So what, we’re using this blog as Twitter now?

I needed them to get into a restaurant to celebrate my birthday since open toed slippers apparently weren’t acceptable. I tried to pay for them but my dad wouldn’t let me, then…

Last night I dreamt that I was buying a pair of shoes from the girl in the office next door.

I have no idea what this means.

We need to get back in the Game!

No more cheese before bed for me…

Some kind of worm, at least 800 metres tall, impossibly thin but with a trumpet-like mouth stands over the city, screaming “I HAVE FOUND YOUR GOD!! I HAVE FOUND YOUR GOD!!” The ground starts to shake as a hundred metre tall tsunami – black as night – appears on the horizon and the crowds start to flee. “HERE COMES YOUR GOD!!” shrieks the worm…

Don’t you love those dreams that make you wonder just what the hell is going on in your subconscious?

A Grand Night!

You mean you didn’t figure it out?

So, the other night it was my 20 year high school reunion (which is weird, since I graduated in 1993, but hey, whatever). The entire year (which seemed a lot bigger that I remembered) was assembled in the school gym, waiting for the festivities to begin. After a few minutes the Principal appeared on stage and after some preliminary remarks told us to pair up with our dates from the ’93 graduation ball.

Now this was easier said than done for me, as my date for the graduation ball had fled the state rather than attend with me. As it turned out however she was at the reunion and swung by to say hi (she’s blonde now, go figure). She wouldn’t pair up with me, but that cool by me since we’d been set up by the school in the first place, so I just wandered around nonchalantly, more or less daring the staff to ask why I was by myself.

A few minutes later the staff swung into action and got us to sort ourselves into those ridiculous house lines they used to make us sit in during assemblies. Once we were thus arranged we were made to sit on the floor. The Principal launched into a speech, which was quickly interrupted when he noticed a guy in the green house who (for some reason) had a large, bronze, Chinese incense burner sitting next to him, pumping out a considerable amount of smoke.

The Principal leapt of the stage and – flanked by several staff members – charged towards he of the incense. Unfortunately only half way across the gym he collapsed with what was obviously a massive cardiac arrest. His supporting staff (helped by several parents who were sitting at the back of the gym) rushed to his aid, and he was quickly taken out to an ambulance. We former students – sensing trouble – tried to scatter, but a group of us were corralled by that insane maths teacher I never liked who charged us with tracking down the ne’erdowell whose incense incapacitated out beloved leader.

We started searching around the Gym. After a quick word with the Principal’s son (who I must say didn’t seem overly concerned about his father, being much more worried about his prematurely grey hair) I headed outside to both seek the culprit and see what had changed in the last twenty years. Here I ran into one of the Damiens and the Black Douglas, who were similarly admiring the additions – which seemed chiefly to consist of several staircases, some confusing walls and some excitingly landscaped mounds and pits. We were just exploring these when some joker decided to turn on the water, revealing the pits to be ornamental ponds. I struggled my way out and found myself on the oval, so I headed around to the back entrance of the gym – along with a bunch of other former students.

Despite the distraction of the large radio telescope array that had sprung up on the far side of the oval I noticed some of my comrades in arms from my days back at the SGC in the crowd. Realising that they would be just the people to help track down the incense man I grabbed them and explained the situation. Happy to be united back into our unit we (that is to say myself, Colonel Jack O’Neil, Daniel Jackson and Teal’c) proceeded to the back entrance where the sentry on duty told us entry was prohibited. Our protests that we were the famous SG1 cut no ice until we proved that Teal’c was a Jaffa by pointing out the large scar left on his forehead by the removal of his First Prime insignia. This satisfied the guard and he let us through.

I left the other members of SG1 examining the rear wall of the gym while I checked out the stage. The speaker arrays were extremely loud and I had to block my ears to prevent severe hearing damage. The musicians (by means of gesture) indicated that they were wearing special, German manufactured earplugs. I flew up to the walkway behind the stage, but it was occupied by some girls who knew nothing about the incense man, so I flew back down.

