owe, in the strangest sense of the word. For all I know, my roommates got the entire deposit back, and are lying to me.
It's been made clear that one of them is sore at me for never coming to help clean. I told them to call me when they planned to do the cleaning, and I never received another word about it. Now, I am being made to feel in the wrong. I have no idea what is happening, what is real, or what is moral.
I have no idea how much we got back, how much of that they spent, or if any of this is real. The worst part is, if I do get the money it's going to an acquaintance who I owe, in the strangest sense of the word. For all I know, my roommates got the entire deposit back, and are lying to me.
It's been made clear that one of them is sore at me for never coming to help clean. I told them to call me when they planned to do the cleaning, and I never received another word about it. Now, I am being made to feel in the wrong. I have no idea what is happening, what is real, or what is moral.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The Crowd
I had a dream that I was at some giant massive street fair on Market Street. For blocks and blocks, building to building, people were standing shoulder to shoulder as far as I could see. Every once and a while, a small group of cars or motor-cycles would make it through this massive street fair, and they were usually exotic in some way. the cars were imported sports cars, and some had v-13 or v-9 engines. The motor-cycles also had v-9 engines, and some of the riders had plastic mohawks and horns attached to their helmets. They were cruisers for the most part.
I was at this massive street fair with some high school friends, and we talked about the possible configurations of these impossible engines in a joking manner. I made them laugh.
As we made our way through this crowd (which actually wasn't hard for our group, it didn't seem crowded to me) we passed a beggar, and a small table just outside a games store that was out of business. The table had some kind of electric nerf gun attached to it with one of those anti-theft cords, and it looked like it was at some point part of a contest, like a carnival game. Now it was abandoned, with a few scraps of promotional paper left strewn about. I picked up the gun, and fired it up into the air a few times as we passed. Then I looked back and saw a few of the foam balls fall back down into the crowd. I remember feeling slightly guilty about shooting it without permission.
Then my alarm clock woke me up. Ugh.
I was at this massive street fair with some high school friends, and we talked about the possible configurations of these impossible engines in a joking manner. I made them laugh.
As we made our way through this crowd (which actually wasn't hard for our group, it didn't seem crowded to me) we passed a beggar, and a small table just outside a games store that was out of business. The table had some kind of electric nerf gun attached to it with one of those anti-theft cords, and it looked like it was at some point part of a contest, like a carnival game. Now it was abandoned, with a few scraps of promotional paper left strewn about. I picked up the gun, and fired it up into the air a few times as we passed. Then I looked back and saw a few of the foam balls fall back down into the crowd. I remember feeling slightly guilty about shooting it without permission.
Then my alarm clock woke me up. Ugh.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Made up words
Syphilim - Race of mountain dwellers. very secretive.
Herpetic - New type of device classification that draws its power from the changing pressure in the atmosphere, "a herpetic car"
Shingulus - Legendary monster, and a constant threat to secretive mountain dwellers.
Clapatica - City-state nestled in a far-off valley. Due to their extreme isolation, their technology has not advanced beyond the automobile.
Gangreny - Forgotten soviet-era outpost, who now survives as the sole outsider contact to Clapatica.
Ebolanapo - African tribe who travels the world in a small group of hot air balloons and zeppelins that have been tied together into a floating village. They are infamous helium bandits.
Scurvvus - Bird with four sets of wings, each tipped with three small fingers. The Scurvvus is almost perpetually airborne.
Hepatit - Group of three ancient kings who, according to legend, hid a massive treasure in a fortress built into a mountain. The hepatit are said to be guarding it still, as undead warriors.
Herpetic - New type of device classification that draws its power from the changing pressure in the atmosphere, "a herpetic car"
Shingulus - Legendary monster, and a constant threat to secretive mountain dwellers.
Clapatica - City-state nestled in a far-off valley. Due to their extreme isolation, their technology has not advanced beyond the automobile.
Gangreny - Forgotten soviet-era outpost, who now survives as the sole outsider contact to Clapatica.
Ebolanapo - African tribe who travels the world in a small group of hot air balloons and zeppelins that have been tied together into a floating village. They are infamous helium bandits.
Scurvvus - Bird with four sets of wings, each tipped with three small fingers. The Scurvvus is almost perpetually airborne.
Hepatit - Group of three ancient kings who, according to legend, hid a massive treasure in a fortress built into a mountain. The hepatit are said to be guarding it still, as undead warriors.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I did this on notepad
8/25/09
Typing in notepad isn't unlike typing on a typewriter.
At the end of every line, you have to press enter, or you keep going.
There is no spell check, no automatic formatting, and no little green
lines underneath your grammatical mistakes.
Notepad puts it all on you.
LOOK AT THIS SPARTAN TYPEFACE- but I digress.
I have to admit, ever since my last birthday party, I've felt a little
out of odds. A bit off. Something is different. It's not just that I'm
21 now, or that I can enter bars without fear. It's something much
deeper than that. I can't be sure what exactly though.
