I had just about given up on Disney Who after that entire episode written around a single brilliant (better) moment between Harry and the Doctor from “Genesis of the Daleks”, but I’m a sucker for time-skip stories like “73 Yards”, though I think Black Red Mirror’s “Demon 79” did something similar (and again, better). The next two felt like the inevitable reminders Gatwa’s both Black and gay and were serviceable enough, but damn, was that finale ever a twisted abhorrence to this long-time fan. For an all-new series, it sure does rely on marvels of its past; even that homage to a scene from “Pyramids” in an earlier outing was a pale imitation, amidst hokum appropriate for mid-to-later-era CW Flash. At least nonagenarian Gabriel Woolf got paid in 2024 money.
Stuck in the hotel on my latest trip to the Twin Cities I got to explore the free offerings on Pluto TV, one of whose channels ran ad-supported Britbox reruns of the Pertwee era, more or less in order until it got to Baker, and never was the popular term “peak” more apt. I fear my Doctor’s not long for this world, so allow me to praise his performance in those first few seasons we had on PBS, including in Leela’s debut, when he was at his most ruthless and egomaniacal.
Immaculately dressed blonde British spy and I solved the mystery behind the whereabouts of the legendary weapon and unearthed it from a burlap cover in an abandoned warehouse; we knew it wouldn’t be easy returning the treasure to her government (despite serving as no basis for its system, since supreme executive power of course derives from a mandate from the masses), so I put her hand on its hilt and hid it under her long coat, holding her closely as we waded through the crowds on the street, separating momentarily to pass when they got densest.
Joseph Lin was still the boss at work, and I sought his permission to borrow the truck parked in the warehouse to get home, though I thought it might not be worth the trouble, having to bring it back in the morning. His complexion was worse than I remember, and he wiped away the sweat or secretions while he explained to me that Patrick Stewart was retiring not only from his career in film and television, but his honorary position at the company. (Reminds me of the celebrity endorsement Apex purchased from Terry Bradshaw.) My earlier scenario found me free from my usual state of transportation-disabled, collecting my things after a class, fitting one backpack into another so that I’d only have two to carry. The girl that had sat beside me, who had curly brown hair like the actress who played Elaine’s counterpart on Jerry’s failed pilot, told me her father was picking her up, but that he was fussy about her sitting in his car, even the way she handled its door. I told her I’d take her home instead and not complain, “I’ll even open it for you,” I offered—the conversation felt real, I recall our exchange clearly; she asked me for my name, which despite a certain extent of intimacy we somehow hadn’t gotten to sharing, to which she replied, “The Jay?” “I guess I am,” I flustered, and our relationship having withstood my reputation, bravely requested her number. She smiled and nodded, and as I fumbled for a writing instrument in one of the nylon pockets, I would learn she was Marissa.
I could’ve sworn my welcome lurid dream happened after waking at three, though that would mean it awkwardly segued into my later holiday-themed one in an office, it was dark, later in the evening, and as we all headed for the exit, our bubbly Kelly Kapoor became decorated with firefly-like lights slowly falling from above. Everyone cheered as they received their own shower of special effects—me, however, mine was but a trickle in comparison to the others, and I thought maybe that was because I remained preoccupied with the stupid job and didn’t share in their wonder, their laughter, nor embody the same joyous spirit that flourishes in the human heart and connects us all. I probably should have, considering I had finally gotten some earlier.
It’s not seldom I revisit my MMORPG stomping grounds; I probably got further in Guild Wars, alts, legendaries, and more recently but everything came without nearly as much hardship in comparison that I remember it less.