In the main body of the gym a fete was being set up. My mother turned up and explained that she was running my brother and father back home, but she’d come back later to pick me up. I said that it was fine, and I’d find somewhere to crash locally. I decided to take a flight around the gym (aerial surveillance and all that) but the overhead bunting from the fete tents was so thick I couldn’t find a safe place to take off from.

I think I woke up at the point…

New Adventures in Aspiration

I drank the slab that Bon Scott drunk…

As all should know, Bon Scott was the original lead singer of ACDC and is famous for shuffling off this mortal coil by choking on his own vomit after a marathon drinking session.

The reason I recount this sordid tale is because last night I almost managed the same feat – albiet without the aid of alcohol (and of course the very fact that I’m writing these words shows that I didn’t shuffle off any coils – unless Edison has finally got that spooky telephone working).

It happened thusly. I was woken in the early hours of the morning from a particularly unpleasant dream about my tax return by my stomach deciding it would be fun to void its contents through my throat. I managed to avert this plan by reflexively jerking upwards into a sitting position, clamping my jaws shut and (and yes, this is an unpleasant detail, but necessary) swallowing for all I was worth. This avoided one catastrophe, but started a second as I suddenly found myself completely unable to draw breath – some of my liberated stomach contents apparently having decided to head for my lungs rather that back to where they belonged.

After a good deal of coughing, choking, wheezing and gargling I was able to free my airway and resume normal respiration. The slight shortness of breath and mild chest pains I find myself subject to today however suggest that I may be in line for a bout of aspiration pneumonia, which should be plenty of fun.

I’ll keep an eye on it.

In other news, how did I not know that Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin were born on the same day? Happy (late) 200th birthday Mr Lincoln!

Deranged Depressing Dreams

Well I mean I’ve got nothing against her music…

(It has been said that there is nothing more boring than hearing about other people’s dreams. You have been warned πŸ™‚

You know it’s really stupid how much dreams can mess you up.

After getting home at 11:15 last night (a story I shall relate later in the week because right now I’m just far too tired) I had a dream where I was back at high school. I was back at high school, but I still had this blog (which is just plain silly because when I was in high school the web hadn’t even been invented).

Also back in high school – and in my year for some reason – was songstress Missy Higgins. Which is also just plain silly because she’s a good seven years younger than I am.

Anyway I was sitting in class mentally composing a rather superior blog entry on the subject of Missy Higgins – something along the lines of “I know Missy Higgins and you don’t, nya-nya-nyaaaa!” – when I woke up.

Now the point of this so far rather pointless story is that once I woke up properly and realised that I don’t actually know Missy Higgins I got all gloomy and depressed. Which is ridiculous because not knowing Missy Higgins has previously not been a problem for me. Nonetheless I remained gloomy and depressed all day, and remain slightly so even now.

So yeah, like I said it’s really stupid how much dreams can mess you up. Or at least mess me up πŸ˜€

Updates later in the week people!

Are they still talking gospel to the people? If so, their voices must sound strange…

The Wyrmworld plan for large scale, distributed Civil Defence.

Jericho is turning out to be not bad at all. A bit overwrought at times, but all in all an enjoyable watch. The one weird thing though is as much as I enjoy watching it, it always leaves me feeling all wound up and anxious in the pit of my stomach.

I put this down to my being a child of the 80’s. Back then we were all living under the threat of the bomb. Every moment of every day we knew in the back of our minds that without warning some idiot in Washington or the Kremlin could hit the button and incinerate us all over some stupid point of political ideology. It was there all the time, much like the threat of terrorism today but worse because while a terrorist attack can kill hundreds, nuclear war would kill everyone. So I reckon Jericho freaks me out on some deep level because it’s the stuff of my generation’s childhood nightmares.

I’m still going to watch it though πŸ™‚

Next week is the fourth episode. The adds are terribly cryptic as usual, but I strongly suspect that a wave of desperate refugees from Denver is about to descend on the town, and drama shall ensue. This supposition has got me thinking about how a society could actually cope with people abandoning the big population centers and descending on small towns, and I’ve come up with some novel ideas that I shall now inflict on the world in general πŸ™‚

(On a side note we’re seeing each episode of Jericho only a few hours after it premieres in the States, which makes a fantastic change. The usual lag for American TV is six months to two years. I suspect someone in Hollywood has finally twigged that the best way to prevent torrent piracy isn’t legal action, it’s giving international audiences the ability to see the shows legally without having to wait for ‘ing months).

