Open to Interpretation

Not long ago, I wrote about a curious motif I've often encountered in my dreaming life.

Last night, I had a dream which was downright disturbing.

In the dream, I'm standing on a city block doing goodness knows what, when suddenly a dog runs past being chased by a horse. The two animals race by me and around behind a brick building. A moment later, they appear out the other side, in a small parking lot between the buildings.

The horse catches up with the dog -- some brown and white mid-sized breed -- and bends down, picking it up by the back of the neck like a mother dog with her puppy. The dog is dangling there, presumably happy as a lark, while the horse carries it a few paces. The horse then lowers the dog and lifts it again, this time by putting the dog's head itself in the horse's mouth.

The dog starts kicking a little as the horse carries it a few more steps. Again the horse lowers its head, placing the dog on on the ground. With its hoof, the horse tips pulls the dog over onto its side, and holds it gently in place. The dog's tongue is lolling about and it just lies there, not scrambling or trying to get up.

That's when things go horribly wrong.

The horse bends down, opens its mouth, and bites the top off of the dog's head. It backs away a step, and the dog starts running around frantically, with nothing but a neck and lower jaw. The top half of the head is gone entirely, save for a ragged, bloody mess where it should be. The horse chews absently, gore and blood falling loosely from its mouth.

The dog's body goes around in frantic circles a few times. Its front legs buckle and it collapses in a heap.

A moment later, as happens in dreams, the dog is suddenly no longer a dog, but a teenaged girl, about 14 or so. She gets to her feet and wanders confusedly around the parking lot for a moment. She is clearly in a daze when she puts a hand to the back of her head, and discovers that there's a bloody hole where the crown of her head should be. She doesn't scream. She doesn't ask for help. She just looks around at the people gathered, wondering what on earth she should do.

That's when I woke up.

Running Silent

Just in case you both were wondering, I have received no response whatsoever from the people at the shopping channel regarding their 300% claims. Hmmm. Disappointing.

My Crazy Life: An Update

So it's been a busy weekend. Not only did our rehearsals for The Rocky Horror Show start, but I also auditioned for another show, Me and My Girl. I won't go into the boring details, but I'm happy to report that I've been cast as Gerald, a snooty English fellow who should be great fun to play. I've seen the show once before (starring a good friend of mine who will again be reprising the lead role role this time around) and I must say it's a fun and funny show. Light and fluffy, but quickly-paced and witty. A good old English class farce. I'm looking forward to it immensely. Gerald will also be quite a contrast from Riff-Raff. Of course, that means that for the next month, I'll be juggling rehearsals (and performances) between two shows, plus working a full-time and a part-time job. I really am a sucker for punishment, am I not?

In other news ... I've been too busy to have any other news. The other day I bought some new socks. Oh yes, my life is rolicking, indeed!

Rockets and Rocks

So, I'm flipping channels and I stop, briefly, on the shopping channel while they're promoting the Rocket Grill. I'm not sure why I stopped, since I never watch that channel, but something told me that stupidity was on the horizon. Not 30 seconds after I arrived on the channel, they made the assertion that the grill can reduce fat by up to 300%. (Go ahead and click on that link and you'll see that in the description, too.) Now, immediately my logic centre kicked in and I thought, "Humina-Huh? How can you reduce fat by 300%?" You see, that means that if you ate a hotdog, for example, cooked in the Rocket Grill, it not only would contain NO fat (a 100% reduction in fat), but it would also mystically remove the fat of two more hotdogs from your body (the remaining 200%). So, if the Rocket Grill can reduce fat by 300%, it'd be the best diet plan ever! Furthermore, the rambling woman said that it would reduce cooking time by up to 300%, indicating, therefore, that if you chose to cook a five-minute hotdog in the Rocket grill, it would be ready ten minutes before you began! Now THAT's the grill for me and my hectic life!

I've sent a querie to the shopping channel, so we'll see if they respond. I have my doubts.

I also saw a little thing the other day about taking the ashes of a cremated loved one and having their carbon turned into a diamond which you can wear proudly as jewelry. I'm not sure how I feel about this whole thing. Is it any creepier than having Aunt Mable in a jar on the mantle? Still, it just seems a bit extreme, compared with the old "scattered to the wind" approach. (Personally, I hope someone has me made into a nipple ring so they can keep me close to their heart.)

