Sunday, February 26, 2006

I've met the woman of my dreams.

You might be learning more than you need to about me, but this is very cathartic. Bare with me only if you choose to.

I rarely recall my dreams. Last night I remembered my dream, and I have little doubt to its meaning. My dreams are usually disconnected and surreal, like a barrage of video clips directed by Salvatore Dali. Strangely enough, the ones I recall are sometimes connected. I've observed deja vu in the dreamworld (such as walking down the a street you've been down before, yet you vaguely recall it, because you were lost the first time --or seeing something very specific that you left in a very specific place)* many real years apart--too far apart to consciously remember. I often wonder if the dreamworld is anything less than a completely alternate reality. Anyone who believes that humanity is all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively would have a hard time believing otherwise.

I was with some friends, none of which I can clearly recall, at some very swanky club. The women were very exotic and would probably represent the archetype of beauty. Everything was flooded in a silvery-blue --a hue that I suppose people in marketing might use to give an aura of mystique, sophistication, other words, this was the pinnacle of the female homo sapien.

This club had several floors, and I think there was some protocol where women would approach men and woo them from their group to another floor. I don't understand it, my dreams just have their way of constructing rules & boundaries with perfect lucidity but with infinite subtlety.

On many occasions, my table's conversation was interrupted by women attempting to lure me away. Again--exotic, perfectly proportioned temptresses using some kind of code word which was supposed to summon
me off to another floor. Each occasion, I was painfully blas about these come-ons and reluctant to leave with, well; The Women of my Dreams. I ended up succumbing shortly to a pair of Brazilians, but promptly left for the table of my friends.

Later I ended up leaving with my friends, and then I woke up to get up and pee.

What does this mean? I'm painfully indecisive about my needs, completely without comprehension of traits that I would find desireable in my perfect partner. And moreover, I'm unwilling to leave my circle of comfort to figure out what the hell I want in relationships and in life. And I'm probably -at this point anyways- completely without the gumption to change things.

I really begin to wonder if I'm going to understand what action I need to take if Miss Right crosses my path, or if I'll just fuck everything up. And I might even let her pass, completely passive under a thick veneer of falsified "coolness." Perhaps the prospect of this can push me to absolution.

Or perhaps I was in the wrong club.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Mmmmm Mmmmm Mmmmmm Mmmmmm

So I've got some throat thing going on and my voice has dropped about 3 full octaves. Since Sunday, every word I've uttered has came out sounding like the lead singer from The Crash Test Dummies. 'member those guys?

Anyways, the point of discussion today really has no point but is a simple observation. Last week, I took my playstation 1, which was covered in a layer of dust, and put it along with my ps games into my storage space.

In contrast, the 39 & 43 year-old engineers in the adjacent cubicles have 15 minute discussions about some computer game they play online every time the 45-year-old-long-hair-mountain-man-beard-no-wedding-ring dude from IS stops by. Which is like 10-15 times a day.

And then ...about half the time these of our project managers stops by to issue action items or drop some papers off or something......and makes my day just a little more entertaining.

"....but you totally have to get to level 19 and grab the flute if you want the weapons upgrade for your chainsawwweeerrr... we need to replace that hard disk in your computer. I'll put in a purchase request ASAP.....

Once there was this dude who.
Really hated video games
and old people that played them all dayyyyy-aaayyy
but wheee-eeeennnnn
the 55 year old redheaded lesbian project manager stopped byyyy-eee-iiii
to get a status report on the components got all pissed
the dude who hated geeks got a good laughhhh-aaghhh

or something like that. I'll work on a TCTD cover for all of you.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006


So Bode was out drinking the night before the downhill, so what.

It's not like they all get to go back in 4 years. There's other shit to be doing in the olympic village other than meditating for 23 hours a day in between events.

Like socializing with other athletes. Particularly the sculpted, muscular yet delightfully lithe Olympi-ettes who probably don't even speak English. Gestures and grins (and probably raised eyebrows) are the only communication necessary or expected.

There's no way the Torino Olympic village could be anything other than the highest concentration of human hormone/pheromone anywhere in the world. The Olympics must be a wild orgasmic culmination for the world's pinnacle gene pool. Pass that up for a couple extra hours of sleep hoping that they will translate into a 0.0059 second performance burst? Weigh the options in your head.

Let Bode stay up and have a few beers in peace, please. Might I add that he still skiied better than everyone in North, Central, and South America--probably while nursing a hangover. Shit. He'll probably be back in 4 anyways. Be sure to wave your favorite finger high in Whistler, BC