I confess

harmonica confession: I have limited harmonica tolerance. I was out walking around listening to my ipod like I do almost every day, and a Bob Dylan song came up with a lot of harmonica -- I can't remember which one for sure, maybe I Want You. I got to thinking about it and realized I quite enjoy harmonica in Bob Dylan sized doses, but it makes me homicidal in, say... Blues Traveler size doses. I want to cram that harmonica up BT guy's nose until his brains come out of his eyeballs. Behold, the healing power of music! (I know I am getting increasingly tedious on the subject, but I just find it so interesting. Why does something sound good to one person and terrible to someone else? I don't think it's simply a matter of taste. My BT issues go beyond my intolerance for jam bands -- it really makes my head feel like it's going to explode, and not in a fun way. Maybe I'm a sleeper agent with a harmonica trigger...)

volunteer confession: I have been enjoying my stint as a library volunteer very much, although I can see I am going to have to start being a little more social or I will be the "she was so quiet, we never suspected she'd be in jail for harmonica assault" girl. I'm thinking cookies may be a way to bridge the divide. It's not that I'm unfriendly, I just tend to keep to myself until I can suss out the situation and dynamics. I think I'm starting to get a handle on how things work and who's who (categories including: the always nice, the inexplicably resentful of my very existence, the chronic masturbator (don't shake his hand!), in short THE USUAL SUSPECTS). I'm telling you, an urban public library would be a great setting for a TV show. But back to the work itself... it is still interesting, and more importantly it's giving me some much needed competence confidence. Perhaps I am not a hopeless screw-up! Hopeful screw-up, maybe! But I can live with that.

movie confession: I did watch the Oscars, but I don't really have anything to say (except: good for you Scorsese; Clive Owen (!!!); Rachel Weisz is so pretty; Helen Mirren and Diane Keaton have got it going on, etc.) Here's my confession: I like The Truth About Charlie. I just watched it again this weekend and was freshly reminded. I know it has problems (not least of which is Marky Mark in a BERET), but I like the color, the energy, that it feels like it's actually set in Paris, and the fact that it is a caper with a puzzle plot that doesn't bore me. I thought Thandie Newton and Mark Wahlberg had fun and somewhat unexpected chemistry, Tim Robbins seemed to be having a fine time with his crazy Kennedy accent, plus Charles Aznavour! singing! for no good reason! I don't know... the very things that bugged a lot of people (if the imdb is to be believed) are some of the things that charmed me the most -- it's not a straight thriller or comedy or romance, which is fine by me. It's based on Charade (with Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant), and I have no problem liking both movies. In fact my DVD has The Truth About Charlie on one side and Charade on the other. Woo hoo! Mark Wahlberg is no Cary Grant, but who the hell is? Nobody, is who.

bonus secret recipe: All right, it's really not secret, and it's not even really a recipe, I just think "secret recipe" sounds more interesting than "successful kitchen mad science." This is but one of many (I'm sure!) delicious ways to use Trader Joe's Pomegranate Glaze. I bought it on a whim last week and have enjoyed it over both chicken and fish. It's got a really strong flavor so it holds up to adding a bunch of other stuff to it. Here's what I used/ what I did (keep in mind that I didn't really measure anything, I just kind of dump it in a bowl and adjust as I go):

pomegranate glaze (aprox 1-2 tablespoons, I think)
garlic (one giant clove minced, or two regular non-giant cloves also minced)
lime juice (juice of about 1/4 large lime... maybe a teaspoon? two teaspoons?)
cinnamon (just a pinch -- I just took it out on the handle end of a fork... maybe 1/8 teaspoon?)
olive oil (2-4 teaspoons)
freshly ground black pepper (uh... 1/4 teaspoon? TO TASTE! yeah, that's it.)
red pepper flakes (yes, like what you put on pizza. quantity: some. if pressed, I would say 1/4 teaspoon or less)
brown sugar (some! start with a teaspoon and mix it up really good and see what you think.)