(Okay, I've found another site for the Rocket Grill, and this one has two variations on the 300% theme. In one place, it says, "Cooks 3X faster*". The asterisk leads you below where they go on to explain that it means faster than oven broiling. Then it says, "Removes 3X the fat**" and **vs. pan frying hamburger. Up top, though, it says, "Cut your cooking time by 3X", which is another illogical statement. People should be careful that they say what they actually mean. Of course, people hear these types of statements and go "300%? Wow! That's amazing! Give me the number to call!" The best thing about this site? It's "hosted" by a gal named Sissy Biggers. Yep. Seriously. But it's not even porn. Not at all. Look closely and after she shares a word or two with you about the Rocket Grill, she just stands there staring vacantly at you, moving ever so slightly all the while, in a looped animation. She probably felt pretty cool filming that. "Just smile for the camera. Smile for the camera. How much freakin' longer? Just keep smiling...")

I Have a Dream

Occasionally I have dreams which one could describe as odd. Bizarre even. I once had an incredibly vivid dream in which I was in a video store shopping for Shelley Duvall's Faerie Tale Theatre episodes (I was even rather overjoyed when I found one I didn't have...I spend way too much time with either children or with Jasmine, who has the whole series on DVD). I looked down, and found a tiny red cat at my feet. Tiny, as in the size of a mouse. Red as in the colour of raspberries. Cat as in feline. I'm sure that was a symbol of something deep and psychotic, according to dreamologists, but hey, what do I care? I know that the cat played a much bigger part in the dream as a whole, but I've long since forgotten act two.

I've also had several disturbing dreams in which my pet tarantula (yes, I really do have a tarantula) has died in awful, disturbing, and generally upsetting ways. Once, Pamela Anderson was responsible for the death (don't ask me where that one came from) and I was SO angry with her, and lambasted her for being such an irresponsible clod. Recently, the dream version of the tarantula met its demise by having its hairs and exoskeleton start to degrade into a slimy substance until she just fell apart in my hands. Unpleasant, to say the least. Perhaps I worry that I'm not a good parent to my beloved arachnid.

But all of this is a digression from the dream I wish to share with you. I have recurring dreams which all contain variations on a theme. I've never heard anyone else discuss this dream motif, so perhaps it's unique to me. Just the other night, it popped up ...

In these dreams, I am generally chewing gum, though it's sometimes not gum at all, but food of some sort. It's really irrelevant, other than the fact that I have something in my mouth which is chewy. I'm never quite sure whether I'm stuffing more and more of it into my mouth, or whether it just somehow increases in volume on its own, but in any case, I eventually find myself with a mouth that's stuffed full of gum (or whatever). While I never have trouble breathing, a problem nonetheless arises. Sometimes it's that I am unable to converse with anyone, due to my disgusting mouth full of gum. Still other times, I suddenly realize that I'm about to meet someone for the first time and don't want to make the first impression that would undoubtedly come with an introduction with a mouth absolutely and cheek-stretchingly stuffed with gum.

So, I do the only thing I can possibly do at this point. I start grabbing at the gum (or whatever) and pulling it out of my mouth. (The other night, I was conveniently located in a dream bathroom, so I was throwing it into the garbage beside the toilet.) No matter how much I pull it out and throw it away, however, I am unable to get rid of it all. I can get rid of a bunch of it, making it easier to talk, but there's always gum left. There's too much to just lean over and spit it out. I can only keep sticking my fingers into my mouth and grabbing the disgusting stuff and throwing it out in a panic.

It's more disturbing than it sounds.

Perhaps I should go and be analyzed at some point. You know. In my spare time. (Hey, wait. Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me that I'm packing too much into my life. One of my goals is learning to say "no" to more things so that I'm not running madly off my feet all the time.

And on that note, ROCKY rehearsals start this week. Plus I'm auditioning for a second show as well.

Maybe I just will never learn.

Creature of the Night

So, now that it's 1:30 in the morning, I'm raring to go. This is what happens whenever I'm unconstrained by the realities of a job that gets me up early in the morning.

I just finished reading for a spell (from the previously referenced Something Rotten, by Jasper Fforde, which I'd misplaced for a while and have now resumed reading) but of course I'm ridiculously awake, so I reckon I'll read a bit more before packing it in for the night. I'll also put away some laundry.

I've realized something lacking about my house, however, which will have to be remedied sometime soon. I don't really have any truly comfortable reading spots. Wait, that's not one hundred percent true. I think that the chairs on my front porch are very comfortable for reading, but no matter how mild this winter has been thus far, it's not pleasant enough to be sitting on my porch drinking tea and reading like I did in the summer. I'm not sure that bringing a "Muskoka" chair (or an "Adirondak chair", to those who speak American, and I'll give you the likelihood that they were deemed "Muskoka" chairs only by some Canadian who just wanted something more homegrown in a name) into my living room is quite going to cut it. Suggestions for ridiculously comfortable reading chairs are welcomed.

Some day I'll have an actual library in the home where I live. It'll have more bookshelves than is reasonable and a few comfortable chairs with little tables and lamps. Maybe it will even be high-ceilinged enough to have a little ladder for the top shelves. Aaaah. I can dream.