I was late logging in, but the program was smart enough to put me with my teammates when my avatar stepped through the portal and just like that, we were in the thick of battle with the enemy! It seemed premature, but I let loose a special ability that sent out a barrage of ghost-like fireballs in a cone-shaped pattern (surely taken from one game or another over the many years) and luckily I was lined up correctly with my target for it to be effective. Immediately following our victory, I had the chance to pose my character on-screen, selecting a flying jump-kick to capture for later use. There was no voice chat during the event, but I found myself on the phone with a fellow player whom I called “Winnie”, from her pleasant demeanor an amalgam of Wing and even older client with that name, a nice lady whose boss, I won’t ever forget, suddenly passed from cancer after complaining of stomach pain; I felt lucky to be talking to her, as she occupied an administrative position in our organization and even made up a meaningless “last question, I promise” about changing my icon on the website to stay on the call, but when I thought we were done, she brought up a news story I had previously shared about a local man who, quite seriously I reminded her, killed his wife.
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.
Work again, this time at the job that saw better years when they were actual competitors in their industry and not just licensing their brand to anyone who’d use it sell crappy products. And somehow I made it back to the early 70’s or whenever that was, and everyone there was a younger version of themselves. I certainly would’ve liked to see Karen at that age, but she was nowhere to be found. Their Japanese employees went by their full 姓名 names written in English, so I thought it best for me to adopt a similar identity unbeknownst to them. The setting then shifted to the present day, or near future, where CEO Russ Lesser was the sole familiar face (and still driving that circa. 2000 Dark Bowling Green Corvette) but looking much the worse for wear.
DALL-E beat Stable Diffusion for the closest approximation of my image of Jakarta, except the volcano clearly had a Super Mario angry face carved into it.
About a month ago I was abruptly reassigned to another manager (incredulous reason I was given later was that my previous one was at his capacity for underlings), which must’ve prompted a dream where I was enlisted into a small cohort of unfamiliar folks from different departments as a part of some team-building exercise, the sort I’ve had to participate in more of since joining this company than in my entire career, and after taking a bathroom break, returned and was immediately put on the spot by the host. I was questioned as to the kind of person whose response to a new subject is to ask ‘of what importance is it’ or ‘how does it affect me’, in a rhetorical way, as if this were the enlightened course taken by our leaders. “Does this have any bearing on discussion during my absence,” I inquired, no, she answered, then snarkily replied, either someone who doesn’t have very much time or a narcissist. It’s attitudes like this that are really hurting my upward mobility, aren’t they?
In another more recent work-related scenario, Andy Hsu and I were onsite like we haven’t been in years, though I did have to remind him how our respective project responsibilities have changed as they have since. Alvin Jardin, from even further back, was the representative on the client side, and the three of us shared a connection which only made that special kind of sense it does in dreams whereby Andy’s piss flowed wirelessly through his bladder, but I regulated its entry into the toilet, hoping that by pausing and resuming ever-so casually I could reduce the embarrassing impression that I had let it accumulate for too long tonight.
Never seen this video before, but holy shit, Bowie was a god!
Back when he passed, I wrote an obituary of sorts on the old job’s content-starved Yammer site (thought that was bad enough, then after being taken over by a nearly 1K-large organization, theirs was still manned by a single executive whose role seemed to be to do nothing but), accompanied by this picture:
I remember some banter about David Bowie before the last staff meeting a couple of weeks ago, and I was rummaging through some of the boxes in the garage only to unearth these relics from a bygone era. 7th-generation [iPod] nano for scale… to think I ran with that thing, which really is as heavy as it looks! (And isn’t Apple getting a lot of flak over rumors that their next iPhone is going to do away with the headphone jack, it being what, 2016 now?) All the memorials may have since passed, but the “Heroes” cassette was surprisingly cued up for the title track—like a kind of time capsule, almost—and while the playback reminded me just how old this stuff is, it was a fine personal tribute to the artist.
Bonus: The song is just as brilliant in languages I’ve studied in my lifetime. Sadly, the only music I brought in to play on Mrs. Hogshead’s box turntable was Kraftwerk’s “Tour de France” 12-inch. (Pardon if the lyrics don’t display upon hover, the Soundcloud iFrame seems to interfere with the <title> tag. These links are all bound to fail one day, anyway, so best to preserve the content elsewhere.)