I mixed all that together, and then poured it over chicken or fish in a baking dish, arranged sliced limes over it and baked at 375 (fish) 400 (chicken) for about 20 minutes or however long it takes to not give you salmonella. It was really good. If it seems too thick, add more olive oil or lime juice. If it seems too runny, add more pomegranate glaze and sugar. You could probably also add some kosher salt. In fact, I think I did with the fish. Anyway, it has a really deep flavor, but the lime cuts it nicely and I always like the sweet/spicy combo that the sugar and peppers provide. If you are less fond of that, you could cut down on the sugar (although I wouldn't leave it out altogether). I can't wait to try something with it when pomegranates are actually in season. (I know they're a mess to eat, but I LOVE THEM.)

blessed is the bowie

It was not my intention to post videos all week long, but this Extras clip with Ricky Gervais (love!) and David Bowie (LOVE!!!) is another magic bullet in the cheer-jen-up arsenal. Maybe it will cheer someone else having a week that requires magic bullets. (Thanks to Anonymous T. for pointing it out!) Little Fat Man may be my new favorite song for the month of February, perhaps for ALL TIME. All I know is I have been singing it solidly for two days. little fat man who sold his soul... Anyway, like Morgan Freeman in a casket bubble bath, this will cure what ails you! I am laughing just thinking about it! Lesson: be careful what you wish for. You may not WANT David Bowie's attention, is what I'm sayin'. hee hee hee.

But that's not all... All Songs Considered over at NPR has streaming and downloadable versions of Arcade Fire's live concert from Feb. 17 in New York's Judson Memorial Church. The downloadable version is 71 mb, and I am listening to it RIGHT NOW. (what are the odds that they'll play Little Fat Man? That would be so perfect!) It's not as good as being there would have been, of course, but it's a good way to hear the new material and to get a sense of their live show. (salty! and Rudy Giuliani's ears probably burnt right off his head. heh.) Lesson: Find out if they are coming to Portland, because the sense I am getting is that if they're good like this (and they are), they'd be knee-buckling GREAT if they were actually playing right in front of me.

And yet, there's more! The internet is so generous. Jennifer Crusie has a series of posts called The Twelve Days of Zelda documenting the re-starting of a novel she put aside over a year ago. If you've ever tried to pick up a project that's gone cold... well, this is very illuminating and very inspiring. I always appreciate that she's so up front with the "this is making me crazy!" part of her creative process. Lesson: We're all crazy. Don't even try to deny it, crazycakes.

it was the seventies...

Yesterday I had one of those bad days that appears unwelcome and unbidden, smothering what had been to that point a perfectly lovely day. La la la things are fine, things are great, life is a glorious cycle of song, etc... and then out of nowhere came the arrival of my personal black cloud and the world turned to shit for no good reason.

I am so lucky to have nice friends! After receiving some lightly hysterical email, Leslie didn't pretend she didn't know me (which would have been reasonable), she called me up and invited me over to watch a movie. We'd been trying to schedule a a viewing for Waiting For Guffman (I'd never seen it) and hadn't been able to work out a time, but lo and behold -- my Day O'Crazy actually provided the perfect opportunity. She fed me pizza, was willing to listen to my woes (although I was so sick of them myself by then I was disinclined to take advantage), and we watched the DVD.

But that's not all! Just like waldorf pizza was dessert to the pepperoni, Leslie had a treat in store. She showed me something which will become one of my top-shelf antidotes to what ails me from this point forward -- the amazing Electric Company sketch with Morgan Freeman as a vampire taking a bubble bath in a casket! (see video above) I've always liked Morgan Freeman -- he has such a nice solid presence, but now I LOVE Morgan Freeman! Kid's shows in the 70's were so trippy... even Sesame Street back in the pre-elmo day was pretty out there. The only show I can think of that comes close for pure unbridled lunacy would be Pee Wee's Playhouse, and that's been off the air for ages now. Is there a kid's show today that would have a naked vampire in a bubble bath casket? I'm thinking... no.

