This one actually makes sense.

I am visiting Mudd again - it seems they are having a luncheon for the students who have decided to go there. I leave my dad sitting in our old red Nissan (we got rid of it about a year ago) - I don't really want to be seen with him, or the truck. I walk unsteadily down the center of campus, determined to walk only on the grass because the sound of my heels on the walkway makes too much noise. I just want to slip in unannounced.

They have removed the koi pond and planted grass in the small courtyard. I grab a plate of potato salad and black olives and sit at one of the wooden picnic tables, where the physics prof is sitting. As I begin to make small conversation, I see Andrew talking to some other kids in the buffet line. "I'm not actually going here," I hear him say, "that's why I'm wearing this shirt." His shirt is blue, plaid and flannel, like a lumberjack's. Underneath he is wearing a tuxedo. His hair looks jet black in the sunlight. I look down and realize I am wearing a sun dress, much like the other girls at the luncheon.

Andrew joins me at the picnic table and again explains the importance of his blue shirt. I smile and start to talk to him, but he cuts me off and explains urgently to the prof that he is not actually going to Mudd. Once he has made his point clear, he begins talking at me. Not to me, because he doesn't seem to want a response. I wonder why he can't bear to have any silence in our one-sided conversation. It reminds me, strikingly, of the night I couldn't stop talking as we danced. It's like we have to get everything out before I have to leave.

Bald Men and Bikinis Do Not Mix

Sunnydale now sits in a large Californian valley, with grass spanning the distance to the hills behind it, and a small sort of hicktown/trailer park across the street. I run down the hill in the loping manner that one must on inclines and make my way towards the school.
I am in a panic. I have recently received word that one of my family members is in the Emergency Room, and I am trying to locate the rest of my family so that we can go to the hospital. Running pas the windows, I see my sister in her old Nationals outfit, dancing for a large crowd. I round the building and enter, passing through a dim, grimy linoleum corridor to one of the classrooms. I find my mother, applauding while my sister takes her bow. I tell her that we have to leave, it's urgent, Dad's in the hospital, but she says, no, we can wait till Kyra's finished. It'll take about twenty minutes.

Resigned to waiting, I leave the classroom to explore the school grounds. Wandering through the dim hallway, I find myself in a courtyard on the other side of the school. It is cloudy now, and the gray light turns everything, except the towering evergreens, a similar shade. There are scores of people here, and the air is filled with smoke and strange smells. I conclude that this must be the Addicts Anonymous meeting. Feeling disgusted, I try to hurry through the corwded picnic tables, but I am fascinated by these lowlifes. I wonder aloud, "why would you do something like this to yourself?"
A homeless woman and a dirty-looking man catch me by the elbow and they begin to explain their reasoning. They motion forward a thirty-something bald rocker (much like Chris Daughtry, or the guy who recommended Blades of Glory to us at the Metro) He pulls from his jacket something made of clear blue plastic - it looks like a combination between a flashight and a stick of deodorant. Holding it up to his face, he pushes a small black button on the side. Frightened that he is about to burn his face off, I try to knock the thing out of his hand. Before I can get to him, though, writhing threads of yellow plastic emerge and make contact with the stubbly chin. It seems he is addicted to the feel of synthetic tubes on his skin. I begin to understand.

Tired of waiting for my sister, Jenny and I journey forth into the valley on a quest. We are trying to locate something, a treasure, perhaps, or a famous artifact like the Ark of the Covenant or something. We run along the one road in the valley, surveying the area for anything that looks like it might provide a clue. As we reach the top of a hill above Sunnydale, we spy to large rocks standing alone amid the brown grass. We clamber up towards them. Reading the far side, they tell us something important, they tell us where to go. My vision blurs slightly and they mesh together to form an image or text. Something magical occurrs, and we know the next step in our quest.

My father drives a moped while I sit behind. His blue helmet matches the dated bike, and I'm sure we look quite the pair as we weave through traffic in a country suburb. We are looking for a place that is likely to give us our next clue to the treasure. We pass all types of ruins and run-down places. I see the Parthenon, and other Greek constructions. The roof has caved in on the dinosaur museum, and ivy has twined artfully up a fake T-rex's legs. A large warehouse has been turned into some sort of store. The garage door is open, and something about the upturned boat in the driveway seems familiar. Written on the side are the words "the rocks in the valley," jarring my memory.
"Dad! There it is!"
"What? Where?"
"There! That boat said, 'the rocks in the valley,' that's got to be it!"
Typical of my father he saw nothing, but he believes me and we shoot off onto a side street to turn around. It is getting dark, but I recognize where we are. An elementary school is nearby. Two boys on bikes obstruct our way, and I curse because for some reason we are in a hurry.
Entering the main stream of traffic again, night has fallen and it is rush hour. By the time we get back to the boat, it has been dragged inside and the shop has closed. We park the moped in the dirt by the shop and leave our helmets on the handlebars. We enter the shop occupying the rest of the warehouse.
The room is warmly lit by many lamps, and is some sort of tourist trap, selling useless keychains and with wall-to-wall racks of women's bathing suits.
"Why is this all they sell here?"
"Because that's all we wear."
A balding man similar to the first, except older and slighter, pushes his way through the bead curtain at the back of the shop. He is barely covered by a spangled turquoise string bikini. His daughter, behind him, is slightly more modest in a red halter top and boy shorts. The man I find slightly lecherous, but the daughter seems very normal to me. I barely manage to keep my father from buying a bikini for himself from the charming young lady at the counter. I tell him that we are here on an expedition, and not a shopping one. We manage to leave the shop with just a keychain as a souvenir of Bikinitown.

