One of the many dreams I had early this morning was about handling firearms, which if I’m to believe popular media my lack of experience in will surely put me and my loved ones at a disadvantage come the apocalypse, but something in the back of my mind, maybe it was the one time a friend invited me to the range, told me that I could tell whether the safety was on or not by the position of the lever: vertical it was engaged, horizontal meant it could fire. (Later search reveals that this is not the case at all and was not worth waking to check.)
In another, I was at the office I recently noticed had a new occupant and my notepad, the kind I used often with the perforated pages bound at the top that never came off cleanly, was somehow confiscated by IT, led by Leon but in another of my memory lapses, I referred to him as Andrew. They scanned a copy of it before returning it and I protested, knowing that my personal information might be at risk, despite my tendency to write down passwords by themselves all over the place without any meaningful reference or sense of order. I cornered one of them, a fellow from Hong Kong with garish art on his shirt and threatened him.
The third one I remember was about an MMO game which I had long since retired from playing but watched as another crew failed to take down a giant boss dragon. One of the characters was a crow-like bird who ordinarily wasn’t capable of flight, but used an ability called “Backpack” and escaped the wipe by retreating to a roof. Even then, the enemy was smart enough to return with a large piece of furniture to climb up and reach them. I was highly critical of their attempt, regaling them of our successful strategies with a lower level cap and weaker gear. This afternoon we’d drive out to Lit Café, you’ll remember, and while waiting for our last meal there accepted a blind invite to a Primal Groudon raid, which also didn’t go nearly as well our very first. It helps that we don’t care anymore.
Took me hours tonight scouring backups and chat logs with nonconducive search terms (all that touted AI failed me here, too) for this relic, only to find it tabbing through a AIM history file with a domain now up for sale.
The country continues to prove the lives of innocents are less important than the guns that are supposed to be helping save them, while I dream of firing upon the approaching enemy with only my fingers and pew-pew sounds when war broke out; they, however, looked armed with working weapons and didn’t fall to my playground rules, so I fled with my comrades. We reached an empty elevator where, just my luck, I found a loaded shotgun, whose sliding stock was strangely located on the opposite side of the trigger but the Resident Evil games otherwise left me familiar enough to yield. And wouldn’t you know, the threat became zombies, which eased my conscience about using it, though I remained concerned that I might be stopped by any authorities we encountered, for its barrel would have been awkward for me to hide in my hoodie’s sleeve. Still, I was now the heavy hitter in my troupe and we drove toward the front line to escort others making their escape from a building behind the main one, which my knowledge of the Austin campus I identified as the “Robert Patterson.” On our way there, we could see some of them walking toward freedom single-file on a ledge.
Physical infirmity nowadays punishes my every exertion, but occasionally I overcome my self-debasement in my dreams and get to be a badass. The other morning I was a leader among an army of monstrous criminals and degenerates living in a post-apocalyptic underground bunker. (Think Mad Max or 北斗の拳, though I described it upon waking as being dressed like a cowboy.) There was a slit of light on a ledge twice my height but I easily leapt onto it from the sandy floor and passed through to the bright outdoors, which I learned was on a rocky moving island. Exploring further, I encountered a settlement of young, mostly naked Asians, who took little notice of me as I swam by and saw a montage of their cultural history, including a teaching moment with Chinese characters 安娜 being placed on a 바둑 board that made me realize I belonged. When I looked back, however, I noticed that a group of my former brethren had breached their confinement, so I intercepted and easily overpowered them. My new friends confined the motley creatures to shelves and put them on trial, while I kept order by spearing anyone who got rowdy with a red ballpoint.
This familiar setting always takes me back to the titular movie, which Chris reminds me our mother actually took us to see at a theater, maybe because she was in her thirties and the target audience of Richard Harris pushing 50, but it left such an impression I’m still dreaming about being as lucky with the tawny-haired ladies as he was at the same age. In another couple of years we would’ve been truly scared shitless by these guys instead of those homeless unhoused-looking derelicts that prove their outlook on the future back then wasn’t too far off.
McDonald’s must have hella warped vision of American health, like we’re Rudolph’s skinny Santa. Still, I shouldn’t fault them for exercising some imagination with their menu, since it’s one of Taco Bell’s strengths. I actually like the McMuffin one and remember my middle school buddy Greg Benjamin inventing fries-in-a-cheeseburger. Heck, maybe someday we’ll be making “hacks” of bug dishes and Soylent Green, for that true human dining experience.
