Wednesday’s Theme Music

Wednesday came calling. I agreed to meet, have some coffee, see where the day drives us.

Thinking of the snowstorm that hit the northeastern U.S. Probably hit Canada, too, but when the U.S. is involved, news of other countries is often crowded out in my realm. Photos and videos are ripe click bait the last few days as stories about the snow’s depth piled up. Some people claim in comments, that’s Photoshop. It wasn’t that bad. Everything is questioned.

Misty damp gray dresses Wednesday here. It’s the day before Thanksgiving in the U.S., November 23, 2022. 38 F, with a shy sun and smirking clouds that hold the sky. The high temperature will be 52 F. For the record, sunrise and set are 7:11 AM and 7:43 PM.

Catching up on Mom news. I text her every morning. It’s about making her feel better. She changed bedspreads, washed the old stuff, put it in the storage bag and then into the closet. Live-in boyfriend helped. He’s 92, damn good shape. She meets with her doctor today to discuss her latest issue, the yokenella regensburgei. No growth after the five-day colony test. Nothing there. So. What to do, the doctors are debating. She meets with them today.

The Neurons have “Hypnotized” by Fleetwood Mac in the MMMS (TM pending). Not about being hypnotized, but the sentiment taken from the opening verses about the same old story. Reading news, déjà vu rakes the senses. I’ve been here before, not too long ago. The day is comfortable, but is that safe?

Other than that, preparing for our now almost traditional friendsgiving celebration. Spouse does almost all of our contribution. We’re being simple this year. I’ve prepared things in the past so we would both take something, but this year, she drew back and said, “I’m just doing deviled eggs and a cheese and cracker spread. We’ll also take a nice bottle of wine.” She’s in charge, so I replied, “Okay.” Be about eighteen people there, all vaxxed. Most have also had COVID. It’s at a farmhouse in the country. Hope it’s a clear night there, as I love standing in that empty space by their house, considering the stars.

Coffee is ready so Wednesday and I will have a cup, see what shakes out. Stay positive, test negative. Here’s the music. It’s Fleetwood Mac with Bob Welch. Bob wrote the song.

Cheers

A Packed Dream

I sorted out all the elements as a catalyst to remembering this convoluted nocturnal offering.

  1. Racing cars from the late 1960s and early 1970s.
  2. The mother of a childhood friend in the late 1960s and early 1970s.
  3. The television show Glee.
  4. My sports car that I drove in the 1990s.
  5. Co-workers from the early 2000s.
  6. A book store and change.
  7. The Vietnam war and the Huey gunship.
  8. Walking and driving.
  9. An embarrassing bathroom incident featuring an elderly Robert Duvall doppelganger.
  10. Sending a coded message.

It was a lot to take in. I dreamed this between 6 AM and 7:45, times that I was awoken to let Youngblood (Papi) out and in again. I was the same age, in my forties, throughout the dream.

Let’s begin the madness.

Started in traffic. I was in my black 1993 RX-7 R1. Highway was a undulating, rolling affair of six lanes filled with cars. It could have been El Camino Real along the Peninsula.

I saw bright cars up ahead. After some seconds of watching them accelerate and race through traffic, I decided that those were race cars. Downshifting, I accelerated to catch them, then I passed one; it was a 1966 Ford GT. Catching up with others, I saw a trio of Ford GT40s, then several Porsche 908s, a couple Ferraris, Porsche 917s in Gulf colors, and finally, Mark Donahue’s fabled Sunoco blue Porsche 917/30. Flabbergasted, I speculated, why are all these vintage race cars racing in traffic on a public road? Before I could fully catch them, a traffic light stopped me.

I was no longer in my car, but standing with a crowd of people, waiting for the light to change. It was a sunny day. When the light changed, we started walking forward. We were going up a large hill, paved, six lanes wide (three in each direction). A woman beside me said, “How do they expect us to walk up these hills when we’re not warned about them?” I thought that an odd complaint. Looking back, I realized I was having no problem with the hill, but everyone else was, and all were lagging far behind. Shrugging that off, I kept going.

Almost at the hill top, I turned into my destination, a shopping center. There was a book store that I wanted to visit. Entering, I hurried upstairs and then turned in what I remembered as the way. But it was changed; packed with books and bookshelves, tables and chairs, there were so many people and books that it was hard walking through. I gingerly managed to get through, then turned another corner, and found myself in a deadend.

I heard my name being called. As I wondered why anyone would be calling my name, I looked down and realized that my name was written on the tee shirt I wore. A young woman caught up with me. I recognized her as a co-worker from a company I worked at in the 2000s in Palo Alto.

She was asking me for information about a book. She knew some of the people I used to work with flew Huey Gunships in Vietnam. That baffled me; she didn’t work with any of those people. Also, those people were too young to have flown Hueys in Vietnam. A third man (black) came up, trying also to get through the book store. The three of us decided that there was only one door to take, so we would take it to reach the book store section that we wanted.

As we were about to leave, a black man hailed us. Identifying himself as the store manager, he told us that we couldn’t enter until people had left, because the store was too crowded. While we were talking to him, I looked out the window. Realizing where I was, I decided I would leave the store and approach the part I wanted from the outside. I took off to do so.

Now I was in a bathroom. I needed a bowel movement, so I copped a squat. People were watching me. One resembled an elderly Robert Duvall. Staring at me, he said, “Are you really going to do that here?” Thinking I was on a toilet, I replied, “Sure, why not?”