The Cold

Word spreads quickly through the crowd that there is going to be a fire tonight. Everyone in the parking lot speaks in hushed whispers, shivering in the cold antarctic night and wondering whether they should obey the hotel staff's instructions and go back to their rooms until it is time to evacuate. I decide I will go back to my room and pack up my things, and put on some warmer clothes so I won't freeze to death after the evacuation.
Up on the tenth floor I sit on the edge of the bed next to my suitcase, waiting for the phone call. Impatiently, I get up and look out the window to the parking lot and swimming pools below. I can just make out small specks of light from the lanterns of the nervous guests who refused to go back to their rooms.
I hear movement at the door- that must be him- the arsonist. I dash over and fling the door open, but he is gone; I just catch the last echoes of his laugh. I will beat him out of the hotel. My little sister and I take after him, alternating between flying and skating down the spiral ramps and staircases. The hotel has an old feel, though it has been recently renovated, reminiscent of the hotel from The Shining. The arsonist has taken the elevator, which is a stupid thing when there is about to be a fire. As we make our way to the ground floor we seem to switch roles several times from pursuing and being pursued- all I know is the rush of fear and excitement that means I will win.

In the parking lot I squint through the darkness, trying to discern my group of friends from the rest of the crowd. I determine I've got the right group, and out my arms around their shoulders, and turn my head back to the building- I can, now that I'm safe. Every window is dark, with the curtains open, and no sign of flame. I am surprised that everyone actually remembered the fire drill instructions from elementary school, forming a line and the last person out turning off the light. Still gazing at the building I say, "It's good that everyone made it out alright." I can hardly hear my own voice over the whistling wind.

At home, I prepare to go to an outdoor, middle-of-the-night dance. Our house feels huge and empty, and while it is well-lit, the darkness and cold press in. My mom is especially excited for me, running around with the camera like it's prom. She wants me to look nice, but I just want to be warm. I can't seem to find enough clothes, because I left most of them at home, not expecting to go to some crazy dance. I gather it will involve some freeform skiing and dancing in a snow-covered water park-type setting, and I remind my mother, "You know I haven't skied in years. How am I suppposed to stand upright, let alone spin around in circles with someone while sliding downhill?" She says, "Prepare for lots of bruises!" My friends wait at the door, all ready to go. At the last minute I decide I can't wear a windbreaker to a formal dance, and my shoes don't match my outfit.

I stand just below that exit ramp coming off of the West Seattle Brigde onto 99 that curves so sharply that you always end up squished next to the person next to you on the 120 to downtown. Part of it has disconnected, so that the ramp does not meet the freeway. Kris is up there on his bicycle, perched on the edge of the freeway, doing some odd maneuvers as a part of race. I wonder why he would do something like that to his bike. In a few seconds he is done and comes down to the basement of my house, located just under the ramp. We gather in the laundry room with Beth and Kellen. My mom bustles around doing laundry, she immediately gets them all engaged reading old Balderdash responses. Kris also shows them his latest project: his front wheel that he has begun threading with fine silver wire. It looks more like a sculpture, with an uneven web that bends the flimsy gold-foiled frame.
Determined to finally give Kris back his shirt, I tap him on the shoulder, but alas, I don't have the shirt with me. I do, however, tell him that I have something else from my dad that he might be interested in. I squeeze past my mom to get to a giant spool on the table and pull off a few pieces of the thick wire. I show Kris and his face lights up. "Copper wire!" he exclaims, as if it was just the breakthrough he needed to make the piece complete.
We all squeeze on to the piano bench and play fragments of pieces we remember from our childhood lessons.

Characters Having Recently Appeared In Something Else

I dash up the dirt path, there is someone I have to warn.

I see him! The dog-boy, a dirty, wild child of about six stands in the middle of the path up ahead. I slow my pace, but as I approach the boy backs away. All the while, I try to make him understand that he is in great danger, but he is not familiar with spoken language. When I get too close, he belligerently throws dog poop at me. I cringe, but thankfully his aim is quite poor. As I raise my head again, I see him dash off on a side path. I follow him, entering a winding maze of ground cover. I pick my way after him. His filthy little backside disappears into the trees at the bottom of the slope, and a crack of lightning announces the arrival of the person I was trying to warn him about.
It is Tommy Lee Jones. "Where is the boy?" he booms, glaring at me from the top of the hill. I shake my head. He starts down the path after me. I panic and dive down the hill, and reaching the bottom, I pull out my lighter and hold it to a leaf of the ground cover. The plant being very flammable, or soaked in gasoline, the entire clearing goes up in flame. I don't know if Tommy Lee Jones escapes a firey doom, but the dog-boy is safe for now.

Why Am I Not Famous Already?

Garrison Keillor and I trek across a vast praire towards distant mountains. Ominous black clouds crackle overhead. We make it to the cave just as the rain begins.

The cave has a fake, romanticized feel to it, with Disneyland animatronics, dramatic lighting and plastic jewels scattered everywhere. I follow Garrison Keillor through the crowd. At the back of a cave, we clamber up over a ledge and enter a brightly lit, strangely decorated room. We have succeeded in reaching the competition.

Apparently my sister has won the American Idol competition. For her last performance, she has invited Mr. Keillor, myself, and an unknown boy (possibly a friend of mine) to join her onstage. The American Idol representatives greet us as we climb out of the cave and lead us to a crowded dressing room, which will also serve as our hotel room. We are left to get ready.

I take the bathroom to get dressed, since I am the only girl, and when I step out the stage manager is there, telling us it's almost time. Looking at all my other clothing options laid out on the bed, I realize I don't really want to be wearing this. I frantically try to decide between the purple shirt or the green hoody, while Garrison Keillor stands impatiently at the door.

Anna's dad had a huge-ass SUV, and we went on a trip to a lake that was supposed to be a protected wildlife habitat.
Then I went back to my apartment and fell asleep and I think they used the SUV to tow my apartment somewhere else (just my half of the basement).