Speaking of the 70's... I came across the picture below, which makes me laugh and laugh as always. That's me in the middle. I look like such a junior delinquent amidst those sweet smiling faces! I was, in fact, a shy nerd who was frequently and roundly mocked for my Trixie Belden addiction. Anyway, hooray for friends, hooray for Morgan Freeman, and hooray for Monday being over!

my coffin doesn't have a phone

I took my camera to the park today in search of vandalism. Yesterday (probably wednesday night) Love Vandals put little stickers on each and every one of the 40+ lampposts at the park that said "I love you!" I didn't notice them at first, but when I did it made my whole day! Perhaps I am too easily charmed. The Love Vandals had even taken the trouble of putting it on two sides of the post if the path forked; so if you were running or walking or riding your bike, it was visible no matter which way you went. (if you noticed it at all, of course.) I was so disappointed today to find that they had been removed. I understood why, but I'd hoped that they would last a little longer.

Due to runners, mud, a not very wide path, etc. I decided to divert a little from my usual route and take some pictures of the crocus that are just starting to bloom. Imagine my surprise when I noticed that the anti-iloveyou crowd missed two lampposts!! I would have never found them if not for my diversion. I got the picture after all, which made my day today! Simple pleasures, I tell you. It was a good lesson for me: Keep eyes open, make alternate plans, be AWAKE. Maybe you find the thing you were looking for, or maybe you find something even better!

and now, some television:
The OC: man, that episode was not good. I know they want to tie everything up all nice and tidy before they go off the air, but I can't stand Frank and everything was just so pat. There were a couple of funny lines, but that was about it.

Lost: Woo! I thought the Desmond episode was v. interesting, although not particularly sensible. I have to admit I'm getting a little bored with Jack and Sawyer and Kate every ding dang time, so this freaky time-trippin' episode was nice. Powell's blog is running a cool feature where Lost references are explained.

Gilmore Girls: This show has been so weird all season! I can't tell what they're heading toward, although they've been foreshadowing the Lorelei/Chris thing since forever. I hope they don't decide they're not coming back at the last minute and waste an hour with a slappy-happy montage-heavy penultimate episode like certain other shows :::coughTheOCcough::. An earthquake in Stars Hollow! The Gazebo is destroyed! Lane gives birth in the diner! Emily Gilmore stops an avalanche with the power of her withering glare! (okay, that last one would be cool..)

Here are some of the iPod on random songs that accompanied me on my Vandals of Love Quest:

Corrina, Corrina -- Bob Dylan: Oh, I love this version! I always have to listen to it when it comes up, even if it's in the middle of crazy other things.

Hello Operator -- The White Stripes: this is the song that has the "my coffin doesn't have a phone" lyric. I always get caught up wondering about these enigmatic Jack White phrases. I had to figure out how to get a working phone in a coffin before I could stop thinking about it. (see, cellular won't work because I'm sure you're not going to get reception under six feet of dirt, no matter what all those serial-killer kidnapping shows want you to think...) I was able to mentally move on only after I imagined a giant telephone pole right next to the headstone. There's a phone on the pole, and a phone in the coffin (although I only got it partway worked out how you could use a handheld phone unless you had an XL coffin... maybe speakerphone is the way to go...) This is how the time passes so quickly when I'm walking! As long as nobody asks me what I'm thinking about, it's fine.

Land of a Million Drums -- Outkast: I confess!! This is from the Scooby Doo soundtrack. I am not ashamed. I like the way Andre 3000 sings "I woulda got away with it, if it wasn't for you meddling kids, oh no"