Then I realized that I was peeing on the floor. As I tried addressing that, I discovered that I was shitting in a urinal.

No, no, no! I was hugely embarrassed and recognized that I made an enormous mess. Well, hopping off the urinal, I found some paper towels and starting cleaning. Robert Duvall mocked me. “You’re going to clean this whole thing?” “Yes,” I answered.

My friends began helping me. As I cleaned piss off the upper walls, I realized that there was no way that I’d made all of this mess. Robert Duvall said the same. But I decided to keep cleaning until it was all clean, which I did with friends’ help. Robert Duvall grudgingly congratulated me on doing the right thing. I felt happy about that. Then my friends and I left.

I was out in a busy, busy place. I realized that a high-ranking military officer was coming here, but it wasn’t safe for him. I had a code that I could use to warn him off, but how would I get the code to him? It had to be surreptitious due to the situation.

I saw that some others were on a Zoom call. He was on that Zoom call, too, on the other end! I could write the code on a card or piece of paper and hold it up. As I worked, putting that all together, I did another assessment. Deciding that the threat had passed and the warning overcome by events, I left.

I was at my friend’s house in Penn Hills, PA. He wasn’t there, but his father was. He was coming down the steps as I was going up. I needed to wash my car. I crept into the house, a little concerned that I didn’t belong there, that I was invading someone’s private space. Upstairs, I found a bucket and soap and started filling the bucket with water at the sink. My friend’s mother (Lois) entered. The kitchen was messy, and another person was in there. I apologized for being there, stammering my way through that. She shrugged. “That’s okay. We’re making smoothies.” She held up two large glasses. Then she talked to the other person, asking him if they’d DVR’d Glee.

That threw me off. Lois had died in the eighties (cancer). Glee didn’t exist when she was alive. Neither did DVRs.

Leaving, I returned to my car (still my black RX-7), and then left to reach the bookstore.

Yeah, the end.

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Well, did you ever wake up
With them bullfrogs on your mind?
Well, did you ever wake up
With them bullfrogs on your mind?
You had to sit there laughin’
Laughin’ just to keep from crying

h/t to genius.com

Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. I think I first heard Canned Heat perform “Bullfrog Blues” in the late 1960s. Later, though, came Rory Gallagher, and it’s his lively version that streamed through my head this morning after a peculiar sequence of dreams.

So here it is, my sweet baboos. Cheers

Monday’s Theme Music

In this throwback, I started streaming this song sometime yesterday afternoon. “Show Me the Way” by Peter Frampton, from the Frampton Comes Alive! album was a monster hit from a monster album. Nothing against Frampton, but this isn’t one of my favorites as an album, song, or performer, but I heard it often as I traveled throughout 1976-77. I always preferred edgier stuff, but edgier stuff in rarely heard on commercial radio in those years.

I’m not certain of the genesis for streaming this song yesterday or continuing it this morning. Is it the weather triggering memories of youth, or the jetsam of a lost thought? Perhaps it’s just echoes of mortality or mourning for another time. It could be just a misfired neuron setting others off.

Who the hell knows.

 

The Detective Dream

In another dream last night, I dreamed I was a police detective. After the dream progressed, I realized that I was actually a television character, except that I thought I was real. This confused me, because I wanted to solve the crime, and there was an actual crime, but I was being told not to do it, because I was an actor. When I did understand what I was being told, I was irritated that I was being told to not do something that I should be doing.

I didn’t remember anything about the crime, or greater details. I remember seeing the television cameras, and that the television series seemed to be set in the early seventies in the United States. I had big hair, a big mustache, and was wearing a wide tie, and wore a suit with bell-bottom pants. I think I drove a red Pontiac Firebird.

Crazy.

Today’s Theme Music

When a man is running from his boss
Who hold a gun that fires “cost”
And people die from being cold
Or left alone because they’re old
And bombs are dropped on fighting cats
And children’s dreams are run with rats
If you complain you disappear
Just like the lesbians and queers
No one can love without the grace
Of some unseen and distant face
And you get beaten up by blacks
Who though they worked still got the sack
And when your soul tells you to hide
Your very right to die denied
And in the battle on the streets
You fight computers and receipts
And when a man is trying to change
But only causes further pain
You realize that all along
Something in us going wrong…

You stop dancing.

Many of us contemplate our lives and wonder, will it ever become better? W’re always trying to define what ‘it’ is – equal rights, fairer pay, less war, less poverty, less starvation and disease. As we watch the political firestorm intensify in the United States and other countries, we wonder, how did we arrive at this moment. It’s educational to look back on songs like the above. These battles have been going on for as long as humanity.
Progress is being made. It used to be that such problems and challenges were accepted as ‘that’s the way it is’ or not acknowledged as issues. It used to be that some humans could hold other humans as slaves and decree their fate. Women were held as inferior. So were people who weren’t like us, whether it was by religion, skin color, sexual orientation, or their ethnicity or cultural heritage. We are moving on to equal rights and better lives for all, but it’s a shift as slow as the Earth’s tectonic plates.
‘Helpless Dancer’ is a song by The Who. It was included on ‘Quadraphenia’, an album that was released in October, 1973. Speaking to my teenage angst and frustration and laden with drums, guitars and angry lyrics, it became one of my it albums, alongside ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ by Pink Floyd.

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