beautiful, funny, sad & true

Yesterday after work, my friend Blaine came to meet me at my place, where we switched to my car and drove to Seaside to meet Chris and Nicole, who live in GoldenGateCity. You remember them, they got married this last spring. Anyway, they were up in Seaside (Oregon, that is; there’s a Seaside in GoldenState also) for the entire week. They stopped in to see me at my place on their way up, and I recruited Blaine to join me when I went over to visit them last night. We had a blast listening to a funny CD we made about a million years ago, and laughing like hyenas the entire way.

It was sunny and ninety degrees when we left Portland, but when we arrived at the coast it was cold and fairly crappy. This is the norm on the Oregon coast, and I’ve learned to be prepared with a hoodie or something, no matter what time of year it is.

The terrible picture is from my phone, by the way. There’s a huge amateur volleyball tournament happening this weekend (Sarah in NYC? You gonna be there?), so there are nets everywhere on the beach, as well as a smallish stage. We met Chris and Nicole and went to sushi at a pretty decent Japanese restaurant called Tora. After that, we headed back to their time-share, which is the same one that Chris’s parents and siblings (and siblings’ kids) were staying in, so we went to their parents’ place to say hello to everyone.

We all talked and laughed, and at around 10:00, Blaine and I drove the hour and a half back to Portland. Again, we had a great time talking and laughing, but the drive was more difficult this time. It was foggy through the mountains, and we saw a coyote or something in the road at one point. Once we were in the city limits, around 11:45, there was a huge wreck in the opposite direction of the highway, which looked like a motorcycle was involved. There were lots of police cars, and at least one ambulance, and traffic was completely stopped.

We got home and I went in and went to bed, but Blaine still had to drive himself back to his house, which is about half an hour’s drive, in Vancouver’s NorthernSuburb. Incidentally, I’d like to give a ’shout out’ to Blaine, who said that he reads my blog in the morning on his PDA, while sitting on the toilet. No doubt some would say that’s the only appropriate place to be while reading blogs, but as far as I’m concerned, wherever you want to read from is fine by me.

OneYearAgo

Last night, I actually had two dreams that I remember.

The first was a car crash dream, but it was different from the countless others that I’ve had, by virtue of the fact that it involved my car.

* * * * *

I’m in Yakima, and I’m driving on 54th Avenue. I’m stopped at a stop sign, and attempting to turn right onto Lincoln Avenue. Justin B. is riding in the passenger seat, and we notice that there have been quite a few accidents already. There’s one wreck to our left, and three or four groups of totaled cars to our right. We pull out to look past the wreck on our left, when a blue Chevy pickup comes racing past all the wrecks. We see him, and have only enough time to say, in unison, “We’re screwed,” before the truck hits my fender and sends my car spinning to the side of the road. We’re not hurt, but the fender goes sliding up the road, and suddenly my car’s interior is all white and padded with cloth. I get out and walk up the street to retrieve the fender. The back side of it is painted a sort of olive-green abalone color, and as it reflects in the sun, I think, ‘Wow, that’s really pretty. I wonder why they didn’t paint the car that color instead?’

* * * * *

And then here’s the second dream.

* * * * *

I’m on vacation, and I’ve brought a couple of friends with me; EngagedFriendChris (though he’s not engaged in the dream) and a woman he is on his first date with. We are on a tropical island in the Caribbean called Tuva. [No, it's not the real Tuva, and yes, I know where the real Tuva is, and that it's not an island.]

Anyway. I’m riding an old bicycle around, and Chris and his woman friend are walking. I’ve been to this island before, so I tell them that we “HAVE to go to the little village that’s just up the road. It’s really beautiful.” We continue on to a place where the road forks, and we can choose between going down the hill toward the water, where the town is, and up the hill toward the forest. The sun is starting to set, so we decide to go to the town. Once we get there, Chris and his friend go off on their own, and I decide to explore the town by bicycle. The town has narrow, cobblestone streets, and there are lots of little shops and restaurants. I ride down an alley, and I’m surprised to find that after a few sharp turns, it comes to an end in a tiny courtyard restaurant. I turn back, so as not to disturb the patrons.

I head back toward the waterfront, and come to a hotel where my family is staying. I don’t go meet them, but instead go down to the large basement room of the hotel, where there are a bunch of other bicycles parked in a rack, and a bunch of little kids down there playing. I leave my bike there, and walk to the other side of the room, to find a few shirts that appear to have been left there. I take them and walk upstairs to the room with my family. We visit for a while, and then I realize that I need to take the shirts back. I go back downstairs and hand the shirts to the man–also an American–who is supervising the children. I go to pick up my bike, but it isn’t where I’d left it. I look everywhere in the room, but it’s nowhere to be found.

* * * * *

Oh yeah, and I just remembered: One Year Ago

I’ve been feeling really good lately.