Crown of Love/ Rebellion (lies) -- Arcade Fire: Between this post at Living the Romantic Comedy, and this post at Fluxblog, I am about coming out of my skin with anticipation for the new Arcade Fire album. Like I've said recently, waiting is itchy! Fortunately, the wait won't be too much longer. In order to help soothe the itch, I've been listening to Funeral. It's been several months since I last heard it, and I am reminded of that Stanley Kubrick via Mark Romanek quote I was so taken with a couple months ago... it is daring and sincere. Actually, turn the dial way up on daring and sincere -- it's fearless, fierce, honest and passionate. These songs are ones I've listened to several times today, and I get that weird tingling sensation almost every time -- you know the one where it's not goosebumps, but you can feel all the nerves in your legs at once, or up and down one side of the body? I used to think I was having a medical emergency, but I've come to realize it's what happens to me when I hear or read or think something that arrests my attention at some sub or super (I like to leave my options open) level of recognition. I'm hopeful that it's just that weird art/biology thing again and not aurally triggered Restless Leg Syndrome or something that will require me to test my new telecoffincommunication system.

valentine

Happy Valentine's Day!

Busby the cat brought me a bird this morning -- I can only assume it was a token for the holiday. The bird was alive, and since I saw it fly away I imagine it is still alive, although probably now actively seeking bird therapy. Of course it didn't find its way to the outdoors without assistance -- there was chasing, swearing, and cats being locked in bathrooms. It's the thought that counts, right?

edit: since I was in here editing anyway (to remove hilarious inadvertant sad-sackery), here's something holiday appropriate: special twisted Valentines from the 7 Deadly Sinners. (the zombie valentines are my particular favorites.)

edit 2: ooh -- here you go: a wonderfully cheesetastic (with guitar solos!) video by the Darkness. It may be a few years old, but the message of the power of love to defeat space monsters is timeless.

The Adventuress

by Audrey Niffenegger
Maybe I should preface this by saying I have yet to read The Time Traveler's Wife. It's on the pile, but I have all of these library books with a ticking clock on them that keep butting in line. To mitigate that (admittedly large) lack, I will say that not reading the book she's best known for is no barrier to being a huge fan of Audrey Niffenegger and her weird, beautiful, sad but perfectly satisfying stories.

I read and adored her other illustrated novel Three Incestuous Sisters. The Adventuress is also an illustrated novel. (not to be confused with a graphic novel or a regular novel novel.) There are not many words, but the pictures communicate so much! I don't know.. there's something magical (to me, anyway) about how images enter the mind: such a biological/ mechanical process to get to the poetics! Rods and cones, nerves and cells all delivering pulses of light (or you know, whatever) until they hit the brain (more squiggly cells slathered in brain juice to keep them moist and from rattling around like a dry nut in a shell)... and those impulses and flashes of biology are transformed into these beautiful universal metaphors; little love notes from the collective unconscious. I don't know how to describe it. I see a fairly simple image of a moth girl eating a library (one of my favorites), and it's like getting a pleasant but unmistakable shock to the central nervous system.

As you may have noticed in the picture, this novel features Napoleon rather heavily -- I don't think I'm giving too much away to say that The Adventuress and Napoleon engage in a love affair. (the caption to the photo on the right (click to enlarge) is: All the books were about Napoleon; Being a moth, she ate them all.) I won't describe the plot, because there is no point without the images. (Oh, all right! I concede that it would make sense in some fashion with just the words or just the images. But they're so wonderful together! and lucky for my point of view, that's how they're available, so there.)

...speaking of Napoleon (dig my subtle segue!), Mystery Man on Film has just concluded an outstanding series of posts on Stanley Kubrick's never-made Napoleon epic. I found it fascinating. If you missed out as it was happening, the link above will take you to a post collecting them all.

in the winter, when it drizzles

I know I do a lot of complaining about the winter weather (it's too wet! it's too cold! it's too wet! did I mention that it's raining?), but truth be told, there's a certain shiny shimmery quality to the Oregon sky in February that is hard to beat, particularly near the ocean. (This is just a little background so I can get to the part of my road trip on Saturday that involves the giant Elvis portrait with EYES THAT FOLLOW. eyes that follow, people!) But as I was saying about nature and its many wonders...