That wasn't supposed to happen

Kathryn and I are working at Solstice, and we are keeping the cafe open late for a show of some sort. I feel alright about this until we try to use the cash register and the "3", "00", and "cash" keys are broken off. In a panic, I try to get the espresso machine mechanic to come back and fix it, but he has already left. When I turn back, someone has started a list of everything sold and convinces me it will be alright. Matt, A-Strike, Jacob, Eva, and some other band members approach, and I greet them warmly. Later, they are over talking to Devin, who I think is also helping with the event, and I overhear A-Strike say, "Yeah, and I keep getting these e-mails from the dream blog- we all have, since our names were first mentioned it put us on its e-mail list and won't stop sending us updates!"
I can feel my cheeks burning.I say, "No... not all of you?"
A-Strike says, "Yeah, we're all on the list now!"
Shit! I just had a dream about making out with Matt. I turn to him, and he looks at me for a second before turning away in embarrassment. I ask, "Matt, can we talk outside for a minute?" He nods, and we step out into the alley. I say, "I'm really sorry, Matt, that shouldn't have been something you had to read."
He says, "No! Look, it's okay, don't worry about it Jenny!" much in the way Kris said I shouldn't worry about being a jerk.
I continue, "I just think, well, it wouldn't even have been weird if Andrew hadn't mentioned it and-"
"Exactly!" He cuts in enthusiastically, and says, "Good, I'm glad we're clear on that!" and he hugs me, and we both get a little too intimate.

I am on an a hike with a group of classmates, including my secret lover, and a teacher. We reach vantage point on a steep cliff, overlooking the sun setting on the ocean. Everyone begins to move down the steep path to the beach, and I quickly try to find a way to indicate to my lover that we should stay behind. Just as the last student rounds the bend, I turn around, and almost stumble over a body lying face down on the ground. I gasp in shock and then decide the man is probably taking a nap. I shake his shoulder and say loudly, "SIR, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" several times, before backing off and realizing I probably shouldn't touch the body. I do spot a wallet nearby and pick it up. I pull out photos of a man, who I presume is the body, although I can't see his face. The name on the credit card says "Wilder". I yell to my brother, who appears at my side. "Nick! Do you recognize the man in this picture? You had Mr. Wilder for English in high school, didn't you? Is this him?"
Nick nods.

I find myself suddenly underwater, unsure of which way is up. There is too much pressure and I need to get to the surface. I do i somersault, looking for the sun, but there are odd glints of light in the dark water in every direction. Suddenly there is a powerful rushing, something shooting up beneath me from great depths. A giant iron capsule nearly slams into me as it rushes to the surface.
I get a flash of the future: the scariest mutant sharks I can imagine are thrashing around in the water around me, having been released from the capsule when the chain anchoring their isolation chamber to the floor of the ocean snapped-
I am underwater still but there is no sign of the capsule or the sharks. This time I notice a chain leading down into the depths and I understand it leads from the capsule at the bottom to a buoy on the surface. I immediately start swimming to to the surface, knowing I have to get away before-
The capsule explodes from the water near me and shoots into the sky. I frantically swim towards the same cliffs I stood on before with the body of Mr. Wilder, hoping I can get away before the capsule falls from the sky and the sharks are released.
Now I am with someone, a friend, possibly my lover from before. We are still about a hundred yards from the base of the cliff, but we can see the bottom is not more than twenty feet away. We hear yelling from the cliff- we are saved!
But then we get a better look- the figures line up, each one carrying a large stone over his head. One by one they throw the stones, and all I can do it sit there and think, "Are they really throwing stones at us?" until one nearly hits me over the head and I have to dive underwater.

I examine several packages of macaroni from the cupboard, reading the instructions and trying to decide which one to prepare. They all have strange complex instructions, though, such as, "At 4900 feet, boil 10 quarts water for 30 seconds, then remove half, saving one cup for later use. Add half package of macaroni..."

I walk across campus, soaking wet, giving a tour to the same group that was at Solstice earlier, now also including Anna, Kellen, and Alex. We arrive at Red Square... but it is white. I assume it is ice- they must have removed red square, installed a lake, and it froze over. Kathryn suggests, "Let's go swimming!" Everyone agrees, the weather is as nice as can be (cloudy), and starts removing their shoes.
I am the first one ready, running backwards as fast as I can with my elbows out behind me to break through the ice. Alex and Kathryn are close behind. When I reach the "shoreline" and throw myself backwards, however, I do not crash through ice. I get tangled up in the white butcher paper that is actually covering the lake, and my feet get stuck, in what I fear is mud.
"Stop!" I yell, "You're going to get covered in mud!" Alex is already in, though, and he explains that the bottom is paved, with stairs leading down from the edges.
A campus police officer blows a whistle and walks up to us across the butcher paper surface of the lake, explaining to me as I sit tangled in the soggy paper that Alex is right: red square is actually a paved pool, but it is closed for the winter. We thank her and crawl out of the pool, moving into the lobby of a small art gallery to wring ourselves out.

Orange Italian Soda

I am working, and English Major as ordered an orange italian soda, but according to protocol, italian sodas now involve sprinkles and seven-up. Damn, just when i was getting comfortable with the things. I think there is orange sherbet in the glass already, and I pour way too many multicolored sprinkles in so that only a few ounces of soda fit in the glass and it fizzes and overflows.
Wait, that is what would have happened if I ad already added the soda. I am still staring at a glass of sherbet and sprinkles. Why couldn't I just have gone back to before I put the sprinkles in? I scrape some of the top sprinkles off.

