Monday, April 13, 2009

Dream, Dream, Dream

It began in the kitchen of an apartment. I was cooking and baking up a whole mess of things when I heard a knock out the door. I went to answer it and this guy who looked like Puck from The Real World barged inside. I said, “What are you doing?” He said, “I used to live here and I left something behind.” He opened up a cabinet below the counter, reached in and pulled out some sort of package out that was taped underneath. Then he dumped out the contents in a skillet. It was pot. Again, I said, “What are you doing?” He said he needed to cook it up so he could sell it.

Before I could say anything else, there was another knock at the door. This time, it was a food critic who wanted to taste my cooking. But somehow he was also an authority figure of some sort who looked like Joe Montagna. So I was scared he was going to find the marijuana and arrest me and Puck the pot dude. I diverted Joe the food critic's attention away from the marijuana skillet, which was on an island in the kitchen, and guided him toward some other things I had made on the stove that was against the wall. I also poured some batter into the pot skillet to disguise it as an omelet.

Joe tasted everything I had made, and I thought he was never going to leave. And somehow in that time, the whole place had filled up with college people who were talking, eating, and drinking like it was some sort of dorm party. Finally, Joe headed toward the door and said he would call me with a report and let me know how everything tasted. Puck never said a word while Joe was there because he didn’t want to get busted either. After the food critic left, Puck yelled at me, saying I ruined his stash. I said, “Get out of here and take that skillet with you!” He left.

That was the dream I had Friday night. I don't know why. I don't know what it means. But I thought it was pretty damn funny. I also had a dream Saturday night that my friend and co-worker Rachel and I were driving over the Twin Bridges to find a water rescue story. And as she read me the press release in the car while I was driving, I could see all the action in my rearview mirror as we crossed over the river. I said, "Rach, is that it?" She kept reading. "Rach, is that it back there?" She kept her head down and read some more. I yelled, "Rach! For the love of God, turn around! Is that it?" And that's where it ended. That dream is even more weird because neither of us go out in the field for stories.


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