New Year, Happy

Here's a brief post wishing ... well ... let's just throw it out to the world ... EVERYONE a wonderful new year.

I've spent the past few days visiting with great people, drinking scads and scads of tea (no complaints there), and doing a little bit of work here and there. I've played hooky from work, as mentioned before, so this week I've got to pack in as much as possible to catch up. Still, life ain't bad, overall.

Cheerio!

Well Enough Alone

Christmas is now behind us for another year. I managed a quick visit up with my parents and with my brothers. I saw all of the nieces and nephews, who really are quite a charming lot. One of my nephews, who is five, received a Love 'n' Licks Puppy for Christmas, and was so incredibly overjoyed by it with it's wet lickin' love that the poor thing is going to look like it's got mange from being scratched and petted so much. I don't think he put it down for more than five minutes the whole time, apart from dinner.

Upon my return home, I was off to see Wicked in Toronto. I'd seen it last year when the tour came through and it was just as fantastic this time around. Thanks, Jackie!

Since then, I've pretty much played hooky from the work that needs to be done. Sleeping in? Worth it completely. After New Year's, I'll get back to the real world.

In completely different news, I watched THX 1138 for the other day for the first time in a hundred years and what I'm about to say is nothing new, but it bears reiterating. George Lucas needs to let things go. The movie's not for everyone, but I quite like it. That's not my problem. My problem is that it's the "Director's Cut" which means he's gone back and not just reedited it, which wouldn't bother me too much, but he's decided to beef up things with CGI effects yet again. Nowhere does it actually indicate that things have been added, but it's pretty darn obvious when you're watching a movie made in 1971 and you suddenly think, "My goodness. That looked like CGI." It DRIVES ME NUTS. (Problem #1: You know they didn't have CGI effects before TRON, and so it seems misplaced. Problem #2: CGI shouldn't look like CGI anyway, so it looks misplaced.) Accept the fact that you made the movie as you were able to make the movie given the fact that it was NINETEEN SEVENTY-ONE! This site has a blow-by-blow of the changes made, if you're interested. The monkey things at the end are of particular irritation, since they look so stupid, poorly integrated, and out-of-place in the whole movie. If nothing else, I wish that old Georgie would put both versions on the DVD so one can choose whether to watch the original or his souped-up versions.

Wow. That was more of a rant than I intended.

Happy New Year to whoever's left reading.

Critical Thinking, Random

Okay, so I've been the most prodigal of writers as of late. Deal. I have.

I don't have much to say, other than the holiday rush is clearly upon me and I'll just scramble between now and the weekend and whatever's done by then is done and what isn't will just have to wait.

In the meantime, have you ever noticed that the same people who will drink nothing but bottled water at a restaurant (disdaining the tap water) don't seem to carry through their water-elitism in other areas? They may drink the soft-drinks the syrups of which are undoubtedly being mixed with that self-same tap water. They order the pasta which has been boiled in the tap water. They'll drink juices which have been packaged after being reconstituted from concentrate. (Who knows what water that is? I certainly don't know.) I'm not anti-bottled water, but I don't delude myself into thinking that it goes beyond that bottle.

Then there's the whole "straws wrapped in paper" thing. We know nothing of the environment in which they're wrapped. For all we know, they were dropped on the floor on the way to the wrapping machine by a sniffling, sneezing worker with open sores, but it makes us feel better knowing that at least that kid behind the counter didn't touch the thing! (Of course, the cups and the lids don't say "sterile" anyway, so what does it matter, anyway?)

My point? Beats the heck out of me.

Hygenic Deadlines

My soap has an expiry date.

Soap. Expiry date.

I picked the bottle up and, for reasons I would be hard-pressed to articulate,
turned it over and looked at the bottom and saw an expiry date. On my
soap.

Yes, I've got to finish using my Bath
and Bodyworks handsoap before July of 2008. What will become
of the soap at that time, I don't know nor do I intend to risk finding
out. Curiosity drove me to check the other two bottles in my cupboard,
finding that they, though purchased at the same time, have rather
different expiry dates. September 2007 and June 2009, to be precise. I
wonder what makes the difference?

Jackie was the one who originally got me using these soaps (which may, to some, seem girlie, but I figure any guy can stink like Irish Spring, but isn't a
moisturizing and antibacterial handsoap more appealing, especially since
I'm always falling down in my duties to moisturize my hands the three
times a day I'm supposed to do it?) They're also pleasant since,
although they smell pleasant -- and sometimes tasty -- while handwashing, they don't leave a terribly strong after-odour.

I'm sure you wanted to know this much about my soap.

Suffice it to say that my soap has an expiry date. Seriously.

[Okay. See the crazy and annoying spacing / line returns in this post? I did NOT put them there. It just did them automatically, but I refuse to fix them all again.]