MORE SENSELESS ACTS OF BLOGGERY

I am involved in some kind of Monty Python reunion show. It’s a live show where everyone not only does the classic sketches, but also talk about how the sketches came about and related anecdotes. Steven Soderbergh is filming the show for a documentary.

At one point we are backstage in the green room talking. Soderbergh and his girlfriend (who is either Kristin Wiig or played by her) walk in. They are talking, but she is clearly upset about something, possibly unrelated to whatever they are talking about. They don’t fight, but they’re both obviously sad.

I look around at the Pythons, and they’ve all dozed off on the couches with their mouths open.

I chuckle at this. Eric Idle, who is sitting next to me, opens one eye. “What?” he asks.

I shrug. “I was just thinking how ironic it is that Steve and Kristin need cheering up, and there are five professional comedians available but they’re all asleep.”

Eric finds this amusing, and he wakes up the others. They break into an improvised routine about snack cakes. Soon Steve and Kristin are laughing and feeling much better.

At some point the show resumes, with Terry Gilliam appearing on a screen doing an impersonation of the Swedish Chef.

Later, I meet him and I tell him how I was recently in Stockholm and noticed Swedish accents don’t sound anything like the Swedish chef, so I wondered what his inspiration was for the accent. Before he can answer some lawyer interrupts us to give me some non-answer.

And then I woke up.

Now that’s comedy,

This is dF

I am living in a world where the zombie outbreak has happened. KT and I are traveling with a small group of people, going from town to town, looking for a good place to settle down. Along the way we encounter other groups of people, at which point we have to decide whether they’re trustworthy enough to join our group. We generally leave it to our dog Bonbon – if she likes them, they can join. (As I said, it's a small group.)

At some point we end up on a small island that resembles a small village in Taipa or Coloane. It is already populated, and has a small but functional economy. It is completely unaffected by the zombie outbreak, and some of us think it’s a good place to settle in, because zombies can’t swim or take boats. Others say it’s the equivalent of a fire trap – if an infected human or animal ever makes it to the island, the outbreak will happen fast because it’s a tiny island with only one pier, so an evacuation would be a mad and likely fruitless scramble for survival.

In any case, we're here, so we stay the night at a small hotel on a hill at the top of the island. I wander around and I notice that I can see most of the island’s coast from there. The hotel is basic, but comfortable. The most interesting feature is a “long dinner” buffet, which starts at noon and ends at 9pm. So you can eat, leave and come back pretty much all day, whenever you like.

Everyone else wants to eat, but I want to walk around the island some more and kick around. I try to decide where to go and how long it will take me to get back so I can meet the others later.

And then I woke up.

NOTE: I didn’t encounter one zombie in the entire dream.

Safe as milk,

This is dF

I am recruited to act in a play. It’s a sort of improv guerilla theatre, where plays are staged in found spaces and actors are cast as you go along.

In this case, the “stage” is a sort of indoor Chinese garden, at the center of which is a huge rectangular pond full of koi carp. Chinese lanterns and other decorations are everywhere, and the railings are made of gold-trimmed teak.

As the point is to recruit actors on the fly, the play is already in progress when the director selects me. He hands me a creepy horsehead mask and a script with my lines. It's a monologue. According to the script I am “Horse”, a mythological manifestation of Native American vengeance, and at the end of my monologue I’m supposed to shoot one of the characters with a shotgun. It’s up to me which one to shoot, I just have to give him/her a verbal or visual cue before I do it.

The other actors don’t pay any attention to me. They stay in character and do whatever it is they’re supposed to do. They won’t acknowledge me until I begin.

The director gives me my cue. I put on the mask, pick up a prop shotgun lying on a stool and cock it dramatically, as though to get the attention of the other characters. It’s up to me how to play the character. Before starting, I thought about delivering the lines in a deadpan William Burroughs style, but when it’s my cue, I find myself giving it more gravitas.

I start the monologue. “I am vengeance, older than the world and angrier than all the gods. Time is my watchdog. And I have come to set the clock right.” Something like that.

I’m allowed to read from the script – no need to memorize the lines, since there’s no time for obvious reasons – but it’s only at this point that I notice half of it is printed on the back of a large potato chip bag. And it’s in Portuguese. So I wing it and mumble those parts as though talking to myself like a madman. I look around the stage trying to decide which actor to shoot.

But I wake up before I can shoot anyone.

Vengeance is mine,

This is dF

Another dream where I re-enlist in the military, this time on the grounds that it’s steady work.

I’m told to report to a medical facility at midnight for the physical check-up, as we’ll be shipping out in the morning. I’m also told the physical involves a “tapeworm” test that involves swallowing a tapeworm which is then somehow pulled from my stomach and through my intestines and out the other end. It doesn’t sound pleasant, but they assure me it’s worth doing at my age.