The photo on the top is from the Baskett Slough, which is between Salem and the Ocean. There are many ways to get to the central coast from Portland -- this time my companions and I decided to drive straight down I-5 to Salem/Keizer and hang a right, drive over the mountains and then ta-dah, the ocean. Whichever road we choose usually takes about two hours and it is worth every single minute every single time. I did not see any of the bald eagles which are alleged to winter at the slough, but I did see geese. I probably could have seen more, but I got cold and hungry so I went back to the car.

Once we got to Lincoln City we had to eat before doing anything else. (collective blood sugar is one of the most important things to monitor on any road trip longer than 2 hours, for the safety and sanity of all involved.) We ended up eating at this diner-style place that had the aforementioned Giant Head of Elvis mounted in the women's bathroom. So bizarre yet hilarious!! It was a photo glued to a huge slab of wood and finished with a thick coat of resin. Just like the Mona Lisa, his eyes followed me wherever I went. Unlike the Mona Lisa, he was wearing a red plaid shirt.

It started raining in earnest while we were having lunch, so we did a little shopping then headed down south to the Devil's Punchbowl by way of Cape Foulweather. I thought for sure there would be a lot of surfers out, but despite being a saturday it was relatively deserted.



The photo above was taken on our way back north after visiting the punchbowl. The rain (which was COLD, I might add), had just stopped. We pulled over because the silver on the water was so beautiful. and also because of the...




I do some of my best thinking while riding or driving in the car. Something about the motion or the rhythm of the road lends itself to problem solving, or at least working out what the problem might be. I had already made peace with a lot of the things that have been bothering me of late (mostly with the reminder 'Don't Borrow Trouble' which I should have reverse-tattooed on my forehead), so this rainbow vision was like an affirmation: Rainbow Agrees; Everything's Gonna Be All Right. If I had been desperately grasping for some kind of "sign," I'm sure I wouldn't have gotten one -- somehow that makes seeing the rainbow when I did a lovely bit of synchronicity I won't soon forget. (I suspect Watchful Elvis will be on my mind as well.)

9 for the 9th

Things with nine in them, from the Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1898 edition. (it's in the public domain, and therefore available online via Bartleby.) WooHoo!

one: A nine days’ wonder. Something that causes a sensational astonishment for a few days, and is then placed in the limbo of “things forgot.” Three days’ amazement, three days’ discussion of details, and three days of subsidence. (See NINE, and SEVEN.)

two: Charlemagne's Nine Wives: His nine wives were Hamiltrude, a poor Frankish woman, who bore him several children; Desiderata, who was divorced; Hildegarde, Fastrade (daughter of Count Rodolph the Saxon), and Luitgarde the German, all three of whom died before him, Maltegarde; Gersuinde the Saxon; Regi’na; and Adalinda.

three: to look nine ways means "to squint"

four: rigged to the nines or dressed up to the nines. To perfection from head to foot.

five: there were nine rivers of hell, according to classic mythology.

six: nine as a mystic number:
The Abracadabra was worn nine days and then flung into a river.
Fairies. In order to see the fairies, a person is directed to put "nine grains of wheat on a four-leaved clover."
Magpies. To see nine magpies is most unlucky.
Seal. The people of Feroes say that the seal casts off its skin every ninth month and assumes a human form to sport about the land.
Wresting thread. Nine knots are made on black wool as a charm for a sprained ankle.

seven: There are nine muses. Calliope (chief muse and muse of epic poetry), Euterpe (muse of lyric song), Clio (muse of history), Erato (muse of erotic poetry), Melpomene (muse of tragedy), Polyhymna (muse of sacred song), Terpsichore (muse of dance), Thalia (muse of comedy and bucolic poetry), Urania (muse of astronomy). [extra muse assistance via Wikipedia]

eight: The Nine "Worthies:"
Joshua, David, and Judas Maccabæus; Hector, Alexander, and Julius Cæsar; Arthur, Charlemagne, and Godfrey of Bouillon.    
“Nine worthies were they called, of different rites—
Three Jews, three pagans, and three Christian knights.” Dryden: The Flower and the Leaf.
  
nine: This is not from Brewer's, but instead is a NINE bonus from my bookshelf! Nine Coaches Waiting by Mary Stewart (the queen of romantic suspense). This book got to me at an impressionable age. (note to self: do not accept position as governess at remote french chateau. just... no.)

