July 30th, 2002. Wednesday
 
 
 

    I read this story in the NY Times yesterday, and I cannot believe the absurdity. Mid-East versions of "Sesame Street," a co-produced venture featuring Hebrew, Arabic, and Jordanians segments, have been changed to "Sesame Stories" because "the concept of a place where people and puppets from those three groups can mingle freely has become untenable."  This is very sad.

    Last night, in one part of my dreams, I was in my room and I opened up a drawer in my dresser. It was some sort of hidden or secret drawer I think, or at least one I hadn't thought to open in a very long time.  When I looked inside, among other things, I found several missing socks, partners to single socks I'd kept in another drawer in hopes that their counterparts would show up.  I was so happy. I couldn't believe it.  A dozen missing socks all turning up at once.  I actually said "Awww yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about!"  I can't figure out if this dream is some sort of metaphor or not, since I really do have a lot of missing socks, a fact that has been weighing heavily on my mind the last few days as I draw closer to laundry day.  Laundry day itself is dictated by the supply of black socks that I have, as well as pairs of fresh underwear.
    Another part of my dream had me playing basketball in an NBA game, though the game was played in what appeared to be a highschool gym.  It was a cloudy day, and there were no lights on in the gym, so the only light was the pale light coming in from the clouds.  Anyway, my team was down as time was running out, and I got the ball to take a three point shot.  As I was shooting, a defender, possibly Larry Johnson, went to block the shot, and I held onto it until he fouled me.  The foul was called, and I missed the shot, but one of my teammates tipped it in.  The coach asked for the shot to count, because in the dream we both knew there was no way in hell I was going to make all three foul shots.  When I stepped to the line, the basket was about 30 feet away.  I missed all three, but got my own rebound on the last, tried a lay-up from six inches away, and bouncing it off the front of the basket. Got another rebound, missed again.  And again. Then I was fouled, and missed both shots. This went on and on.  I've never had this dream before. Usually when I have this sort of dream, it's where I'm running, but can't get off the ground. I feel like I weigh twice as much. As soon as I get a few steps, I fall to the ground.  It's very frustrating, not being able to do something as routine as sprinting away.  I figured the basketball dream was along the same line, but again I'm not sure what it means.
    A more literal dream was had around 7 AM, when my alarm went off. I actually woke up on time for the first time in weeks, but then decided I wanted to go back to sleep. In between snooze cycles, I had a dream where my roommate Josh walked into my room and told me he was going to take a shower, so I might as well just go back to sleep, since I'd have to wait for the bathroom anyway.  So I did just that. It seemed so real.

    Last night after my guitar lesson, I trekked up to Williamsburg to James' house. Actually, his girlfriend Rosario's house.  But it's his de facto place of residence.  It appears I'll be playing with him and his band at Tonic in August, so naturally some rehearsing needs to be done.  From my end, it appeared to go pretty well.  I finally learned the simple pentatonic scale last night at my lesson, something most guitarists probably learn in the first few weeks of playing, and this did wonders for my comfort level while playing.  The playing with a band last night was a moment that's becoming rarer and rarer for me these days, in that I while I was doing something, I wasn't thinking about someplace else I would rather be.  I hate going out to Williamsburg, and I hate dragging my guitar all over the place, but all the hassle was fine with me.  Going home, I missed the accursed G train by about 30 seconds, which meant I'd be waiting another half hour for the train.  This pissed me off greatly, but I was strangely calm about it. Normally I would have been kicking the walls and columns in the subway tunnel, clenching my fists, and cursing under my breath. But I just sat there and read my book for half an hour.
    Still, once I got home, I got in a pretty rotten mood, and haven't emerged since.

DA&R home
Past Aggravations and Regrets
previous|next