I know, it’s been forever since I’ve been on this site, I’ve been slacking. I can occasionally be found drunk-posting on the site’s wildly popular Facebook page (it’s about as oversubscribed as their IPO #topicalhumor.) I guess it’s kind of weird that I don’t use Facebook in real life, but do go on there when [Yellow Tail]-ed up (just realized you are supposed to bracket that sh*t) and post videos and stuff that I’ve found because of my vast, Sirius-fueled knowledge of EDM. (Seriously – no pun intended – look back to February 13 when I was hyping Gotye before “Somebody That I Used To Know” played constantly on every format of radio and showed up as #1 on every type of chart (Dance, Pop, Top 40, Squaredance, Polka, Zoomba, Swing, Bling, all of them) I am on top of sh*t.)
Anyway, as I think I’ve bitched about before, through a series of dubious decisions I find myself back home in Arkansas, experiencing the frustrations of teenagehood again at the ripe old age of 43. Since my mom has never had a drink of alcohol, I have to be discrete with the [Yellow Tail] consumption – despite being completely nonreligious, she somehow still thinks that alcohol will turn you into the devil. She also believes that anyone who doesn’t spend the entire day doing yardwork (exceptions: tornadoes, dog birthday parties) is a lazy piece of sh*t and that anyone using the computer is busy putting her personal information on Facebook (hey, personal information on Facebook – they should’ve thought of selling that somehow before they went public! # topicalx2) And to add considerable insult to injury, turns out I have been unwittingly cramping my mom’s style – she was really interested in me getting the f*ck out of town for a few days (she favored extreme passive aggression over “hey, you should go visit your sister”) so I swooshed (or drove 4.5 hours in a Ford Escape) to my Fortress of Solitude in Northeast Arkansas, also known as Land of the Crimson Neck. I am holed up here for a week in an effort to get some work done. “What work, Chilly?” – you might ask, armed with the knowledge that I have a Trogger 4 Life neck tattoo and minimal external prospects. And, if you were somewhere where you thought I could hear you asking.
Well, dear readers, I’m actually working on a few additional things in an effort to conjure this elusive demon called Positive Cash Flow. It turns out that I misread all my brokerage and bank statements (thought that the decimal point was a comma) and am now getting closer and closer to destitute. The faint of heart would slink to the unemployment line (or MIT alumni job boards) and look for a respectable vocation. I, however, am going to continue my misguided and halfhearted efforts to make it own my own like Mary Tyler Moore – even if it means occasionally having to take a bath in a public restroom. So given that this site has made something like -$385 since it’s creation (and subsequent investment of about 800 man-hours. Or Chilly-hours, that conversion is probably less than 1:1) I’ve put together a couple more website endeavors hoping to one day in the near future make a dollar from one of them. (They say the first dollar is the hardest.) However, I will always keep going with WastedPo as it’s a labor of love and not really set up as a cash cow anyhow. (Although I do have one thing in mind that will involve some of the content here – if I’m not too lazy that sidebar might change at some point!)
So, all that being said, I’ve been having some kind of odd dreams in the Fortress. Can anybody help me out here? Three examples from last night. (Oh, also, I learned how to put pictures in without having to center them – only took me slightly over three years! Can you say HTML savant?)
What Do These Dreams Even Mean???
Hanging out with Adrock and Mike D – This dream could well just be subliminal verification that I got more juice than Picasso got paint. But you can never really be sure with dream interpretation. It was a pretty simple dream though: I was at some office building that also had a cell phone sales area like the front part of a Best Buy, and then the (sh*tty to say – surviving) Beastie Boys came by. They were pretty upset and I consoled them with the story of how me and two buddies drove 50 miles to get Licensed To Ill back in 1986 and introduced it to our high school (did not mention that initial reviews were largely shittay, but folks eventually came around.) I was really impressing myself with how I was able to cultivate a normal, flowing conversation, navigating the moat of celebrity like a jaded journalist imbued with the heart of a fan. Things were going very well, they just had to go get some throat lozenges. And then they never f*cking came back! What up with that? I mean, I’ve encountered famous people before; Matt Dillon sat right next to me at Soho Cantina once and I didn’t even bug him about what it was like working with a young Heather Graham in Drugstore Cowboy. Dikembe Mutumbo once was at the urinal right next to me at the Hudson Hotel – I didn’t even take a peek (possibly out of fear moreso than disinterest.) I know in real life the Beasties wouldn’t diss me like that, but that still kind of sucked, homies.
