Threshold not met.

I had a dream some time ago that I was preparing breakfast for myself before heading off to work.

I was in a bit of a rush about things, and managed to spill cereal from several boxes all over the counter and floor. As I started cleaning the mess, I noticed that some of my fingers had fallen off. I was intensely annoyed at this, as I was already running late. Now, in addition to cleaning up cereal, I had to go and look for my fingers.

I looked all around the counter and floor where I had been pouring the cereal, and could not locate my missing digits. I then looked over at the boxes, and realized that my fingers must have fallen into them.

I was running significantly behind schedule at this point, and did not want to waste time digging around in all the boxes to find my missing fingers. So, instead I grabbed sharpie, and wrote a note on one of the boxes, indicating that there might be fingers in one or more of them, not to worry and I would deal with it when I got home.

I feel like this might have been my brain testing the limits of my laziness. Or my willingness to pause my current course of action to deal with issues that arise before they become bigger issues. Either way brain, you need to up your game. I don’t have time for obstinate fingers that refuse to stay where they belong.

Laser Dragons

I woke up from a dream this morning with the line “They decided to make laser dragons instead” floating through my mind.

Instead of what?

I was completely unable to recall anything else from the dream. So I am left wondering what the original plan was. What option was abandoned by my brain because laser dragons seemed the more viable alternative?

So I guess I am preoccupied with physical and dental health. And possibly awkward social encounters.

I had this dream recently where I had decided to go jogging while brushing my teeth. Or for some reason I had to run out of my house while brushing my teeth, and figured fuck it, might as well go jogging.

I jog for some time before heading into this Asian grocery store to buy some canned coffee. While selecting my can of coffee, I have the feeling there is someone I do not want to run into also in the store. I turn to see this person (or persons) standing at the counter, talking to the cashier. Seeing an opportunity to slink away undetected, I edge around the cooler and out the door.

I am still brushing my teeth.

I continue jogging around campus. A light drizzle begins, so I start ducking into buildings where I can. I am now running from building to building, including residential halls. All of these are quite old victorian style buildings with whimsical floor plans. Some of them are connected by tunnels or enclosed bridges. I jog past people studying in common rooms, eating meals, having sex, playing video games. I startle a number of people. I am also still brushing my teeth.

I consider that maybe I shouldn’t be invading people’s personal space like that, so I head back outside. At this point I say to myself “I have been brushing my teeth for a very long time. I bet this brush is kinda fucked by now.” I take it out of my mouth to inspect it, and see that the bristles are falling out. I examine it for some time, then set it down on the sidewalk, as if to commemorate the place where the tooth brushing stopped. I think I just went home after that.

Sometimes my dreams have punchlines.

In my dream, I am sitting on my couch playing Pikmin. I notice that something seems off with some of them. They have stopped working, and are just gathering to stare out at me.


They look kind of angry.

I try to zoom in to get a better look at them, but that isn’t working. So I get up and walk over to the television to peer into the screen. At some point I notice that I have stepped into the game. Upon realizing this, I turn to one of the three astronaut characters, nod approvingly and say “That is a very useful feature.”

I walk toward a smaller group.


I still don’t really understand what’s happening, so I turn to the astronaut again. No help.

Suddenly one of the Pikmin marches directly up to me so I can see it clearly.


Finally it clicks, and I say “Oooohh. Ok, I get it. Pinkmin.”

Jerry Orbach is haunting me.

Last night I had a dream that I was going about my business in some large city, and Jerry Orbach kept popping out of bushes and garbage cans to talk about proper nutrition and sleep. I can’t say for sure if it was meant to be directed at me specifically, or if he was just giving surprise lectures in general. In any case, he seemed to be everywhere, and nobody else noticed him.

At one point, I had had enough of his bullshit, so I turned and said “What the fuck do you even know about it? You can’t be that good at nutrition, you’re dead.”

Suddenly he is holding a clipboard in his hands, which he throws down at my feet. It bounces in slow motion across the sidewalk. He storms off and when I try to apologize for my insensitive remark, he flips me off without turning around.

As people start disassembling the dream-set, I remember that we were making some kind of commercial, and I was just being incredibly unprofessional.

Somewhere around Barstow, I guess.

Last night’s dream:

I am driving down a very long highway in an very long car from the 70’s. Heading toward the west coast I think. Next to me is a stocky looking dog – like a pit bull or boxer. It is reading a map.

In the back seat we have some bottles containing chemicals.  They are labeled with with pieces of tape that I understand to say “CHEMICALS” even though they are just pieces of colored tape.

