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Wasn’t quite sure this one was worthy of a write-up, though the details are still quite fresh, until I saw this during my morning surf:
I was returning to my hotel room on the second floor, but for some reason the elevator required I first go to the party on the ninth, so I shared it with a young couple (much like Amy & Rory from the new Doctor Who I’ve been trying to see what the fuss is all about) on their way to the eighth. At their stop, they removed a bunch of their things from the closet behind a sliding door, and I was less startled seeing a closet behind a sliding door on an elevator than learning people actually trusted their personal belongings in it. Finally on my way back, there was a PA announcement that former governor Schwarzenegger was in the building, and as luck would have it, he and his entourage were approaching my car. He wore an oversized tan suit, with a red stain on his white shirt like movie-prop blood. They got in, and the star was huge, towering even over my 6-foot height; I shook his hand nervously and told him it was an honor, and he snickered to his bodyguard, another Teutonic giant. The “car” became a bus, and the lot of us were pressed against each other—me, in Arnold’s crotch—for the ride across the city, with armed escort readying their M-16’s at every stop. I soon decided I’d had enough of this, if not to be rid of the poor example of a family man, then to stop even him from making me feel so inadequate, and shut down the dream as I would my PC. Windows closed, applications were forced to exit and I awoke.

Tagged Doctor Who, family, Netflix, politics, repressed homosexuality