Nate materializes beside me with the girl he is dating in dream world. Her face is alarmingly close to mine- her hair as been bleached and dyed red, but faded to bright orange. Her eyebrows and eyelashes are the same color, and her eyes are alarmingly shiny and black. I start to introduce myself, but she is already gone, announcing that she needs to go to the bathroom and suddenly skipping off. She moves in a way that reminds me of a moth, and it makes feel anxious.
Nate follows her movement with his eyes, chuckling and explaining that he has been with her for the past couple weeks. He seems to be enjoying the experience but I suspect it will soon become more like caring for a mental patient.

Goat Car and Another 'Semireal Unfortunate Scenario' Dream

My brother is taking me out to Burien to get lunch with one of his friends. To get there we take a route down Ambaum, and when we get to the Baskin & Robins, which is a shady taco joint in the dream, we must take the most direct route through it before the owners get back. We walk briskly through the seating area and into the dirty back room, which is tiny and triangular, but with high ceilings. The only way out is through the small drive-thru window, which is very high up on the wall. Nick's friend goes first, then Nick, and finally I crawl through, contemplating Rikyu and the humbleness-inducing crawl-through entrances to his tea houses.

When I emerge, Nick and friend are nowhere in sight, but I am almost bowled over when a booming "EH-EH-EH-EH!" echoes through the neighborhood, and a giant old station wagon decorated as a goat barrels down the hill sans driver. It drives past me and turns to go up the next hill, periodically making goat noises. As I look around an obese black man steps out from behind some bushes on Kathryn's old street with a jolly chuckle. He clutches a crudely made remote control with a joystick, and tells me, "It gets 'em every time, and the fun never wears off!" My shock wears off and I laugh with pleasure at the man's joke. Nick and friend emerge from around the corner the goat wagon just passed, exclaiming at the genius of the social experiment.

The man directs the goat wagon over to us and parks it, and we all drink glasses of milk from the roof of the car. The man says he can't stand that watery milk, he needs something of more substance, and pulls out a carton of heavy cream. I jump up and pour it into a cup for him, but then he pulls out a stick of butter from his pocket to mix in. I stir the milk, now more than a little revolted, and wonder about the moral implications of serving pure fat to an obese man.


I am on vacation with Kris and his entire family, including the cousin I haven't met. His sister wants to go for a bike ride, but no one else is ready to leave yet. I don't plan on going, so while she is waiting she asks me questions about school, and then Julie says something that implies Mali was an art history major. Then she pulls out an envelope that supposedly includes her final grades, but the name on the envelope is not Mali, but an alternative spelling of the name Rebecca. I say, "Wow, I'm really embarrassed now, but I honestly thought your name was Mali and you majored in something like archeology or classics."

Then suddenly Kris comes up and says, "I want to get back together" and starts kissing me before I can get a word in. I find myself kissing him back, and realizing how wrong that is I halfheartedly try to get him to stop, mumbling his name. After about a minute of this I start to wonder why he hasn't stopped kissing me, so I say louder, "Stop! ...Beth!" Woah, wait, have I been saying everyone else's name but Kris' this whole time? "Why.. did I ...just say ...Beth's name?" I ask. "I mean... Stop! Kris!" Finally he pauses and I struggle to find words. I say something stupid like, "There's absolutely no reason I should allow this" and then trail off, wondering what I'm trying to say.
Kris is very persistent, not by saying much (other than "I want to get back together..."), but we still end up on the ground. While I know Kris doesn't actually want to start a relationship again (and neither do I) I don't have the energy to call him out on it, or the will to make him stop kissing me and END ALL INTERACTIONS IMMEDIATELY type of thing, so I decide to go along with it for the moment. I tell Kris that's fine, and get up to get breakfast, while he goes off to take a shower.

In the kitchen, I contemplate the English muffins, more than a little pissed. In the bag there is one half of a muffin, on top of the last whole muffin. I decide I want a whole muffin, so I take it out and cut it in half. This is when I notice that there is also half a muffin sitting at the bottom of the bag and I could have taken that and not cut up the last whole muffin.
That pushes me over the edge. As I stand there staring at the muffins with a knife in my hand, getting angrier, I decide Kris needs a taste of his own medicine, and if he's going to pretend he wants to be in a relationship with me, he's going to have to live up to the responsibilities. I am disturbed from my thoughts when his mother comes up and asks me if I've seen him recently, and I say I think he's in the shower. She asks if I will go tell him she wants to talk to him, and I say yes, quickly forming a plan in my head.
It goes something like this: If Kris wants to get intimate under the false pretense of wanting a relationship, things are going to get real intimate- and real inconvenient too, as goes with the responsibility of a relationship, right?

So I march down to the basement, planning on barging in on his shower time and demanding intimacy, but when I get down there, I can't barge in because the door to the bathroom, and the shower for that matter, are wide open. I am caught off guard, so when I get to the bathroom door, I stop and say, "Hey Kris."
And he says normally, "Hey. What's up?"
I'm feeling comfortable and say, "Not much."
"Really?" he says, kneeling down in the shower, as if posing for a gesture drawing. I am about to respond when I see he has some serious bruises on his legs.
"Yeah, hey- what are those bruises on your legs?" He looks down and examines them. "-If you don't mind my asking-" He looks at me and opens his mouth, and I can tell he could answer me if he wanted to, but instead he's about to tell me something completely different, and be open and honest for once. I know that as soon as he says this thing I am going to be able to talk to him about knowing he doesn't really want a relationship but being ok with that as long as he's honest; and we will be able to talk about what we really want without saying anything wrong.
But just then his mom comes up behind me. I didn't realize she had followed me down there, and so I quickly say, "Oh yeah, and I just wanted to tell you your mom wants to talk to you," and leave.

Sudden Decisions

On the playground at Shorewood I discuss family with Matt. We decide we should create a new family, and wonder who else we should invite to join, but in the meantime we make out, because in the situation it was the right thing to do.