There is also a large quantity of foam shapes – foam board, cones, spheres.  Like the kind of thing you get from a craft store.  I keep forgetting how much of it is there so I keep checking on it. Or the quantity is actually changing.  The quantity changes in proportion to how lost we seem to be.  We seem to be quite lost, so the amount of foam products has become unmanageable. I am aware that sooner or later it will stop taking up additional space, and will just start getting denser.  This is very bad for some reason.

I ask the dog could we please use the gps because I don’t think he is very good at reading a map. Partly because he is now holding it in his teeth – though I think he had hands before. He drops it and says he was just holding it to make me feel better anyway. At this point he has a human head that kind of looks like Hunter S. Thompson.  Or possibly Burgess Meredith.  He is smoking, in any event.

He notices me staring at him, and says, “Do you even see any turns?”

There are no turns.

I let the matter drop, and turn my attention back to the cargo. I suddenly recall that we are planning to build a rocket. I begin to consider that this plan may have flaws. I gesture to the back and say, “I don’t think this is going to work.  I really don’t see how this is going to work.”

The human-faced dog takes the cigarette out of his mouth and says, “Look, don’t be such a pussy. We just need to find an empty pool.”

I look in the back again – one of the bottles has come open and it is spilling glowing green liquid on the floor of the car.  It gets on some foam pieces.  They begin to melt. The floor of the car is also melting, and the car begins to split in two. I point back with my thumb and say, “But I don’t think that’s chlorine.”

The dog begins to laugh madly with the cigarette still clenched in the teeth of his manface.

My phone beeps – I check and see there is a new text.  It says “he is on drugs.”

I lower my phone and look back at the dog, who now also has a phone.  He sent the text. This baffles me, so I question him.

“How did you get a phone?”

“I’m a minority.”

“You are a dog.”

“And YOU are a fucking racist.”


I had a dream that I was listening to a lecture in a university auditorium by someone that had solved the three-body problem using Arrested Development as a framework. There was extensive use of yarn and pushpin based node maps to describe what was going on. Like multiple slides of this shit shown on kind of a crappy overhead projector.


Then it turns out that Michael Cera actually discovered this, and was winning some sort of prize for it. The setting is now an awards ceremony. Michael Cera is now both Michael Cera and George Michael Bluth. Just off stage, Michael and GOB (the characters, not the actors – though they seem to be aware of Michael Cera’s dual nature) announce a guest that will present the award.


George Michael (the singer) walks out onto the stage. As in 1980’s, acid-wash Faith-era George Michael.


He starts walking across the stage, stops and and starts doing finger pistols first toward the audience then, with a wide grin, in the direction of a visibly confused Michael Cera. GM holds the the finger pistol pose for a few seconds of uncomfortable silence until MC responds in kind. The audience goes mad with approval. This only serves to encourage GM (who has turned into a cardboard cutout of finger-brandishing GM). The scene switches back and forth between cardboard GM, frozen in place, and MC making awkward finger pistols at each other.


This goes on for what feels like a very long time, until MC says “Ok, that’s probably enough” and goes back to reading his note cards on stage.


A classy couple.

I had this dream a couple of nights ago – I was walking around in this swanky art gallery watching people look at pieces in an exhibition. Everyone is drinking champagne from ridiculously tall glasses, and they are dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos – though the styles seem to be from vaious time periods. I blame this on the fact that I have no idea what classy folk would wear, so I just picture dudes with tophats and tins of snuff escorting women that look like Marie Antoinette.

As the dream goes on, I become aware that this is some kind of afterlife situation, and all the paintings on the walls are people’s lives. People stop by to examine this piece or that, occasionally pausing to speak to the “artist” if they are nearby.

I make my way through the gallery, and I start to notice that some of the paintings are apparently interactive. Every once in a while, I see someone poke through the surface of a painting to start repositioning elements within the scene. Sometimes the whole painting changes, sometimes it doesn’t.

Everyone is delighted with what’s going on.

I walk down a hallway that is kind of a ramp, and I am suddenly in an arcade similar to Gameworks or Dave & Busters. I look off to one side and I see a dude in something that looks like a skiing simulator – a large, involved looking game where he is standing on two slats that move around while watching his avatar move on a big screen. Hi hands are stretched out in front of him – on one hand he is wearing a Nintendo power glove and in the other he is holding a track ball mouse. He is not using the mouse, it just rests in his open palm.

I feel an overwhelming urge to walk up and start spinning the ball on the mouse. As I move to do so, someone says “No.” I look over and see that a dude dressed as a Klingon is monitoring the guy playing the game. To be clear, this was not a Klingon, but specifically a regular dude in a rather poorly put together klingon costume. He takes hold of my arm, moves me away, points back at the guy playing and says “Those are crucial for maintaining balance.”

And then I woke up.

Stovokor – Klingon Death Metal Band.