“Cleans out the pipes,” says the receptionist.

After various activities and preparations, I arrive at the facility for the physical. Every room is cordoned off by white curtains. I am asked to change into hospital pajamas, which are made of transparent white mesh that leave little to the imagination.

The nurse leads me to a cubicle to give the urine sample. I have brought one already, but she wants me to pour it into a jar that she hands me. She leaves me alone, and I open the jar to find it’s already half full of someone else’s urine. I’m not sure what to do, but I figure she must have known the jar wasn’t empty when she gave it to me. I figure maybe they have a way to test urine even if it’s mixed with someone else’s. So I hedge my bets and pour half my sample in, saving the rest in case they need a pure sample later.

Shift: The recruits and I are on a bus and heading to Hendersonville, TN. We are supposed to be going to the local community center for some reason. The sergeant in charge of us is pacing the aisle and giving the usual profane jokes and patter. There’s a rockabilly guy next to me (complete with pompadour, sleeveless denim jacket and tattoos) who seems to know him.

We arrive in town to find that it’s hosting some sort of sex festival. There are lots of billboards and neon signs and digital displays and holograms promoting various activities – art shows, film screenings, seminars, sex toy demos, competitions, etc.

“I hope we’re going to that, Sarge,” says Rockabilly Guy.

“Bet yr sweet ass,” says Sarge as he straddles Rockabilly Guy’s lap. They start to kiss, grind and generally make out.

The community center turns out to be located inside a huge shopping mall. We go inside the mall. The layout is something like a deluxe pinball table, with lots of ramps and tunnels and elevated platforms. I notice that none of the shops are the usual branded chain stores. Instead, they all seem to be local indie shops, restaurants and cafes with idiosyncratic hipster names like “I Can’t Believe This Is A Cappuccino”.

We make our way to the community center, which is all the way in the back of the mall. The entrance is non-descript – two metal doors that look like they could lead to a loading dock. From outside we can hear the muffled thump of disco-funk. Sarge opens the doors. Behind them is a very large room, like a hall in a convention/exhibition center. The only light comes from a rotating disco ball made up to look like the moon hanging from the ceiling. The hall is full of people, and even without sufficient lighting we can tell that they are having various forms of sex in various combinations.

This must be one of the main sex festival events. I’m surprised they brought us here, but at this point I realize I’m still wearing the see-through mesh pajamas from the medical facility, as are many of the other recruits. So apparently this is all part of the plan.

Sarge gestures to the open door. “Dive in, boys.”

“Hell of a send-off, Sarge,” says Rockabilly Guy.

“Yr in the Army now, son,” Sarge pontificates, “and the Army always takes care of its own. Get in there and fuck something.”

The recruits cheer and dash inside. I follow them. Once my eyes adjust to the light, I can see it’s a little more organized than it seemed from outside – there are different pavilions specializing in different sexual activities, and a lot of booths with sex-related brochures, videos, clothing, merchandise, etc. I have no idea where to start, so I just start walking around looking for an opening, so to speak.

And then I woke up.

R and R,

This is dF

I am in Disco Bay. It is the middle of the night, and for some reason I am trying to run an extension cord across the road. There are electrical plugs here and there embedded in the sidewalk. I plug the cord into one, then extend it across the road to the other side. I can’t remember what the cord is for, but when I plug it in, a red LED grid lights up on the ground, sort of like a Tron playing grid.

A mini-van drives by and runs over the cord. No damage, but the driver stops, gets out and tells me I can’t use those plugs. I am hustled into the van, at which point I either become Harry Potter, or start watching a film in which I have been playing him.

I switch to the audience POV and watch as Harry wonders why he’s in trouble. He notices there are other people in the van with him, who have also been rounded up for some reason. At that point, he realizes he’s lost not only the device he was trying to plug in, but also his wand. He figures he must have left them where he was picked up, and he starts thinking of a way to escape and get back.

Suddenly the van zaps through time and space and arrives in what looks like downtown Bangkok. Harry and the other wizards are brought to a place called the Bilderberg Hotel. The “hotel room” is more like a converted garage on the ground floor. A sign indicates that there is a Wendy’s in the lobby, but it actually looks like any run-down outdoor food court. The menu is only burgers – the fries and onion rings are complementary and sit in big bowls on the table alongside tubs of ketchup and sweet chili sauce.

As Harry gets something to eat, he sees a large Trinitron screen across the street. It starts broadcasting news that wizards are being picked up everywhere, and are unable to defend themselves because their wands have been stolen. Wizards are also reporting that at least one other item of theirs went missing as well – something small but of personal value.