I go back to visit my original family; we are on a road trip headed west. We get off the ferry and my mom drives us over a bridge and along a road winding up the side of a mountain. She decides we should make our new home up among the boulders on the mountain, so we all climb over the treacherous rocks and settle ourselves along a ledge. Then I notice my grandma is with us, and feel annoyed that my mom chose such an inaccessible spot to live, but she explains that grandma won't ever be leaving anyway.

I browse through a small store on the Ave. The walls are covered with jewelry of varying degrees of quality; they seem to improve as I move towards the back of the store. I stop to admire a silver pin, and as a do so my beau comes up behind me and remind me that I need to pick out something for him to buy for me (at this point my semi-conscious mind cringes). I carelessly pick out a diamond-encrusted necklace- my beau seems pleased (CRINGE). I turn around to the racks of plastic jewelry and then walk up to the front of the store. As I am about to leave I remember I need to buy a pack of cigarettes, although I have never smoked.
I make my way along the same wall that was previously covered with jewelry, now examining the different brands of cigarettes. Again, they seem to improve as I move towards the back wall, but after a certain point they are all the same brand, only with different art nouveau covers, like collectible cards. I wonder if there is any difference between the beetle pack and the daisy pack.

B-Grade Fan Movies and Wikis

I am standing there, not here but there, when a friend materializes in front of me. He mentions to me that "The Lonesome Crowded West" would make a fantastic film and that Cowboy Dan would be a broke-down protagonist.

I agree with him, but at that moment, a second friend appears. He claims that any attempt at creating a real life Cowboy Dan is an exercise in futility and that we should instead do one based on Sad Sappy Sucker and have it set entirely in the space between the floorboards of a deserted gas station. In the film, everything would be shot with miniatures representing actual sized things that are sung about on the album, but there would be life-size characters (like in Fraggle Rock) to clarify size through contrast.

I agree with him. Wiki-friends to the end.

Earwax

My mother shakes a pair of waxy q-tips under my nose incriminatingly. My father glowers in the background, arms crossed, obviously too upset to speak to me. They say I should be cleaning my ears much more frequently than I have been. I am alarmed at this rapid turnabout, as just yesterday they were telling me never to clean my ears with a cotton swab. As they continue to berate me, I feel myself shrinking to the size of a child and I throw up my hands and submit. I grab two clean q-tips as I exit the room.

Back to the Present

I enter a restaurant/cafe, similar to the ice cream parlor in Fairhaven, and my companion orders a drink. I pass for the moment and notice something odd; all of the espresso machines (there are several) and situated to face outwards from the counter, so the baristas have to come all the way around to make your drink. We head over to the south side of the cafe.
--
Instead I find myself speeding in that direction at a high rate of speed in the driver's seat of some sort of futuristic hovercraft. Doc sits next to me, yelling out directions to dodge our pursuers, who shoot at us with laser beams. I pull down violently on the steering wheel and the vehicle lurches upward steeply. All we can see in front of us now is a star-speckled void. Then slowly, we begin to tip forward, increasing our speed with little hope of avoiding crashing directly through the Wal-Mart below. I turn to the passenger, who is now my companion from the cafe, and inform him/her of our fate. At this point the screen in front of us goes blank and the motion of our car freezes. Instead, the screen illustrates in glowing green arches our projected path of destruction. My companion asks, "Why bother to tell us, when we're going to die anyway?" I point to a blinking arch on the screen, tilt my head sideways, and trace it with my finger. "Because this is the path we're going to take."
Everything unfreezes, and we glide gracefully to the ground.
We step out of the car, no longer very concerned with our pursuers, and walk up the steps to the courthouse. I pass an ugly Asian prostitute with a vicious expression.
--
I step up to the counter, telling the barista not to get up, I'll take care of my drink. I steam pitchers of chai and milk at once. The milk heats much more quickly, and as I turn it off, the chai expands rapidly, threatening to run over and make a mess. Moving at an alarmingly slow pace, I manage to turn the steam off before disaster strikes. I begin to pour the syrupy liquid into a paper cup, but realize I am going to have too much, so I pour the rest into another cup. Adding milk and tasting the result, I realize I have made a serious error in ordering sweet chai, but say nothing. The barista compliments my milk. I thank her and stutter something between "I've been working on it" and "Practice helps". As I finish pouring, another barista rushes up, crying, "Someone's friend is on the phone, he needs to say something but he's about to leave the airport!" With a jolt I realize this is Alex, and I need to say goodbye, although I didn't think it was summer yet. I sprint across the room and seize the phone, but it has already gone dead.
--
Inside the courthouse, I dash up the marble steps, frantically looking for the prostitute. I hope I will recognize her, because she has probably changed drastically in the time that has passed since I first saw her on the stairs out front. I realize now that she is the key to the mishap in time travel. I spot her on the next floor propositioning a lawyer, and I make towards her urgently. The lawyer is annoyed that I think I have a higher priority than him, and the prostitute just looks creeped out, and shuffles away. Growing more frantic, I reach out and grab her arm.
--
In the restaurant, I give Alex a hug. He tries to give me a paper plate for the buffet, and I hug him again. He asks if I have been drinking, and I respond, "No, but I probably should."
The buffet is gorgeous and vegan, with plates of steamed corn, rice, roasted peppers and asparagus. I fill my plate but realize we are late getting to it, and there isn't much food left. I put some back, even though I am starving.
--
Alex, Michelle Burce and I take a walk behind the Wal-Mart. Michelle carries a blanket in a plastic sack, and insists that we take it, because she can't stay to watch the meteor shower. I still don't believe it is summer already.