So, here’s my idea. You put legislation in place (in peacetime so people have the time to get used to it and make preparations) that in a time of emergency every settlement of more than 100 people is legally required to take in refugees equal to 5% of the population (you also provide government funding to help towns get the necessary facilities in place – extra hospital beds, emergency shelters and food supplies, etc). Jericho for example is a town of about 5000 people, so in an emergency it would be legally required to take in 250 refugees. Once those refugees have been taken in the settlement is perfectly within its rights to tell everyone else to move on, and can enforce that right by any means necessary.

Who gets accepted as a refugee is based on a priority system. The highest priority are the critically injured, the chronically ill, the elderly (let’s say over 65), and children under 16 and their parents/guardians. The first 250 (since we’re continuing to use Jericho as an example) of those people to turn up in town are taken in. The rest are given cursory medical treatment, some water, and told to keep on down the road to the next settlement.

To help the settlements taking in refugees cope, there would be a special provision for medical staff, military and emergency services personnel – 10% of the refugee intake can be allocated to these people at the town’s discretion. So Jericho could take 25 firefighters, cops or paramedics (if they’re available) in place of 25 higher priority refugees.

The diaspora from the city would spread out across the countryside with the weakest finding help and shelter almost immediately, and those able to go further going further. The majority of people would end up somewhere safe and have their needs met, and no settlement would be crushed under the pressure.

Now all of this probably sounds pretty harsh, but it’s meant to be. The situation portrayed in Jericho is harsh – a small town about to be swamped by thousands of desperate people seeking food, water, shelter and medical assistance. Incredibly hard decisions would have to be made and then enforced if anyone were to survive. The idea of the laws described above is to take those awful, inhuman decisions away from the townsfolk, give them a clear framework to work with, and provide the right to defend their home and themselves against the desperate hordes that would otherwise destroy them. It would also give the refugees a clear idea of what to expect, reducing some of the panic and violence that might otherwise ensue.

So yeah, that’s my plan for large scale, distributed Civil Defence. Not bad eh? ;D

I’m out of food, so I’m going to go shopping now.

PS: You may well be wondering what any of this has to do with “talking gospel”. Well, absolutely nothing! I just woke up with that phrase in my head the other morning and thought it was too good to waste. I have vague impression it’s got something to do with Al Jolson in minstrel makeup riding up and down a beach on a jet ski yelling at people, but any deeper significance is forever lost in the world of dreams πŸ™‚

PPS: What!? Wikipedia is down! But it’s the source of all human knowledge!! How can I be sure that my links about Al Jolson and racist entertainment practises of the early 20th century are correct?!?

I had a dream last night…

The kind of thing that can happen when you spend too much time watching DVDs…

I had a dream last night that I was staging a production of Les Miserables aboard the Battlestar Galactica. Oddly enough the major problem wasn’t finding a cast, it was rewriting all the religious references to refer to the Lords of Kobol so as not to confuse the audience.

I think I should probably stop watching Galactica for a while πŸ™‚

Dolphins. Blade Dolphins.

Hmmm, well it seems it’s a good thing I didn’t join the Scary Go Round forum because it seems to have vanished. John A’s probably killed it again. He apparently does this when he gets seriously annoyed by the kinds of things people are posting. Things like plot predictions for instance, or threads dedicated to how hot particular characters are. Apparently the last time he killed the board it was in response to some seriously disturbing posts of the second kind in relation to Zombie Shelley, I don’t know what’s done it this time. Oh well, maybe the forum will re-emerge at some point, or maybe it won’t. I hope it’s the former – it was quite an enjoyable read.

In the meantime I figured I’d take those tests from Helen and Ali’s blogs…

Which OS are You?

Bright and cheerful? Strong and stable? Tendancy to do more than is asked? This test doesn’t know me at all! πŸ™‚

Which File Extension are You?

Now this I like. This is one accurate test! πŸ˜€

Which Nigerian spammer are You?

Well that’s good to know!

