윤

I was outraged seeing a resident of the old building with a child in her lap steering in the tight underground parking lot, but what the hell, I thought, a few more robo-signatures or so and any liability issues are no longer my concern. But I suppose the practice is unavoidable, as I indulged my son during a dream last night with a drive down the freeway in a small open-top coupe. With him behind the wheel like that, we missed our intended exit and went with the next, which took us into unfamiliar rugged territory. Somehow the vehicle managed to climb the first of a few steps from there on, but the rest were impassable, and going back the way we came seemed out of the question, so we continued on foot. The ground was awkwardly uneven, and each platform was separated by an opening to a precarious drop below. (It was only just to another landing, but I didn’t trust him to stay put.) Xavier slipped between such a crack but I got him by the right sleeve. His shirt slipped away, but I took hold of his arm and pulled him up to safety. Woke up and he was passed out on his back beside me.

It’s what they’ve started calling them in this blog, and it’s sadly true. I gripe less about the “animation”, of course, than the writing, and in fact one of my favorite frames from the show is a very zombie-like Homer:

Serves them right, taking a reservation from a master-thief.

Well into my 17th waking hour now, but enough of it remains for me to recall a television program being recorded before us among a live studio audience—or was it a new kind of club holding a Scrabble competition? At the bar, I informed my young family, were actors George Wendt (who I saw the other night without all the weight in My Bodyguard) and Rhea Perlman, reunited in Easter Egg roles. The favorites would lose with words ruled ineligible to a bespectacled girl revealed as the crowd dispersed. I lost track of 老婆 after she, in a hooded coat, took off with the boys, and fell in with others who spilled onto the night street. An Echo and the Bunnymen song was playing, but I’m not sure whether it was “Lips Like Sugar” or “Bring on the Dancing Horses”; I heard that Doors remake last week on First Wave in this, my last month with XM Radio. But like far too much Supertramp on The Sound LA, I can’t stand Sting outside the Police.

So Chipotle’s turning Japanese. Or Chinese. (Anyone remember Olive Garden’s China Coast? I only have confirmation there was indeed a “Great Wall” sampler on the menu.) Well, it doesn’t specify the Asian concept, so who knows, could it even be the 비빔밥 idea I had a while back? Then again, the best place for this ever, in Koreatown Galleria, I recently discovered had abandoned theirs for some bland BBQ or tofu staple, so maybe the time wasn’t right for B-B-BOP.

Jumped up surprisingly sprightly for my recent lethargy when a crash woke me at 4am. First thing I checked was the crib, of course, but the sound was more like broken glass, which led me to one of the small windows above us. It’s the second to have cracked, from who knows what, the house settling (or the builders themselves, for cheap materials), space/time anomaly, or as 老婆 was speculating as I fell back to sleep, pressure from the temperature changes. It’s hard to tell, isn’t it, dream from reality, but the immediate daylight was a giveaway, not to mention the ninja peering inside. And as ill-advised as it might’ve been in the one but not the other, I head-butted him through the dangerous pane.