BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Good Morning…

I need help. No, not that kind of help. I’m nowhere near as insane as I pretend to be…well, maybe…if you count that incident in…oh, never mind. I promised the other parties involved I wouldn’t talk about that outside of therapy. But, anyway…

What I need help with is dream interpretation. Now, normally I am pretty good at that sort of thing. I can tag the easy as well as the obscure. And, in this particular incident I am certain I could massage some standard interpretation to fit the events, however the bizarre info dump my subconscious let loose on me last night was so odd that I am not entirely sure it even has an explanation. So, here it is:

I’m at the local airport. Not unusual, because I spend so damn much time there anyway that it seems like my home away from home. Never mind the fact that what I know to be my local STL airport (Lambert, Intl) looks for all the world (in my dream) like the airport in Columbus, OH. (Yeah, I’ve been through that one several times, which probably explains that.)

Anyway, here I am walking through the airport when suddenly I run into William H. Macy and Felicity Huffman. Now, I don’t suppose this is unusual in and of itself, because as I recall they are married to one another. But then, that may have changed, I don’t know. I’m not one for keeping up on the break ups and hook ups in “Hollerwood.”

Of course, it wouldn’t be much of a bizarre dream if that’s all there was to it, correct? Correct. So, Huffman and Macy aren’t just standing there, or strolling along running into dreaming folks. No. In point of fact, they are in front of a newsstand taking turns jumping on an oversized, bizarrely constructed, stagger-pedaled pogo stick. (sorry if that makes no sense, but it was the only way I could think of to explain it. Suffice it to say, it was one weird looking pogo stick)…

Now, if that’s not enough, Macy sees me and motions me over, then completely ignores Huffman, leaving her to bounce around the concourse of the terminal on this pogo-contraption. Suddenly I find that we are sitting in easy chairs near the entrance to the restroom, while Huffman continues to gleefully bounce around the concourse, giggling like a little schoolgirl. At this point Macy and I have said nothing to one another, but now he turns to me and asks me what kind of books I write. I tell him. He gives it a moment of thought and then asks me if I have read his blog. (Hell, I didn’t know he had one)…I tell him no. He then asks me if I have a blog. I say yes. (Now, remember, Huffman is still wreaking havoc with the pogo stick in the background of all of this, but TSA and Airport Security don’t seem to care. They are far more concerned that my wife is a potential terrorist and are searching her luggage. NOTE: Prior to this point in the dream I had no idea my wife was even there.)…So, anyway, Macy gets up to leave without a word, stops, turns and comes back, sits down, and then asks me if my “blog is really intense?”…

Then, I woke up and the coffee wasn’t ready yet.

Needless to say, I am confused. Everything seems to be functioning properly and I do know who the president is (unfortunately), and the day of the week, etc, so I don’t think I had a stroke in my sleep or anything.

Still, this one has me scratching my head.

MR

(This post is in response to a comment left when the Yule Poem was originally posted on Myspace…)

Yes, Jo, I am often amazed that EK doesn’t strangle me as well…

However, I feel compelled to give you all the history behind my version of “Twas the Night Before Xmas”…And, no, it isn’t because EK has me in a choke hold, or that she is standing over me with a flogger…

(Probably because she’s at work right now .)

Anyhow, the posted version of “TwasXmas” is one that is slightly tweaked, with a couple of extra verses added. The “original” psycho-redheaded-material girl filk of this timeless poem was written by me back in December, 1995. Yes, pre Rowan Gant (but not by much, as I began writing the short stories upon which the RGI series are based in 1996.)

Some of you may be aware that I had a long career as a Senior Level Electronics Technician, and in July of ’95 I was stolen away from the service center I managed by a company that had landed a lucrative contract with none other than Western Union. They needed someone capable of doing component level repair on old Concord Payment Terminals. Now, while I had never even seen one of these blue beasts before going to work for this company, I was part of a dying breed of technician–meaning, not only could I work on computers, but I actually knew how to use an Oscilloscope, Logic Probe, Solder/Desolder Station, as well as being able to read schematics. This meant that I could take one of these little beggars apart, track down the offending components (logic IC’s, resistors, capacitors, crystals, what have you) and replace them. They offered me A BUNCH of money to come work for them, as well as some especially tidy bonuses if I could meet a particular quota of repairs. At the risk of blowing my own horn, I actually did 2.5 times the quota each year–so the bonuses were very nice.

So, there is the setup. I left a management position to become a bench tech for another company. While that seems a step down, the dollars made it quite a step up.

However, something I discovered after joining this company is that during the annual Xmas Party, the newest member of the staff was required to Sing, Dance, or in some fashion briefly entertain the rest of the staff. Having been hired on in July, I hoped that I would be spared by a more recent hire but alas, that was not to be. When the holiday party rolled around, I was still the newest kid on the block, and 2 minutes of silly entertainment was expected of me.

Since I cannot carry a tune in a bucket, even if I have help, (just ask the Barstool Prophets…I sat in with them during a party held in my honor at Violet Flame Gifts in Ohio and croaked through a song or two…in my defense I was rather inebriated, but I digress…) As I was saying, since my ear is apparently composed of a tin-aluminum alloy, I asked if it would be okay for me to recite a poem instead. (Yeah, I can’t dance either…think Elaine from Seinfeld)…They were all for that and so it was set. However, you know me. I couldn’t see my way clear to recite something serious, and “TwasXmas” was born.

I actually have the two fading yellow sheets of legal pad paper upon which the original version was written here on my desk. I dug them out of my files so that I could transcribe the bit of rhyme here, and of course, decided to tweak it a bit in the process…(One of those silly writer things)

But, this isn’t where the story ends…(Yeah, here comes the part about EK)…The poem was written all in fun. The absolute truth of the matter is that EK is one of the most practical individuals on the face of the earth. Were the scenario in the poem real, she would be more likely to offer the fat SOB a Scotch, then sit down and calmly talk to him about her list which would contain such items as warm socks, an electric blanket, or maybe some new towels for the linen closet. I kid you not.

Yes, Virginia, the only thing material about my redhead is the fact that I spoil her with material things whenever I can afford it. Oh, she’s still Evil, don’t misunderstand. She’s just not a material kind of Evil…

So, there you have it.

MR