Oh I forgot to say yesterday – I had a particularly surreal dream Friday night as a sort of prelude to the general insanity of Saturday. It was about dolphins, all the different kinds of dolphins. Like bottle nosed dolphins for instance. Or blade dolphins, you know, the ones with with two retractable blades in the front of their flippers*In pretty much the same positions at the cannon in the wing of a Spitfire.? And how about those Roman or ‘heraldic’ dolphins? All orange and mottled black like giant goldfish with a big black marlin-like sail down their backs. Man, stuff my dreaming brain comes up with. πŸ™‚

Before going I should mention that (this is horribly insensitive, so be warned πŸ™‚ that Cardinal Ratzinger (the guy who seems to be handling a lot of the Pope-work now there’s no Pope) has the best name ever. I mean Cardinal Ratzinger. Like, the Cardinal who sings to rats. Or of rats. Isn’t that great!?

I think so πŸ™‚

Parker (Posey) Doesn’t Love Me (no kidding?)

I’ve been appallingly slack haven’t I?

Over a week since my last entry, shocking. But to be fair I’ve been extremely busy. I could write about what I’ve been doing, but that’s too much work right now, so I’ll just write about a particularly weird dream I had last night – because that’s always fun, isn’t it? πŸ™‚

OK, I was back in high school, about year nine which would make it 1990. Now I was me from 1990 physically, but I was me from 2004 mentally. So I knew all about the future. Cool hey?

Now the logical thing to do in that kind of situation is to go down to the local TAB and put some bets on – however being only 14 (and not being able to remember the outcome of any sporting events of the last fifteen years anyway) that wasn’t an option. So I decided to do the only sensible thing and start a band.

And not just any band, naturally it had to be a band made up of all my friends. I can’t remember exactly which friends were involved, and who did what, although I do have a vague impression of Justin on drums, and Fabian on piano. In any case I was (of course) the lead guitarist and vocalist. I can’t remember if we had a name either – but I like to imagine we called ourselves ‘Lord High Chamberlain and his Archbishops of Funk’ – because that would be a way cool name for a band (and I’d get to call myself ‘Lord High Chamberlain’ and talk in an affected British accent too :).

Anyway the thing that really made our band stand out was not that we were absolute crap – apparently travel backwards through time not only grants one incredible musical talent but allows one to bestow similar talents on anyone one wishes. No, what made us stand out was that (in order to assure our success) I decided that we’d only play hit songs from the future! Well, hit songs from the future and some Dire Straits. You know, just to be cool πŸ™‚

Anyway, we were so good that I convinced the school to hire us for the social (instead of the usual lame DJ). Naturally this was to be our greatest triumph, so I spent a good deal of time selecting our playlist. I woke up before we actually got to play, but I do remember some of the set I prepared, and hence shall reveal it to the world.

I decided we’d better make a big impression up front. After all many of us were geeks and hence despised by the school community, many of whom wouldn’t have heard just how good we were. So for our first song I selected Are you gonna be my Girl? by Jet. The driving yet funky guitar riff would pull the audience right in – no one can resist a beat like that. To follow that up (after a quick “I am Lord High Chamberlain and these are the Archbishops of Funk!” just so everyone would be clear on just who we were) the obvious choice was Growing on Me by the Darkness. This should really get the place pumping and give me a chance to show of my suddenly remarkable vocal range.

Things got a bit hazy after that. I know that Hey-Ya by Outkast was definitely in there somewhere (even though it would require us to develop a chorus of jockeys). But the really weird one was Paco Doesn’t Love Me by the Spazzys.

Now, I quite like the Spazzys. Sure, they’re a complete rip off of the Ramones – but they’re a good rip off of the Ramones. What’s more they admit that they’re a rip off of the Ramones, and one of the few remaining Ramones (they keep dying of cancer so there aren’t that many left) is aware of them and likes them, so that’s OK. So there’s nothing weird about adding one of their songs to this imaginary playlist. But what is weird is that I wasn’t content to perform it as written (well, that would involve standing up in front of the entire school and singing about how I have a ‘killer crush’ on an ‘Italian fiend’, so maybe there was some kind of method in my madness) and instead rewrote it as Parker Doesn’t Love Me – an ode to alternative cinema’s Parker Posey.