Harry then realizes what has happened: someone has managed to simultaneously steal the wands of every wizard in England. Moreover, the same person has stolen a personal item from each of them – which means the wizards can all be controlled by remote. It’s a form of voodoo magic that hasn’t been practiced for hundreds of years – magic that the Ministry had thought was forgotten and lost. It looks like someone has discovered its existence and learned how to use it.

And then I woke up.

Voodoo you,

This is dF

1. IN THE STUDIO WITH THE DOOBIE BROTHERS

I am either Warren Zevon, or sitting in for him. I’m attending a kind of roundtable in a studio with the Doobie Brothers (circa “Black Water”). They’re jamming and recording, and they set up a drum kit for me so I can fill in for Warren. The drum kit is cramped, with the drums and cymbals placed too close together, and also set up for a left-handed drummer. I try to explain I’m right-handed, but they say don’t worry about that, just give it a shot. We start rolling, but I’m not sure what to do. I can keep a beat but I have to really concentrate. We stop and they decide to rearrange the room. We’re talking and joking, and I make sure the roadies set up the drums so I can play them better.

2. JAMES BOND WILL RETURN

A James Bond caper in which I’m in an experimental aircraft disguised as a cropduster. We’re chasing a cargo plane that has been souped up to fly at higher speeds. We are zipping around over the Thames – and I can see that it’s a late-70s Bond film because I see banners advertising the new Queen album, News Of The World. Somehow I end up straddling the plane’s runner as we get closer to the river’s surface, and inevitably I lose my balance and go skipping across the surface. I come to a stop in front of a riverside food stall selling rice crackers shaped like various fruits. The water is only knee deep, so I stand up and climb onto the waterfront.

3. GUITAR LESSON WITH ANGUS YOUNG

Angus Young shows me how to play “C.O.D.” on guitar. He uses a Saltine cracker for a pick, which makes the open strings vibrate differently. “That’s how you get that rich full-chord sound,” he says.

4. THE MIST

Teenage kids are on a rooftop, throwing balls into the mist below that shrouds the streets. It’s some kind of contest but they’re not sure what the objective is, since they can't see anything below the mist. As the mist clears, they see that the object is to bounce the ball as far as you can – there’s an invisible shield between rooftops, and you can walk on it. They bond over this and find some signage at the edge of a building that is overlooking a running track of some kind. They rearrange the signs so they overlap and say things like “Ericsson supports gay pride”.

5. JOIN THE ARMY

I am staying in some dorm-like place. I meet a bearded black guy who tells me he’s going into the military. I ask what branch, and try to give him some advice on what to expect. It occurs to me he’s the fifth guy I’ve met in this building who has signed up for the military – or possibly has been called up. This makes me wonder if there’s something going on.

Yr in the army now,

This is dF

I am Marlow, hard-boiled private dick, and I am on a case to find a woman who is locked in a time capsule and get important information from her. My client believes she knows something that will provide him with an alibi.

The time capsules are run by the military, so to get access to the facility, I have to pose as someone who wants to get his own capsule, and take a physical. People aren't supposed to leave the capsules until they’re scheduled to be opened, so I have to get the woman out of the capsule and back in again without anyone noticing.

The physical is also a challenge because the person who hired me has arranged for me to get a bio-implant that will nullify the effect of the time capsule. This is necessary because once you go inside the capsule, time and reality become subjective. My client could be kept waiting 50 years for me, while to me it might only seem like a day. If the military doctor discover the implant during the physical, my mission will be blown.

Somehow I work out that the only way to get her out of the capsule is to open all of the capsules – partly because the resulting confusion will give us cover, and partly to protect my client. The woman is very high-profile, and if she’s the only one freed and we get caught, the military will know my client was behind it.

I get the time capsules open, and but when I talk to the woman, it turns out she doesn’t know anything that can help my client. To complicate things further, once she’s out of the time capsule, she refuses to go back in. Someone put her in there against her will. I’m sympathetic, but now my client risks exposure.

And then I woke up.

Out of time,

This is dF

Macau is attacked by aliens.

Lots of tall buildings are destroyed, including my office, which is mostly gone. Luckily I had packed ahead, so I don’t lose very much. But I search the wreckage for anything usable. I also have my passport, but I’m not sure how I can get back to Hong Kong, as the ferry pier is also destroyed.

For some reason Samantha Fox is there. She asks me if I’m still going to MC a gaming show the next day. I tell her it depends if the organizers decide to cancel, though they definitely should.

Shift: Samantha and I are in some huge water complex where everyone gets around on a complicated network of waterslides. They’re as big as freeways. Samantha starts performing a musical number and I am chasing her around the complex, sliding up and down the water-slide highways, as part of the act.

