If I could fill a book with anything, it’d be with my dreams. Or at least what I remember of them to start jotting down the details, and big surprise, it’s usually the lascivious ones that prompt me to:
[June 11, 1985, first entry of the summer:] This late night version of “Gilligan’s Island,” cheerfully explained the Skipper, had the liberty of pornography, as revealed in the opening character shots by topless photographs of Ginger the movie star…
Like a few nights ago my significant other (yes, my wife, but there was some significantly other-wordly aspect to her, maybe painted green) and I embarked upon a higher form of relations, which got me thinking later, why, if it hasn’t already been done, isn’t there a comprehensive, explicit guide to sex with aliens? With all the nitty-gritty of Star Trek’s technical manuals. I should imagine that while Vulcans are impressive physically—has there ever been a race encountered with only one-third the strength of humans—their logic would dictate perfectly-poised insemination with none of that unnecessary cuddling.
Apart from stirring such daytime intellectual constitutionals, though, is its benefit as a journal itself, as often as my real-world activities fail me, or vice versa. In fact, the two notebooks I recently found in storage are all I have from that era.
[No date, presumably on or after my 1984 trip to Asia:] I was asleep in Mom’s apartment in Okpo. There was some music coming from the living room which woke me up. I walked out and saw that the cleaning lady had brought her baby who was making a mess. Also there was another woman, supposedly a friend, sitting on the couch like Mork from Ork.
Modern blogging and tagging makes it a lot easier to pan for these nuggets in the stream of passing fads and broken links, especially with my conservative use of the obvious search term, so unless I already went through the trouble, these archives will have to remain a work in progress.
Although the arrangement of the school lockers had been changed, I managed to locate the one to which I had been assigned and recall its combination. Inside was a black tuxedo which I flashed into. I walked outdoors to find a Black friend of mine, similarly dressed in formal attire, awaiting my arrival, and we both stepped into a rather small and unsatisfying black chauffeur-driven limousine. Obviously what was in store was some prom-like occasion. At the restaurant I was greeted by Mom and Dad, who had been sitting on the floor and were shabbily suited. After some difficulty deciding where we would sit, we chose to place couples opposing each other. I grew anxious then worrisome then hopeless, the placed my head down with pessimistic doubt that my date would not come. All of a sudden, Victoria Principal did indeed arrive, and we embraced and began passionately kissing with her on my lap…Victoria and I were lying on the beach, naked as far as I could tell, discussing how love would transcend our difference in age. We agreed upon marriage…
Back at Orientation in Austin, Rajeev Gantela was performing some breakdancing techniques in front of the elevator. I walked down a hallway, and Rajeev followed, screaming and cheering wildly, so I scolded him. Walter Matthau was giving a speech much in the way Mr. Burns does about sentimentality. I went outside and took the lead in a large wedding procession of Elsik students intended for me and Victoria. I selected Ron Crisostomo to be my best man and Thao Nguyen as bridesmaid. Along the way, Victoria and I decided not to get married right away and broke from the crowd and slipped away into the horizon together on a Honda scooter…
Interesting that while I didn’t go on to marry the fitness guru skincare celeb cosmetic surgery lesson, the name of my future wife would be revealed in hers (first and last), the age difference would work the other way with us, and we, too, would break from traditional ceremony.
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