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quislibetMany odd dreams last night, some of which I remember only in fragments (one about my brother and his consternation at being hit on by a man when I take him to a goth party; something about a giant dorm, and packing leftovers into an elegant takeout meal for my boss). There are three I can remember a bit better:
Dream 1:
Our landlords' side of the house is considerably larger than it is in real life, large enough to contain a grand central hall four stories high. They, along with the real landlords (?), are throwing their annual grand ball, which we don't know about until hundreds of people start to arrive. We feel put out. When we receive a last-minute invitation, I marvel at the size of the place, apparently seeing it for the first time. "This would be a great place to have a LARP," I conclude.
Dream 2:
I am flipping channels and come across the pilot episode for a new sitcom about a no-nonsense middle-aged German woman, a professor of classical studies. I realize to my surprise that the character is supposed to be Hildegard Temporini Gräfin Vitzthum -- in the waking world, the author of some books and articles about women in Roman politics and a friend of my boss. The actress sort of resembles her. The premise for the sitcom is this: Prof. Temporini is trying to adjust to a year away from Tübingen while teaching at an American university, when a magic dwarf enters her life and complicates things. Hilarity ensues.
Dream 3:
I am hanging out with a pair of slow-witted punk rockers in a band called "E.V." (which they tell me stands for Evil Vole, among other things) at my paternal grandfather's house in the Ohio valley. We go to a seaside festival nearby. As we approach the festival we hear music. "Someone thinks they're the fucking Clash," says one of the punks. We see the band playing on a platform out in the water. All five men in the band are wearing sky blue jumpsuits and have blond shoulder-length hair. Rising out of the water in front of the stage are eight letters that do not spell anything in particular, presumably the name of the band. One of the punks starts to guess what the letters might stand for and gets as far as the fourth letter. He concludes that the last four letters are just letters, "Just like our band, E.V." The other punk is angry. "They're ripping us off!" he exclaims. "I'm going to kick their faggot asses!" He goes off to rush the stage. (This would presumably involve wading, but in any event he leaves "camera" range.) The first punk and I make awkward smalltalk until he returns. "They have gin," he says, coming back at last, "so they're cool."
Dream 1:
Our landlords' side of the house is considerably larger than it is in real life, large enough to contain a grand central hall four stories high. They, along with the real landlords (?), are throwing their annual grand ball, which we don't know about until hundreds of people start to arrive. We feel put out. When we receive a last-minute invitation, I marvel at the size of the place, apparently seeing it for the first time. "This would be a great place to have a LARP," I conclude.
Dream 2:
I am flipping channels and come across the pilot episode for a new sitcom about a no-nonsense middle-aged German woman, a professor of classical studies. I realize to my surprise that the character is supposed to be Hildegard Temporini Gräfin Vitzthum -- in the waking world, the author of some books and articles about women in Roman politics and a friend of my boss. The actress sort of resembles her. The premise for the sitcom is this: Prof. Temporini is trying to adjust to a year away from Tübingen while teaching at an American university, when a magic dwarf enters her life and complicates things. Hilarity ensues.
Dream 3:
I am hanging out with a pair of slow-witted punk rockers in a band called "E.V." (which they tell me stands for Evil Vole, among other things) at my paternal grandfather's house in the Ohio valley. We go to a seaside festival nearby. As we approach the festival we hear music. "Someone thinks they're the fucking Clash," says one of the punks. We see the band playing on a platform out in the water. All five men in the band are wearing sky blue jumpsuits and have blond shoulder-length hair. Rising out of the water in front of the stage are eight letters that do not spell anything in particular, presumably the name of the band. One of the punks starts to guess what the letters might stand for and gets as far as the fourth letter. He concludes that the last four letters are just letters, "Just like our band, E.V." The other punk is angry. "They're ripping us off!" he exclaims. "I'm going to kick their faggot asses!" He goes off to rush the stage. (This would presumably involve wading, but in any event he leaves "camera" range.) The first punk and I make awkward smalltalk until he returns. "They have gin," he says, coming back at last, "so they're cool."
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Date: 2002-07-26 05:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-07-27 09:59 am (UTC)