entombed in the shrine of zeroes and ones

Last night i dreamed that i had written something really cool, a moody piece of cyberpunk.  My dream word count was about 1500, and i couldn't remember writing it, and i remember feeling pleasantly surprised.  All i vaguely remember now about it was that there was a some dialogue involving a woman, and a brand involving surveillance (maybe an equipment manufacturer).  The reason i remember that was because the logo stuck with me.  It was something like this:

flyHEAD

Now i recall reading on the elevator newsblurb screen yesterday about a robotic fly having been developed and one of its potential uses being reconnaissance.

Oh, in the dream, there was also a huge winery.  No, not mine.

I had a dream recently where i was wandering through a music studio, and the theme was a documentary about the first female Black recording engineer, sometime back in the `50s.  I could see the techniques she pioneered at the mixing board, and the jazz acts she recorded.  And there was a big dog in the hallway, too.  Clearly my subconscious is trying to push Black History Month on me, even if it's fictitious history.

Crossfire got shut out today by Ball Monsters, 8-0.  We played well in the first half, giving up two fluke goals (the first when an attacker managed to shoot the ball between two defenders into my far post; the second when i ran out to clear a loose ball, but sent right at an attacker who managed to kick the ball into the empty goal — the lesson is when in doubt, play it safe and dump the ball out).  In the second half, the defense broke down right away and let a goal in soon after kickoff, and it went downhill from there.  Soon, the team started playing badly on offense, trying shots to desperately kick in the "goal of honor" instead of focusing on passing and moving.  My only faults were booting the ball too long a few times.  I'm not sure why i'm not more annoyed at how we lost; i guess that we gave a lot of effort, even if it was often misguided, such as people double-teaming the attacker with the ball and leaving another attacker open.

I dreamed I'd screwed up the device drivers for my eyelids, and I couldn't fix the code BECAUSE I COULDN'T OPEN MY EYES.

                — Peter da Silva

I am introduced by someone to a recently opened burger joint near my house that offers killer burgers... and fantasy baseball leagues.

I neglected to mention that i had a dream early this morning that involved eejitalmuppet and me being tutored as ESPN anchorpeople by Linda Cohn, who had a haircut that made her resemble Jane Kaczmarek.  I'm sure we would've been a great improvement over that Mike Hall scrotumface.

My piano had a stuck key, so i went to talk to Duke Ellington to see if he had any advice. He had a Jason Bernard bobblehead doll on his piano, so we talked about his career. He didn't have any advice about my piano, though.

(who really reads about other people's dreams, anyway? the report is usually a tenuously intelligible, poorly formatted mishmash of a run-on sentence that's barely understood by the writer, let alone the reader. why do i even bother?)

My cough awakened me last night from a dream, wherein i and two or three others (it was unclear whether the fourth person was another member of the experiment, a control subject, or part of a different part of the experiment) were involved in an experiment that involved a potentially shared hallucinated dreamspace. We sat in comfy dentist-like chairs that had an apparatus that helped create and monitor the dream state (now that i think about it, they resembled the chairs from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind).

The best part was when i finally got a hold of the dream and started fully developing it, almost like a lucid dream within my regular dream. I could sense the others, but they were adrift in regular, chaotic dreams, so we couldn't interact. When we woke up, one of the guys (three of us and a girl) started arguing with his wife on his cellphone.

When i woke up, i realized i'd dreamed in this setting before. I hope it develops.

Somehow i ended up in Mountain View (i've forgotten the start of the story). I parked far at one place, then i decided upon leaving it that i'd walk to the Tied House, not the one on Villa, but the one that was on the other side of town (note to non-locals: there isn't one on the other side of town). As i turned onto Castro (which, of course, didn't look like Castro), i realized that it would be too far to walk, so i considered just going to the one on Villa, but it's always so darn loud in there, so i wasn't eager about it. Then i walked past this diner place which seemed to have very spotty open hours (but, most importantly, i knew they served beer), and i saw the people who work there (a middle aged woman with wavy salt-and pepper hair and a bunch of young people who became like part of her family) having lunch. She motioned me and another couple who were hovering around the door in.

I sat at the table as i heard them finishing a discussion about David Lynch's "Dune". Then one of the guys said, "OK, plebe, you know how it goes. Sit down in front of him, facing him." This girl with very wavy, brown, jaw-length hair sat down in front of me. I noticed she was handcuffed, so i figured it was some sort of initiation rite. She started reciting lyrics to Rush's "Digital Man", which were mostly right. I responded by drumming out the rhythm of the song on the table (which was right), then reciting the lyrics that followed hers (which were WRONG). Everyone seemed to approve, and i was about to ask what that was about and then order my beer, when The Boy's damned alarm clock went off.

I had a hard time getting to sleep last night (it's been like that since i got a cold a couple of weeks ago, even though i'm over it now). Then there was a problem with the DMZ in our Newton, MA, office that kept me up all night because i kept hoping that the network guys would fix it, except they were never paged so they didn't know about it. I finally got up around 04:15 to turn off the alarms and page the Newton netadmin. Then i managed to doze off and dreamed about attending a music school where, for some reason, most of the students were sysadmins. During orientation, the older students performed an interesting dance that involved moving panes of Plexiglass. cdk was there, and he resembled a mountain-man Julian Waldby, as well as one of my old high school buddies. What's odd is that my buddy is a lawyer and cdk is a lawyer-wannabe. What were they doing amidst all the geeks? Stupid brain.

All i want to do now is sleep. Guh.

Barry Bonds was somewhere in southern Asia playing a game of kings with a guide and a porter (and i came along as the documentarist or journalist or whatever). It was like golf, but it was a day-long trek around a castle and other environs. There were sheer cliffs, so if you hit the ball (which you picked up, tossed, and swung at, as in baseball, but your club looked somewhat like a cross between a croquet mallet and a 1-wood) incorrectly, you might end up losing it. Bonds hits this shot that starts to slice towards the cliff, but manages to stay on the mountain. We have to walk to the next spot, which involves slowly moving across the cliff face via carved handholds and footholds. Once we get past that, on the way to the ball, we pass fantastic architecture and bizarre, Myst-like machines.

I woke up before he finished, but i'm fairly confident that he did a legendary job.