Lots of good musical things happening, including two amazing recording projects and one play production in which I’ll be playing the accordion at least, but probably some other things as well. It promises to be a great time.

Been laying low these last few days, to recuperate from the busy and exhausting weekend. I’ve also been planning the next installment of the 80’s hard rock blog thingy I’m working on, for fun.

I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time on the phone this week, too. Lots of planning, and talking, and re-connecting, for some reason. It always seems to happen at the same time.

I had a funny thing happen a couple of days ago, which reminded me of something funny that happened twenty years ago. Someone on my street owns a really nice old Mustang. I’m not much of a muscle car guy–I’m more of a ’60’s and ’70’s European guy (the BMW 2002 is my favorite car)–but I always appreciate a nice car that someone has loved and restored.

So. I parked behind this particular Mustang the other night when I got home late, and the street was unusually full of cars. Blame it on my sleepiness from the Daylight Savings Time adjustment, blame it on whatever you want, but when I went to go to work in the morning, I found out the hard way that I had left my car in first instead of in reverse, like I usually do. So I went forward when I expected to go backward, and I sorta almost hit the Mustang. I DIDN’T, but I’m just saying it was close.

That reminded me of a time back in 1989 when my friend Blaine and I were going to a school to do some location scouting for one of our band’s videos. He parked his little white Honda behind a really nice, flashy, purple muscle car. We walked across the street from a grade school, and Blaine noticed that he was parked too far away from the curb or something–I don’t remember the details–but for some reason I ended up going back to move his car. Since the road was at a slight incline, I opened the door, leaned in, released the parking brake, and reached my leg in to engage the clutch, so that the car would roll forward slightly. I did it more by feel than by sight, because most stick-shift cars are the same, but after the car had rolled a few feet, I really should have looked instead of relying on my angle-guessing, because I kept pushing on the clutch pedal instead of the brake pedal. This meant that Blaine’s Honda rolled about ten feet and then banged into the back of the pristine muscle car.

It took about one second for the car’s owner to come storming out of his house. He ran out the front door, across the lawn, and right over to the open driver’s side window and pointed at his car, yelling, “Hey! That’s the ‘85 Hot Rod champion!!” There wasn’t any damage to Blaine’s Honda, and the only damage to the ‘85 Hot Rod Champion was a tiny little crack in one of its two-inch round tail light covers, luckily. No real harm done, so I just apologized profusely, and told him how beautiful we both thought his car was, and the guy let us go on our merry way.

Oh, and a few years ago, when I had my little green Toyota truck, I rear-ended a Camaro when the driver stopped too suddenly–in in the middle of the block!–near the Lloyd Center mall to let some girls cross the street in front of him. Nice. The crash put a little scratch on his bumper, but really smashed up the front of my truck.

Apparently I have more of a problem with muscle cars than I realized; it seems that my subconscious is out to single-handedly destroy them all.

Dream #1 – The Inept, Peeing Caregiver

In this dream, I found myself in the role of a caregiver, for a middle-aged woman in a hospital room. I discover pretty quickly that I’m not up to the job, but for some reason I keep trying, and end up completely sacrificing my own needs for that of this other person. I don’t so much as go to the restroom, eat or sleep all day. Finally I decide to take a break, and so I go to the toilet in the corner of the room to urinate–for a really long time–when suddenly the nurse walks in the room. I’m embarrassed, but I’m still peeing, so I smile and give her a well-what’re-ya-gonna-do look and turn away. She does too. The person I’m caretaking walks into the room next–she’s been asleep in the other room–and I continue to pee. The toilet has disappeared by now, and I’m just peeing all over the floor. I’m barefoot, standing in a puddle about four inches deep. Completely disgusted and humiliated, I grab toilet paper and try to dab it up. Obviously it’s impossible, so I grab two paper towels, crumple them up and start dabbing. This is no good either. I think, “Maybe I should get a real towel.”

Gosh. I wonder what this dream was about.

* * *

Dream #2 – Almost the Feel-Good Movie of the Year

Audrey Tautou and a guy are a good-looking young couple. They’re driving home from a date, smiling and laughing, and the car flips over. It continues to speed along, upside down, and both of them are trapped underneath it. We see their hands get trapped and mangled. When we see them next, the two of them are in a hospital room, and their heads are bald, bulbous and completely swollen, like that of the Elephant Man, or Mon Mothma (from Star Wars, dontcha know). They both consider suicide, but decide that they want to live, and even to keep dating, despite their deformities. There’s a shot of them making love–a blue blanket pulled completely over them–with his head bobbing up and down underneath the blanket. I predict that this movie would give The Feel-Good Movie of the Year a serious run for its money. It’s got everything; love, tragedy, human drama, but most of all, it’s a story about the triumph of the human spirit.

* * *

P.S. I can’t decide if I want the name of my autobiography to be “The Inept, Peeing Caregiver” or “Bald, Bulbous and Completely Swollen.”

Maybe you can help me decide? Thanks!