No, I don’t get it either.

Sad to say I cannot remember any of the words of my rewrite – except that “I wanna see your band I wanna make you understand that I wanna hold your hand” became “I wanna hold your hand, wanna make you understand that I wanna be your man”, because I wasn’t sure if she was in a band or not – but it must have been something pretty damn special because when I woke up I was all excited about my new found skill in composition. For about a minute or so anyway, then I woke up properly and thought “WHA..!?” – you know, like you do in these situations.

So, there you go. My dream-self has a thing for Parker Posey, and the Spazzys. And for talking in an affected British accent while singing the songs of Justin Hawkins. All I can say is thank sanity I have to wake up properly in the mornings before going in to work πŸ™‚

The Eyes are the Windows of the Skull

I am so tired. We’re in the middle of another heatwave here in Perth (39 on Saturday, 40 yesterday, 41 today), meaning that I haven’t been doing a lot of sleeping lately. I think I got about four hours in last night, and the last hour or so wasn’t particularly restful consisting mainly of a prolonged nightmare.

What’s interesting is that on the rare occasions I have a nightmare it’s always the same one. Well it’s not exactly the same one, the details are usually completely different. But what remains the same is the overall theme.

Something, often multiple somethings, are attacking the city. Totally trashing it – and not in cheesy 50’s monster movie style either. We’re talking collapsing buildings, fires, massive death and carnage. It hasn’t reached where I am yet, and it might not – it’s all totally random. So what can I do?

I could stay where I am, but with a bunch of gigantic terrors crashing around – any one of which could make a sudden direction change – that would mean being a sitting duck. So it would make sense to flee, but with a bunch of gigantic terrors crashing around going out into the open is tantamount to suicide. There’s nowhere to go and nothing to do to be safe.

We (that is myself and whatever semi-anonymous dream people I happen to be with at the time) always decide to make a break for it. We get into a car – or on one occasion a train – and race off, hoping like hell that we’ll be lucky and escape the notice of whatever’s tearing the city apart. What makes this particularly scary is that the “somethings” (whatever they may be in this particular dream) are either truly gigantic or up in the sky, so we can actually see them going about their destruction. And they can see us. Our only chance of escape is if they fail to look in our direction for as long as it takes for us to get away. Which means an eternity – that particular type of eternity only found in nightmares – of sitting in the back of the car (it’s probably significant that I’m never the one driving) staring at the monsters and praying as hard as I can to be invisible – even though I know we won’t be.

Sometimes I wake up before we get away, sometimes I stay asleep until we reach safety. That’s the worst bit because no sooner do we think we’re OK and we’ve made it than one of the “somethings” rises up over the horizon heading our way. Is it after us? Who knows. The point is that we thought we were safe, we though we’d escaped, but we’re suddenly back to square one. There’s nowhere to run. There’s no escape.

To date the “somethings” have included tsunamis, tornadoes, crashing jumbo jets, demonically intelligent ogres, giant burrowing worms and Godzilla (hey, I don’t give you grief about your dreams :). Last night? I revisited the crashing jumbos but with a post September 11 theme of al Qaida terrorism. Dozens of hijacked planes of all sizes plunging out of the night sky without warning, engines screaming in a maelstrom of light, noise and exploding aviation fuel.

Not a lot of fun.

So yeah, I don’t know what that says about my screwed up psyche, but there you go πŸ™‚

It’s not so much the transient fear from the nightmare that I mind. I mean once you’re awake and realise it’s just a dream you get over that pretty quick. It’s the resulting sense of looming dread that follows me around all day every time I have it. The overpowering feeling that somewhere things are very very wrong. A good night’s sleep usually fixes me up, but given that it’s now 8:30pm and the temperature’s only just below 30 I somehow don’t think I’m going to get one πŸ™

Oh well, it’s going to be cooler tomorrow. Supposedly.

(PS: Just a note for any amateur Freud Dudes out there – I’ve been having this dream for years, since long before the aforementioned September 11. So there goes that theory eh? πŸ™‚

(PPS: Obviously what with it being 39 degrees I didn’t go and take photos of the old East Perth power station on Saturday. Next weekend. Probably.)

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