A Hitch, A Hack, and A Ho

A few quick things-

One thing:

I heard the LINE OF THE WEEK from the irrepressible Chris Hitchens on “Hannity and Crypt Keeper” last night. Chris was talking about what a waste of DNA Jerry Falwell was, and as Sean (in his usual annoying and truly ignorant style) tried to over-talk and end the segment, the LAST thing you heard Christopher say was-

“If you gave Falwell an enema, you could bury him in a matchbox.”

Nice.

Other thing:

I was surfing around and found a website that deals with therapy for cancer victims. Among their products are CDs of music. One artist’s music they offer is a guy I used to play drums for. I could relate to the product description. This is how (no shit) it was described:

When dealing with cancer relax to the soothing
sounds of the Eric Mintel Jazz Quartet.

I mean, you’re probably vomiting already ANYWAY….

And yet another thing:

I have the most mundane dreams
forgetting a pencil or forgetting to signal right
-Out of My Mind Interrobang

Do you know what kind of a loser I am?

Here’s what kind:

I really DO have the most tame, BORING dreams you could imagine. Really. I dream that I’m watching TV, or I dream that I’m vacuuming, or writing, or blogging, or cooking eggs. I dream that I’m on the way to a gig looking for exit 14 on the Parkway. I’ve had dreams where I’m sitting by my phone in the kitchen, trying to remember a number. REAL EXCITING STUFF.

And best of all- I’ve dreamed that I’m WATCHING porn. Yes that’s right. Not INVOLVED in porn, no… WATCHING PORN. On TV. In my living room. Alone. Anyway…

I don’t get it- I think whenever something truly fantastic or surreal or even UNLIKELY happens, the HUGE chunk of skeptic brain CAN’T JUST RELAX and ENJOY THE RIDE. No, it insists on saying “wait…that ain’t right” and the dream becomes mundane, or I wake up. Ah well- the price of conscious clarity.

ANYWAY- Two nights ago, I was having a (finally!) amorous-fantasy-type dream with an amorous-fantasy-type blonde girl. (I'm pretty sure she had a PhD in Particle Physics by the way...) Now keep in mind that the only reason this was happening was because the dream was talking place in my own bed, and we were PRE-AMOROUS. M'Kay. As things start to get heated up, and we both are COMPLETELY READY and are on the cusp of SCREAMING OUT the varying integer spin of bosons...

MY ALARM CLOCK GOES OFF.

Yup.

Great.

That would be one thing but get this-

I wake up and attempt to get back to sleep by turning off the alarm. I daftly hope that maybe this ONE time I’ll be able to get Dr. Fantasy-Blonde back in bed if I fall right back to sleep. I go to turn off the alarm clock, but it won’t respond. My radio keeps on spewing out the HORRIBLE morning DJ banter that I usually rely on to wake me up, and I can’t figure out why the button I ALWAYS press every morning isn’t working. I really start to panic as I realize that dream blond is recessing further and further into the land of snooze, and my hopes for an amorous denouement and the subsequent C.E.R.N. orgy are ever less likely. The DJ just keeps on bantering and I keep on pressing the fucking SNOOZE and the OFF and the VOLUME and NOTHING IS WORKING and then…

I realize I’m dreaming.

Yes that’s right. I’m lying in bed- asleep- with the alarm ON; dreaming that I’m lying in bed- barely awake- trying to turn the alarm OFF.

I woke up, and turned off the alarm. Ah well.

I’m hoping she at least sends me a postcard from Hades.