Here, There and Everywhere

by Geoff Emerick and Howard Massey
I enjoyed this book very much -- so much so that it is difficult to articulate exactly what about it was so great beyond "everything," but I'll try (although the answer really is "everything").

First, this is not a tell-all biography from some lame scenester ( Revolution Number 9 Grain: My Month as The Beatles Macrobiotic Baker by Lamia Scenester). No, no, no! This is the story of Geoff Emerick -- a recording engineer for EMI's Abbey Road studios -- and of the music. The book is ordered chronologically, starting with young Geoff's obsessive record-listening and early attempts at improving sound. The writing is clear, unaffected and full of the JOY of music. Here's an example: (this passage follows a section where he has unearthed his grandmother's gramophone records) "Instantly, rapturously, I was in love.

I spent the next several months playing those records endlessly .... And the more I played them, the more I got out of them. The music would not only evoke emotions in me -- joy, sadness, longing, excitement -- but also conjure up images in my mind." What I love about this is how he was able to take his musical joy and perpetuate it for a new generation of music fans. What an accomplishment!

Emerick was right around the same age as the Beatles (a little bit younger, I think, but not by much). It was something like his second day when they came to cut their first record -- he happened to be the assistant "button pusher" (engineer) for their session. He continued to work with them through the end (with a few exceptions, such as the Phil Spector "Let it Be" sessions).

He doesn't spend time engaging in idle Beatle gossip, but he does provide some shading to their public personas. I was fascinated to read about Beatle artistic negotiations with each other (they did a lot of composing in the studio), the George Martin factor and how they interacted with the professional staff at EMI. Emerick got on best with Paul (who had the most technical understanding of what was required to achieve desired results), and probably least well with pre-India George (who struggled a lot with his guitar parts). None of this really changed the impressions I had of any particular Beatle, but it deepened them and added another layer of understanding. Paul: diplomatic but stubborn as hell. John: many ideas, little patience. George: frustration time bomb. Ringo: anxious and largely disengaged.

I have tremendous respect for Emerick's resourcefulness and creativity. To think of what they did, with what they had... When (brilliant, fussy, non-technical, impatient) John Lennon says he wants it to sound like he's "singing from the moon," it had better sound like he's singing from the moon! This meant Emerick had to figure out not only what the hell he meant (because pressing Lennon further would only make him frustrated and angry), but how to make it happen. And he did, time after time!

Emerick and Massey have a great knack for setting the reader in that time and place, delivering just enough information to put you right in the EMI canteen or give subtle hints that it was getting wild out there in post-war Swinging London (orange ties! long hair! "incense!") without getting Austin Powers "yeah, baby" crazy. I loved the details about the studio and the processes involved to actually MAKE A RECORD. (which probably solidifies my position as a giant dork, if there was ever any doubt.) I am amazed at what they accomplished with 8 tracks, string, gum, and an exacto knife. (okay, 8 tracks, a knife, a lot of recording tape and creative thinking.) [unrelated side story: reading the Sgt. Pepper section I had a visceral flashback to sitting silently in the middle of the family van with my dad listening to Sgt. Pepper on 8 Track (it was our only 8 track player!!) and recording it on my little hand held tape-recorder so I could listen to it everywhere.]

I probably wouldn't have responded to this book as strongly if I didn't love the Beatles' music already, but I don't think being a fan is necessary for enjoyment -- it's just really good. I found myself racing through it, only to slow down with dread when I knew I was coming up to the rough patch that was The White Album... but I couldn't put it down! It was as exciting to read as any thriller.

jewels and binoculars

Oh, the internet is full of marvelous things! Here are some essays on literature and creativity that melted my brain in all the best ways:

Jonathan Lethem on The Ecstasy of Influence.

Zadie Smith on the legacy of honorable failure (and some really great stuff on reading as an active pursuit).