In which our hero goes home and writes of his day

I wake up at eleven, the earliest I have awoken this entire spring break. I know I'm probably going to get lost today. I take a shower. My usual eight minutes and twenty seconds (give or take a few) of Dove and minty smelling shampoo heaven. I get out of the shower and with a towel slipping down, I make a half-hearted dash to my room. This dash consists of one long step as my room is very much next to the bathroom.

I sit down at my computer and log on to my instant message program, checking to see if that one lady friend of mine that I'd like to make more of a friend is on. Nope. She's not. Just set the away message, maybe she'll be on before you go and she'll want to come with you. Open Google. Where was I going again? Oh yeah, that's right. I plug in the coordinates to Google and upon learning that I have no paper (nor ink) in my printer, I must pass the duty to print to my brother. These directions seem dubious to me, but it's better to have them instead of nothing at all.

I take my mother's car. I feel I need some street cred, despite the fact that I average a very high miles per gallon ratio out of my car. I put the key in and twist. The motor doesn't purr. It's not supposed to. I'm good to go. I back out of the garage and am rolling on I-5 towards Seattle.

Damnit, I knew these directions were wrong. "Hamilton, how do I get to so and so?"

"Oh, just take thingamajo and whatchamacallit."

And so I go and so I arrive. I pay the exorbitant fee to park and situate myself in a very lonely stall. I don't want anyone to bump, ding, or scratch this car. And so I step out and walk to the party. I feel somewhat lonely but the sun is shining and I am happy. But lo, dark clouds loom menacingly not far from here, I best return and get my jacket.

As I return, the march is about to start, so I start walking and following those ahead of me. I'm alone and it has started raining. I don't remember much of the march, but somehow I became quite soaked.

It ends at another park due north and next to the water. I walk along and while I'm being handed a lightbulb, a bug lands near my eye. I start to try to flick it away and then I hear someone call my name. What? I didn't think anybody I knew was going to be here, they all told me they didn't. It's Jenny, but she doubts I remember her. Of course I remember her, though we've only met once before. I'd have said something sooner, but I was still a tad freaked out about the bug. And my eye. I hate things near my eye.

We sit and talk and catch up as if we knew each other much better. I enjoy it because there is none of the getting to know you nonsense. We are called to the stage and two blokes talk for a few moments, but they are followed by Ron Sims. Ron Sims riles the party up and provides some much needed excitement. They brought him out too soon however, he is followed by speakers with little excitement or momentum.

The crowd disperses and Jenny and I are photographed. Some remark is made by one of us that I need to walk all the way back to my car. After some cajoling, we duck into a fish and chips joint and talk about a multitude of things. I think to myself that I am an incredibly boring person and that I ramble too much.

The time that I had said I was going to be home passes and we realize how much time we had been sitting there. We shamble back towards my car and then I drive her home.

I was lost for about fifteen minutes but was able to find my bearings and point my car due South.

Awkward Covers

I am holding a conversation with my mother in a parking lot, but I am late to get on a bus with my French class. My mother seems concerned for my safety, but I insist I must get on the bus or I will be left behind. I board the yellow school bus, showing my U-Pass to the driver. I take a seat near the front, and see that my mother has followed me on board. I stand up, glaring, and say quietly, "Mom. What are you doing on this bus?" and then louder, "Excuse me. What are you doing on this bus?" She finally gets that I am embarrassed and I don't want my classmates to know my mother wants to chaperon our field trip, so she says, "Oh, right... Ahem..." and turns to the bus driver and announces, "I am interested in psychology-gical... anthropology. I want to research- cite sources of the study of."
Meanwhile the bus driver has assumed she is crazy but starts driving anyway. We make a circle in the parking lot, but eventually my mom distracts the her so much that she veers off into a field, turns off the bus and everyone gets out.

I go to stay with a friend for the night, and when I go to shut the bedroom door, I am extremely embarrassed that the younger brother is awake. I think he is also frozen, although I can't recall how literally.
In the morning I get lost in the covers, and detach myself reluctantly.

At some later point I remember complaining to a friend in a cafe about my embarrassing experiences.

A man dressed as an asparagus spear nervously shuffles through his jokes written on the backs of carefully clipped coupons before his audition. He carefully stores them in a small carved wooden box before cautiously stepping out onto the ice.
Now from the view of Asparagus Man, I feel incredibly disappointed in myself as the winning couple skates around me, waving to adoring fans with affixed photogenic smiles.
Disappointment doesn't last long, because Asparagus Man climbs onto a stage with the encouragement of the crowd, crying with happiness, and steps into the waiting coffin, surrounded by cheering costumed creatures.

Anxieties

The band is putting on a concert that is the culmination of a lot of hard work. We have taken a bus to somewhere nearby, where we will wait for our turn to perform.

I join my friends by the buses. Anna and Micaiah say no, I can't come, and everyone leaves me standing on the sidewalk, mouth agape, to eat lunch by myself.

In the practice room, I am excited to prove to Matt Perry that I have finally found my mouthpiece. I pull it out of my backpack and display it proudly. I realize that it is almost time to perform and that none of my friends have concert attire on. I open the door and smugly tell them that they're late. It is good to one-up them, as I'm still sore at them due to the lunch circumstance.

We are onstage, ready to perform. My father is conducting. Instead of sitting in chairs, the horn section has small cots on which they can recline. My father raises his baton, and I realize I don't know where any of my music is. I have been given several books full of music, but unlike the rest of the band, I haven't taken the time to locate the songs we will be playing. I frantically shuffle through the pages as the music starts. I can't find any of the music I need. I throw the books to the floor and curl up on my cot to cry, furious at myself for not preparing properly. My father sees that I am distraught and cuts the band off, running to my side. I'm mad at him now, for placing me above the band, when they've all worked so hard to be here. As the curtains falls into place over the stage, I trudge out the back door, rather than face the wrath of the band and my so-called friends.