Better Off Dead – No, there weren’t any suicidal undertones. Somehow I was back in high school with a completely new family (hmmm…) including a foreign exchange student. Only it wasn’t a hot-assed French chick, it was a very nice girl from China. And there was no attempt to bang. And no “I want my two dollars!” And no ski contest. But my mom was cooking some weird sh*t and there were some corny supporting characters lingering around. I haven’t seen Better Off Dead in like twenty years – I prefer the criminally underrated Three O-Clock High – so I have no idea why it would be hanging around the dingy outskirts of my subconscious.
The crappy thing about this dream is that, right in the middle of the dinner scene, I started to complain about another dream I had the night before to the characters in this dream. So I was in one dream, discussing a previous dream with dream people. And it was really a dream I had the night before – if this is my version of lucid dreaming, I want my money back. In lucid dreams you’re supposed to be able to punch people and rob banks and sh*t with no ramifications, not just discuss another stupid dream you had the night before. Especially if that dream is the recurring dream where you have gone back to work for Investment Bank X for some unknown after being laid off, and realize that you are about to be laid off again, right before bonuses are announced. In the most recent version of this dream, I did get a bonus – $10 a day. (Sadly, my current financial situation has bled into my dreams, I was like “$3650? Not too shabby…”) But then the guy next to me got $100 a day and I realized that I was getting f*cked. (Although in the dream I also recall not ever doing any work, so NBD.) Don’t know why I have these dreams, I must have some repressed shame over being laid off, because my conscious thought – then and now – about getting canned was “yippee!” (That sounds better in your head than it does on the page.)
Absinthe Party Planner – This one was beyond bizarre, the dream played out exactly like an episode of a sitcom from the 1980s – in fact, my girlfriend in the dream had a striking resemblance to Natalie from The Facts of Life. In my complicated dreamscape, this girlfriend character was looking for a job. The only job opening she could find was a position as an absinthe party planner – this profession may be unknown to those of you in the midwest, but an absinthe party planner helps organize party where the main alcoholic beverage served is absinthe. This helps promote absinthe as a fun, social spirit and not a poison, as it was previously marketed. (Disclaimer: I have never had absinthe)
Unfortunately, there was one other person competing for the job, an ambitious young fella who strongly resembled a Happy Days era Ted McGinley. This dream played out almost exactly like a sitcom to me as I was somehow kind of omnisciently observing the plotting and maneuvering that was going on as Natalie and Jefferson D’Arcy vied for the dream absinthe sales job. Ultimately, Natalie scored the job and went about her first task, setting up a corporate absinthe office party. (Yeah, I don’t know either.)
However, it turned out that there was another vacant job in Dreamsville: anti-absinthe lobbyist! And who got the job other than dream McGinley? Sitcomesque shenanigans again ensued as Natalie struggled to launch the absinthe party as McGinley roiled local legislators (the office manager?) with the ills of absinthe. At the end of the day, Natalie threw in the towel and the party was canceled (they probably just went with cake and ice cream.) She resigned from her post the next day, disappointed that a growth industry like absinthe didn’t offer her the career prospects she’d hoped for. Later that day, dream McGinley abandoned his low-paying job as an anti-absinthe lobbyist and accepted the now-vacant position as absinthe party planner, smugly confident that his experience on the other side would allow him to prosper as an APP. Just as the dream was drawing to a close, Natalie walked into Lobbyist-Mart or whatever and applied for the position as anti-absinthe lobbyist. The cat and mouse games would continue.
For someone who’s vowed to be more productive and focus on more commercial endeavors, 1699 words about stupid dreams might be a bit over the tizzy. Now to think about going back and making some of those posts look a little better with these little aligned images and sh*t….