And then I woke up.

Slippery when wet,

This is dF

I am riding in a car with a guy named Brett, who has a reputation for dangerous driving. We are on a winding road headed down a steep hill towards the center of the city. Just as I’m thinking about Brett’s tendency to take turns too fast, he speeds towards a 90º turn at the edge of a cliff and tries to drift, but we go into a skid and go straight through the safety barrier and over the cliff.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, convinced that we’re going to die.

Then somehow I become aware of an alien presence – something from a previous dream where small, winged, insectoid aliens use humans as symbiotic hosts by attaching hives to our bodies. On the outside, the hives look like elaborate ornamental wooden knobs.

I open my eyes and I am lying in bed. I realize the car crash was a dream. Then I realize an alien hive has been bolted onto the sole of my foot. I hear buzzing in the sheets.

Little alien inchworms start crawling out of the hive. They move fast, and I try to catch them before they crawl into my ear. I want to get the hive off my foot, but I need to find a screwdriver.

And then I woke up.

Buzz buzz buzz,

This is dF

The bride and I are watching/participating in a live action film version of an anime series with three main characters who, for some reason, go around setting off “flood bombs” in buildings. They set off a bomb in a CitySuper and from the outside of the building we see water start pouring out of the windows until the streets are flooded with water at least a meter deep.

KT is unimpressed with the characters – one of them can turn his feet into Tiger Feet and kick people with them. “Big deal,” says KT. “Anyone can kick people in the face.”

Shift: I am staying in a five-star resort, in a ground floor suite by the pool. It’s 3:00am but there are still some guys hanging out by the pool talking and drinking outside my picture window. Soon one of them walks to the sliding glass door leading to the pool, opens it and comes in. I’m aware that this man is somehow financing my trip, so I put up with it. He acts friendly, asks me how I like the room, etc, but there’s a bit of quiet menace behind it – he wants it made clear that he’s in charge here and can kick me out whenever he wants.

He tells me he’s planning a business trip to a large lake nearby, and he wants to hire me to fly some of his clients out there. I’ve heard of the lake, and I know that it’s restricted airspace because it’s prone to spontaneous and unpredictable typhoons. It’s like a local version of the Bermuda Triangle. I point this out, and he advises me not to worry about that. “The weather’s no problem – that stuff about typhoons is just a cover story to keep people out.”

“Cover for what?” I ask.

“Weapons testing.”

“So yr clients are …”

“It doesn’t matter what they are. All that matters is that you fly us out there.”

I don’t think he’s giving me much choice, so I agree.

The scene shifts to the lake, where we are watching this weapons testing. The “weapons” are sort of like self-assembling nanotech swords. Touch a button and suddenly yr holding a spiky double-bladed Claymore, for example. Touch another button and out springs a buzzsaw attachment. Or it turns into a high-powered automatic projectile weapon that shoots circular saw blades.

Two teams of Japanese soldiers are testing them out. It supposed to be a training exercise for demo purposes only, but soon it goes horribly wrong. For a start, at least some of the soldiers are clearly insane, attacking anything that moves. Also, none of them have been trained on the weapons, so they’re basically figuring them out by trial-and-error – the result being they're killing as many of their own team members as members of the other team.

And they are doing so in spectacular fashion, literally butchering each other like meat – faces sliced off, heads split in half, blood and bone flying everywhere. It’s like watching a torture-porn film with the most realistic gore effects ever created, and one that consists of nothing but over-the-top gore and men screaming for 90 straight minutes. I have to close my eyes because I’m powerless to stop any of it.

Shift – I am back at the airport and ready to catch my flight back home. I steal a name badge of some kind that will get me on an earlier flight because I am so ready to go home. A woman walks alongside me and identifies herself as an agent of some kind. I think she wants to ask about the weapons testing, but actually she wants to ask about the flood bombs – what I saw and what I know. I tell her I thought it was only a movie.

Shift – I am on the plane and end up watching some reality show featuring some cult family in the South. They buy kittens for the kids and I worry for their safety because these people don’t look capable of raising pets responsibly.

As if to prove my point, they are sitting around a picnic table with hunting rifles, and one of them starts pointing it randomly, pretending to pull the trigger, making “bang bang” noises. He points it at a guy named Arnie (who looks like Paul Dano) just as he’s lighting a cigarette.

BANG! Half of Arnie’s head comes off.

A subsequent investigation by the narrator reveals that the rifle never went off – it was a faulty lighter that just happened to explode at the time the guy pointed the gun at him.

“Poor Arnie,” the dad says. “Always said cigarettes would kill him. Didn’t figure it’d be that spectacular.”

And then – thankfully – I woke up.

Make it stop,

This is dF