I am in a jungle. Rather, it is a very, very large room, filled with flora and fauna of an Indian climate. I have circled the premises once entirely and am now trying to find a way up. a large elephant swings his trunk over my head and back again; I try to grab it. However, it is smooth and I fall off every time. I know there's something else I need to find before I can climb the elephant.
Unfortunately, my failed attempts have set off a flood, which sweeps up all creatures in its path. I let it carry me along, aimlessly, until the waters have receded somewhat. I look around for a log or something to float with. Grabbing one, I tell my sister that it isn't floaty enough, we have to find something younger. I see a monkey floating by, trying to pull a large armored cart. It is not succeeding, and is pulled into a whirlpool. I lunge forward and try to save it as it goes under, but the monkey I come up with is only pulling a wicker basket, not a cart. I panic, those monkeys must be saved,
The jungle personnel clear the water away, and where the whirlpool was is a plastic bubble. Inside are the monkeys that were pulled under. I rejoice - this means we can save them - but the workers shake their heads sadly. They say they cannot save these monkeys; I do not understand. I frantically try to convince them that we can get the monkeys out before they run out of air, but the employees just stand there stonily. They say I saved one monkey, isn't that enough? I scream at them, no! but they gaze at me with their hard eyes and I see there is no hope.
I crouch in a corner, saddened and infuriated at the loss of life. I cannot tear my gaze away from the bubble as the monkeys run out of oxygen and slowly collapse.

The owner of the park is equally saddened by the loss. She says oftentimes she wishes the waters will not come, but then - she opens the front door and shows me the destroyed jungle, covered in a fine layer of snow - this happens, and she wishes she had not wished such things. I stand in her garage, trying to understand. She wraps her thin bathrobe sadly about her and turns to go back inside.

The Most Exciting Dream EVER

I am with a group of people, doing some mundane activity like grocery shopping. There is something stuck in my teeth, so I turn to a friend and ask, "Would you happen to have any dental floss?" Somewhat reluctantly, they pull out a roll of floss and break of a piece for me. I floss with great satisfaction. The other group members are startled when they notice what I am doing.

Lots of the Same Things

Driving down to the bay, we pass through acres of rhodedendron farms. The lavender blossoms cover the California hills. My aunt explains that this area is renowned for its rhodies.

Our boat sinks just as we reach the hotel. The musical is just getting over, the audience is filtering out, waved through the doors by sparkly, lavender, anorexic ballerinas.

We browse nonchalantly through a bunch of CD racks in the video store, while our agents prepare themselves in the back room. I stick my head through the door to see how the debriefing is going. My mother watches the front door for suspicious-looking people.


My family, refugees from a war-torn metropolitan life, arrive at a camp in an icy plain. We sit down to eat our first full meal in months, but finding the food not to my taste, I leave the table to explore. I meet with an old gypsy woman and she gives me some sort of voodoo talisman to avoid my impending arranged marriage.

The magic takes on a life of its own and ruins everything.

And the Award for Wierdest Section Goes To...

The entire French Horn section pushes a row of roller coaster seats to behind a curtain, where they are being organized for our Disneyland performance. We sit down. I try to organize my music. Matt Perry has obtained a Playboy magazine and is flipping through it, obviously delighted. I tell him he needs a girlfriend. Cindy substitutes the word "men" for the word "genies" in one of her sentences, and I realize she must be Indian. I didn't know that the word "genie" was punjab for "man." Sarah Davis looks at me as if I am insane.

Earning My Way

There is a party at my "house" that somehow involves me working and running errands, such as going to the bank.

-

I emerge out of a forest onto a two lane road with a field on the other side. I am dehydrated and utterly exhausted physically and emotionally. I stagger over to the bus stop on the other side of the road, accidentally stumbling into the ditch. I need to get away from that forest as fast as possible, but when I check the schedule the only buses coming are the Community Transit 8--s, which will not take me home and cost more than the 15-odd cents I have in my pocket. This being a life-and-death situation, I choose to throw myself at the feet of the billionaire living at the nearby mansion in hopes that he will give me a job and I can earn enough money to eventually take the bus home. I know however, that this is hoping for a little too much, because poor people like me can never just earn money from rich people like him. According to the rules, I will essentially be required to sign my body and soul away for a year before getting my payment in the end... if I'm lucky.

I ring the doorbell and somehow convince his footman to let me speak to the master. The man who comes to the door is a sweet, kindly gentleman, who has to pry himself away from the adoring orphan boys he has rescued to talk to me.

"Please sir, " I begin, "I was wondering is you might have any positions available, you see, I am in desperate need..."
The man looks uneasy and his footman cuts in, "We have no positions now. Go home."
I think of the forest I just come from and feel an intense fear, though I cannot recall exactly what I fear so much. I cut the footman off somewhat forcefully and say, "I just spent a month in that forest with my brother and he didn't make it out-"
The old man stops me and says, "Come in, I'm sure we can find something for you to do."
I step inside the marble-floored mansion, filled with leafy plants, light, and playful young boys. As I change into new clothes and an apron, I feel a sadness when I think of my separation from my own family, as well as something like guilt at the mysterious loss of my brother, and confusion about my situation in the house in relation to the other orphans. Why wasn't I taken in as this man's child? Was it because I asked for work to begin with, and not care?

Old Flames

Ian has a large European nose and a paltry grade point average. The former is true in "reality" and the latter is objectionable, that is, if you are Ian. The two of us are running together in my backyard, suddenly the size of Ravenna park, with small landslides and a profusion of smokey cobwebs. We talk of many things, mainly about why he and I should not date, but for my part, "the lady doth protest to much" and Ian kept giving me that wry smile which said, "take this as a joke or seriously, I'm content to flirt." Kiri was dancing with a group of Japanese foreign exchange students in the distance, and we both wanted to meet them but Ian kept exclaiming, "When will I see you again!?" In reply to which I would look at him all quizzical-warm-like and say, "When will you be coming back?" I was writing a book, he was gallivanting about. We met again on a wrought iron spiral staircase.