Dream the other night had all my usual conundrums, debilitating fear of heights, frustration with commonplace expectations, and one that a quick search reveals I haven’t mentioned much if at all despite being a fairly regular concern, my slavish observance of the bus schedule. My return ride was always around 8-ish or else I’d miss a transfer and face a long walk home, never mind modern conveniences such as Uber. (I wonder if in a few-odd years when drones will come pick you up anywhere, my subconscious will update then?) The others in my group led the way to a higher platform, effortlessly traversing the gap over a ravine of white stairwells, while I froze; the steps on the other side were so narrow, I wasn’t sure I would land on them safely before attempting another leap upward—it was a wall-jump, fucking videogames! Eventually I determined my only solution was to be forced onto the ledge, which I somehow managed by inserting myself in front of another uninhibited procession. The balcony opened into a dark hall lined with warmly lit, classically decorated sitting rooms, each occupied with well-dressed snobs who seemed offended by my inspection. Lurking in the shadows beside me was Peter Capaldi the Doctor, looking a little worse for wear, but amenable nevertheless for a selfie, but try as I might, I couldn’t get the phone not to overlay dinosaur stamps on the camera.
This morning I found myself in an office building among a band of survivors of an apocalypse. Three of them who looked like members of the high school chess club decided that a Vietnamese girl Binn present would satisfy their pent-up urges. She complied and completed her duties promptly, and I tried to find her to express my sympathies, but instead I ran into an old colleague who seemed to remember me and called out my name. He wasn’t anyone I knew from my past, but he did seem familiar, like an actor who played the role of computer salesman in the 80’s, except his hair was gray and he was missing his right arm. We sat down at a table and he explained that he had been drafted for his expertise with the “Lexor-9” system, whose pre-Internet standalone capabilities made it especially useful in these times. I left by telling him to contact me if they needed help with the modems, which was apparently something for which I myself had a reputation… but as Silver Spear reminds us, “some reputations are false.”
Getting back to my very boring story about faucets and dishwasher. So I said to the head, I called up– great dishwasher company from Ohio that we saved, by the way. I said, what’s the problem with your dishwasher?
Well, they don’t give us any water. I mean, you know, it’d be nice to be able to get enough water. What’s the problem? We need more water. Not that much.
Like, I said, how much you need? This– would you like more? Well, I’d love more. Would you give us– well, yeah, I’ll give you more. You have so much water you don’t know what to do with it, right? So we gave them what they need. And now the dishwashers are incredible. They work beautifully.
And you go one time, and you come back, and your dishes are nice and beautiful and clean and dry. You don’t have to go 10 times. The same thing with the restrictors in the faucet. So I hate to say the three things. It’s the shower. It’s the sink. And you know the third element in the bathroom. But I don’t say it because every time I say it, they only talk about that one because it’s sort of gross to talk about, right?
So I won’t I won’t talk about the fact that people have to flush their toilet 15 times. OK? I will not talk about it. I’ll only talk about showers and– OK? But there is three things. I won’t talk about it. This way, they can’t report it.
So what happens? So what happens, I call my environmental people. Why are we doing this? Because when you wash your hands, it takes you five times longer. You know, the water’s [INAUDIBLE]. You get soap. You can’t get it off. I said, open it up. They said, what do you mean? Take the restrictors off.
People know. And if you’re out here, you’ve got to be careful, and you got to do all the things you’ve been doing anyway. Take the restrictors off. And you may leave it in certain areas where you might need it. But most of the country– big portion, it doesn’t need it.
Then on the shower, the worst. You ever get under a shower where no water comes out? And me, I want that hair to be so beautiful. [INAUDIBLE]. I want the hair to look good. I go into some of these hotels– you know, you travel. I go into these hotels, new hotels. They do a nice job. It’s not their fault. And I get in there. I say, Oh, I can look at it now. I know they– everything.
I say, Oh, here we go. Turn on the water. Drip, drip, drip, [INAUDIBLE] drip, drip. But now you go into a shower, and the water pours out. You go into a sink, and you can wash your hands very nicely. Beautiful. And the third thing to worry about, OK, we won’t talk about. Just one time. That’s all.
For once in my life I’m gunning for the default category, though who am I to fight it, it’s neither the extra bandana wrapped around the bottom half of my face nor the air quality from the fires to the north which remarkably dropped 40 points after I got back, Ser Davos was right, “Nothing fucks you harder than time.”
For once in my life I’m gunning for the default category, though who am I to fight it, it’s neither the extra bandana wrapped around the bottom half of my face nor the air quality from the fires to the north which remarkably dropped 40 points after I got back, Ser Davos was right, “Nothing fucks you harder than time.”