Mashups are interesting to be sure, and there are a great deal of
things to take an interest in for the coming months.
I want to play a number of games, like Brutal legend, Halo ODST,
DJ Hero, and Modern Warfare 2. The total cost is about 300 dollars
or so.
My friends come over more frequently now. I got a haircut, and a
dentist appointment coing up this thursday. Battle.net now has
a record of my Diablo 2 and Warcraft 3, and hopefully, I'll be
able to put starcraft on there too.
But what about work?
Illustration? It's coming okay I suppose. I'm still not where I need to
be professionally, but I can do okay. I wonder if I could get hired by
the greetings card industry until I have something I like a little more.
Fall 2011 is my scheduled time of graduation, and I have not met for
my review with the director yet. After 3 years.
But there is something therapuetic about typing. Moving fingers across
the keyboard for an extended time, interfacing with a machine and getting
all or your words down very quickly. It feels almost cathartic to see
the pages piling up, the words flowing quickly and easily as a stream
of consciousness is established. Soon the only thing limiting your speed
is the your fingers, which begin to cramp and tire from the unceasing activity
that typing is.
It's not often they do this kind of extended manual labor.
And the longer you type, the more free your mind becomes. I suppose for me,
typing is a way to lose one's inhibitions. Knowingly typing something you
know no one else will read. At the same time though, I almost hope that someone may come by,
snooping, looking for forbidden knowledge. They might come across this file, and read it,
and know what I was thinking at that exact moment. I think I just want attention.
Don't we all just want attention?
Yes, we do. Everyone wants someone to be there right? Nobody can stand alone.
I'm also disappointed that I missed the UPS man today. I think He must have come at about 10 this
morning.
Typing in notepad isn't unlike typing on a typewriter.
At the end of every line, you have to press enter, or you keep going.
There is no spell check, no automatic formatting, and no little green
lines underneath your grammatical mistakes.
Notepad puts it all on you.
LOOK AT THIS SPARTAN TYPEFACE- but I digress.
I have to admit, ever since my last birthday party, I've felt a little
out of odds. A bit off. Something is different. It's not just that I'm
21 now, or that I can enter bars without fear. It's something much
deeper than that. I can't be sure what exactly though.
Mashups are interesting to be sure, and there are a great deal of
things to take an interest in for the coming months.
I want to play a number of games, like Brutal legend, Halo ODST,
DJ Hero, and Modern Warfare 2. The total cost is about 300 dollars
or so.
My friends come over more frequently now. I got a haircut, and a
dentist appointment coing up this thursday. Battle.net now has
a record of my Diablo 2 and Warcraft 3, and hopefully, I'll be
able to put starcraft on there too.
But what about work?
Illustration? It's coming okay I suppose. I'm still not where I need to
be professionally, but I can do okay. I wonder if I could get hired by
the greetings card industry until I have something I like a little more.
Fall 2011 is my scheduled time of graduation, and I have not met for
my review with the director yet. After 3 years.
But there is something therapuetic about typing. Moving fingers across
the keyboard for an extended time, interfacing with a machine and getting
all or your words down very quickly. It feels almost cathartic to see
the pages piling up, the words flowing quickly and easily as a stream
of consciousness is established. Soon the only thing limiting your speed
is the your fingers, which begin to cramp and tire from the unceasing activity
that typing is.
It's not often they do this kind of extended manual labor.
And the longer you type, the more free your mind becomes. I suppose for me,
typing is a way to lose one's inhibitions. Knowingly typing something you
know no one else will read. At the same time though, I almost hope that someone may come by,
snooping, looking for forbidden knowledge. They might come across this file, and read it,
and know what I was thinking at that exact moment. I think I just want attention.
Don't we all just want attention?
Yes, we do. Everyone wants someone to be there right? Nobody can stand alone.
I'm also disappointed that I missed the UPS man today. I think He must have come at about 10 this
morning.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Daria: Beyond Thunderdome
I had this dream where me and my brother and these two middle-aged guys and Daria (the cartoon character) were all driving around in an open-topped jeep in Las Vegas. We had to stop for gas, which is apparently difficult for some reason. We arrived off the free way and had to go down a one way tunnel which was just wide enough for one car. At the station, they were pumping out of a tanker truck into the ground, and the jeep had to be driven back and forth a lot for some reason. Daria got out of the car to get something out of the station.
At this point, we started filling up the jeep, and then we left. Without Daria. My brother reminded the driver about the little oversight, and for some reason, I referred to her as "Painspike." I got a high five for that one. We did some reckless driving, and went back, but I was awakened by my cell phone before anything else happened.
At this point, we started filling up the jeep, and then we left. Without Daria. My brother reminded the driver about the little oversight, and for some reason, I referred to her as "Painspike." I got a high five for that one. We did some reckless driving, and went back, but I was awakened by my cell phone before anything else happened.
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