Impressive and Ever-So-Useful Powers

I sing, "The Same Fire" to Alex, but he is unresponsive. Instead I have just set Shorewood Elementary on fire. I feel guilty about the Ficus, since they have been thriving recently.

I am back at Burien Dance, in pointe class. Bridgette seems to have trouble remembering her choreography for our dance, and when she does it is terrible. We waltz diagonally across the floor for at least twelve counts, and collide into a can can line.
Class ends, and I go out to the lobby. Ginny, a girl I used to dance with is there waiting for the next class, and she asks me, "Are you ever going to come visit my Grandma's furniture liquidation business? It's right in the middle of the U-District!" I say yes, of course I'll come, because it seems really important to her, and ask for directions on how to get there. Of course, she has no idea because she doesn't know the area, so I ask for cross streets or an address. She can't give me either of them, so I end up flying over the area and setting down on 15th and 43rd, near the bookstore.
The furniture liquidation business actually turns out to be a protective shelter for some magical giraffe's that are threatened by some grumpy dinosaurs roaming the area. The dinosaurs are on a rampage, and I have to act as peacemaker, but in order to communicate with either group I have to become an animal, as small and nonthreatening as possible. The natural answer, of coarse, is a squirrel. I find a shed and sit down to concentrate on my transformation, with my dragonfly friend as a lookout. Beginning takes me longer than usual, but at last I am able to concentrate on my squirrel thoughts and I begin to shrink. When I judge I am small and furry enough I scamper out of the shed and over to the giraffe shelter, oping I won't have to go through that process again.

Another Barefoot in Public Bathroom Dream

The rules state that I must shower first, so I wander through the complex maze of the locker room until I find a relatively uncrowded shower. I set all my things down and turn around to shower, but when I turn back they have all been taken. I am not concerned about my clothes (if they are missing), but rather about the top-secret diagrams. I ask my mother to help me look recover them, but she is missing too. I walk back out of the locker room, now all too aware of the grimy wet floor, until I find the lifeguard. He reminds me of an older Mr. Wallis, or other vice principal-like figure, and I tell him of the theft. He makes me lead him back to the scene of the crime, where he discovers nothing and makes insincere promises and mutters about paperwork.
Obviously, my only hope for recovering the plans is Roderick. I take a walk around the block with him, and by the time we get back to the starting point, we almost kiss. o_O

I am in a fancy new building with glass walls and doors, along with about seven other people, including my brother. Finally, we convince the security guard that we really want to be locked in for the night, and he leaves. We all shiver in anticipation of the event that is about to happen after months of waiting. Our research has come down to these final few minutes, indicated my a large digital timer with red numbers on the wall in front of us. We take our places: I stand in an alcove in the glass wall, leaning as far forward as I can against a glass door, looking to the left. Two other people crowd in an alcove to my right, but I have a better view. One woman is actually in the room my door leads to, and she presses her nose against the glass wall on the left side of that room, peering intently into the room the actual event will take place in.
One minute is left, and I can see motion at the far end of that room, but the woman is blocking my view. Some apparatus with wheels is slowly rolling backwards with a great effort against some resisting force. I shuffle forward a few inches, wishing I could get into the next room. Then I try the handle of the door. It turns. I push it and step forward, and an alarm goes off! All of the lights shut off!

Bunnies in the moonlight!

I am in a very strange world (same physical properties, completely different ethos) when I make friends with a midget. We both went to school in the same castle, which looked a bit like Suzzallo but with real marble. One day I am at the midget's cave, which not surprisingly is midget-sized, such that I must squat considerably to walk around. We decide to go shopping together, and so we head out to the local open air mall. There we find a stall selling small stuffed animals. I am captured by the rows of pink ducks, blue bears, pandas and bunnies. I like the bunnies in particular, so the midget buys me a few, which was very nice of him. And as the man is packaging up the bunnies in a brown paper bag, I get the sense that these bunnies were once alive, not in a "taxidermied" sense, but by some sort of transmutational trick. This sentiment is shared by the midget, but we say nothing.

Heading back toward the midget's cave, we take a detour to an acquaintance's house; she breeds bunnies while not attending school with us. Why the midget wanted to go here I am not sure, but I notice at the end of the trip, the acquaintance's bunnies are fewer in number.

Back at the midget's cave, it grows late and I decide it is too dark to head home so we end up having a sleep over. We sleep on the floor of an even shorter cave with one window, the bag of bunnies rest between us. Now the midget reveals that he is in fact a magical midget! I can't sleep yet because when the moonlight hits the brown paper bag, all the bunnies will become real rabbits! And so I wait. As it turns out, the midget was right, but the live bunnies couldn't last forever. I let them fall asleep on me as I doze off. In the morning, I look for the bunnies but find that they are no longer asleep on top of me. Inside the bag the bunnies have turned into french fries! This does not bother the midget and I, so we make a lunch of these french fries. The larger french fries we do not eat, because presumably these are the stolen bunnies that were alive in the first place.

The next day, the midget and I are by a pond with the paper bag. We throw the remaining french fries into the pond - which looked like Monet's, the one with the water lilies. From the water spouts a metallic contraption, it is rather architectural and very tall. At the other side of the pond our acquaintance grows angry. She knows that we have stolen her bunnies and so she throws a bunny onto the ground where it begins drawing the metallic parts to it through some act of animal magnetism, pardon my pun. All the metal parts join up to form a gigantic robot bunny with a large saw attached to its arm. The bunny starts the saw and begins to chase us with its fierce rotating blade.