Audrey Niffenegger on Inquisitiveness and Desire.

For the ears and eyes: You Ain't No Picasso has the new Andrew Bird single (and a typically enigmatic A. Bird picture).

This Of Montreal video (via Marathonpacks) makes me so happy I can't quite describe it. There is a dancing bear, a lobster claw, a meteor/comet and much much more -- you'd best watch it for yourself. It's like a lesson from Dream Logic 101 interpreted as community theater. Love, love, love.

call the dream police: jagger cheats on crosswords

Last night the almost-full waxing moon was aggressive, like god was conducting a bed-check or looking for fugitives. It was casting shadows! I could have READ BY IT. This disturbed my slumber and launched me into the land of bizarre dreams. (perhaps I should mention that I'm currently feuding with the full moon -- its very presence aggrieves me. The crescent moon and I were just gossiping a couple of weeks ago about what a goddamn showboat the full moon has become. Every month since our feud began I hope for some cloud cover -- not unreasonable for winter in pdx -- and what do I get? A moon so bright I could perform surgery, or at least shadow puppet surgery. ) You can't always get what you want.

Which brings me to my dream, the summary of which is as follows: Mick Jagger and I were engaged in an epic Dressing For Dinner battle that involved geisha costumes, cheating on crosswords, and a profound wardrobe malfunction. He was remarkably nonplussed by it all. I'm sure it happens to dream Mick Jagger a lot.

Here's how it started: in dream-land my aunt and uncle who live in Florida were throwing some kind of big mexican-themed party and I wanted to wear something nice. No, that's not right. I wanted to wear something fantastic. So, as is the way of things in dreams, I was trying on stuff that should have been great, but was wrong, wrong, wrong. It would be the perfect shape, except when I looked in the mirror it was completely transparent, or it wouldn't wrap around, etc. etc. (I was having boob exposure issues, essentially.) Then somehow, Mick Jagger was there. At first he was just cracking wise about my wardrobe dilemma (strangely, I was not embarrassed by this) and playing with a rubik's cube thing that was all white with black letters -- it looked like a crossword. (He would CHEAT by spelling words one letter off and telling me it was the british spelling. Dream me would have none of it. "Cobler" my ass.) Anyway, I'd leave crossword-cheat dream Mick Jagger to his own devices and go out in search of something appropriate to wear.

At one point I ended up in a room full of cast-iron bathtubs (they were green and had some fancy design pressed into them -- everything was white or green and had that kind of weird neon glowing quality) and met up with a woman I used to work with a long time ago (Martha T.). There were sheets draped over everything and she was mopping the floor. There was a mattress over one of the tubs so I sat on it while I asked her what I should do. She was very practical, but not particularly sympathetic to my Mick Jagger OR wardrobe problem. I remember making a stupid waterbed joke and being embarrassed since even dream me knew she had to have heard that a million times. Anyway, I talked to Martha for a bit and then went back to my room where Mick Jagger had acquired some crazy outfit, which sent me out looking for something better, and so on.

As I was wandering the halls of this houseboat/floating house (you know how dream halls are -- just on and on) and ended up in my aunt's kitchen in florida. None of them were dressing up, but I couldn't back down now because Mick Jagger had goaded me beyond the point of being reasonable. (isn't that always the way?) Anyway... I went back to my room for another attempt at finding the right thing, and there he was in some crazy geisha get-up. I don't know what happened next because Dash the Orange Menace (aka the kitten) jumped on my shoulder and woke me up. He bugs me a lot in the early mornings, but it would seem that this time he thought he had a good reason -- at some point during my sleep he managed to put his favorite mouse cat toy down the front of my tank top! When I stood up it fell out.

The lesson here is clear. I really REALLY need to stop drinking caffeine after 9 like I promised myself post-index card nightmare, or it's time for a satin sleep mask, or I should buy/invent one of those rubik's crossword thingies. Actually the lesson is simpler than that: just as it is foolhardy to start a land war in Asia, never start a costume escalation with dream Mick Jagger. You just can't win.