Had another strange dream last night…I’m thinking hard to recall it so that I can recount it here.
Finally got around to coming back and finishing this entry. Anyways, on to the dream.
It started with me receiving a phone call informing me that I had won an award (need for validation) for some bit of web work I had done. Fast forward to the awards ceremony, and it is like the Emmys – celebrities pulling up to a big theater in limos, paparazzi flashing pictures, people walking up the red carpet, etc.
Right in the middle of all these people and celebrities were my wife and I. I don’t know if we came in a limo – that part of the dream is MIA. We walked up the red carpet behind Kelsey Grammer (probably a Frasier rerun on TV as I slept), who kept cracking jokes to all the press. We passed Tom Cruise, who was standing off to the side being interviewed by someone. What these types of celebrities were doing at an awards ceremony for computer work on the web, I don’t know.
We came to the door of the theater. It was all glass, set in a glass wall, and once we stepped through it we were in a chamber facing another glass wall and glass door. I knew right away that this was an airlock, and was designed for entrance and exit into a submarine.
Submarines again. What is it about my dreams recently and submarines? As I said in a previous entry about dreams, I watched WAY too much “Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea” (even the really bad ones where they invariable found some electric-chemical-radioactive monster in the ocean who tried to take over the sub and who was invariably played by some guy in a bad makeup job over a wetsuit) and WWII submarine movies as a child. But what the link is between submarines and my subconcious now? Beats me.
Anyway, as I held the door for my wife, I knew we were entering a submarine-theater for the awards ceremony. I really looked at my wife for the first time in the dream. She looked smashing in a tight black designer gown cut down to there (my subconcious says Vera Wang – probably one of those millions of “fashion” specials on E! as I slept). I was proud to be there with her on my arm.
The theater turned out to be a large gymnasium, complete with bleachers and way-too-bright fluorescent lighting. All the celebrities were milling around, talking show business and waiting for the awards ceremony to start. There were no computer people in the crowd, but my dream-self apparently didn’t think that strange.
Everyone took their seats on the bleachers – the sight of all the gowned and tuxedoed people sitting on hard wooden bleachers seems incongrous now, but again, didn’t bother me in the dream. We were sitting next to John Travolta (not the Saturday Night Fever John Travolta, or the Vinnie Barbarino John Travolta, but the present-day John Travolta).
Well, in the end I didn’t even get my award (subconcious probably convinced I didn’t deserve it), because a voice came on the loudspeakers and announced that we were under attack, and it was time to load the torpedo tubes. All the celebrities started talking at once, and nobody knew what to do, but calling on my vast knowledge and experience drawn on TV and movies, I stepped up and volunteered to load the tubes.
Now the dream gets weird. A woman rolled out a cart with the “torpedoes” on it. These weren’t your standard propellor-driven, proximity-fused, steel torpedoes though. These torpedoes looked like the fried cheese sticks you’d get for an appetizer at your local T.G.I.Friday’s or Bennigan’s. And they weren’t torpedo sized, either. They were standard fried cheese stick size in thickness, but about a foot long (can’t even begin to figure where THAT came from – haven’t eaten fried cheese sticks in a long time).
So I picked up the first cheese-stick-torpedo to prepare to load it into the torpedo tube. As everyone knows, the tensile strength of fried mozzarella is somewhat less than that of steel. So when I picked up the foot-long cheese stick torpedo it drooped in my hand. I went to load it into the tube, and it turned out the torpedo tube looked more like (okay, exactly like) a VCR (the VCR had eaten a tape earlier in the day, and I had to extricate it). Naturally, loading the torpedo meant putting the cheese stick into the VCR-torpedo tube, just like putting in a tape. The only problem was, when I tried to stick the droopy, greasy cheese stick in the tape slot, I couldn’t get it to insert properly (okay, okay, all you Freudians relax – I don’t need the dream implications of trying to insert a limp footlong object into a slot pointed out to me).
I was standing in front of this huge audience, trying to save the ship (and probably the world), and I couldn’t get the torpedoes to load. That was where the dream ended, and I didn’t even eat the cheese sticks.