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So eager to please!


I have intensely vivid dreams, sometimes. I did last night. I won’t bore you with them.

My mother, she insisted on telling me her dreams in great detail in the mornings. Oh, this was grim. When I tried to cut her off, she’d say, “no, no — here’s where it gets interesting!”

It never did. Other people’s dreams never do.

I have a theory about dreams. I think your brain rehearses all sorts of arbitrary imagery and rehearses arbitrary emotions simultaneously. So you get random scenarios jammed up with with random (sometimes profound) feelings.

The shovel that makes you feel guilty. The fish that frightens you. We won’t even touch inappropriately lusty dreams. These can feel hugely meaningful, and aren’t. That’s my theory, anyway. Ahem.


Anyway, at the dramatic conclusion of my final dream, I turned to my boss (an actual boss from many years ago) and shouted, “you have the aesthetic sensibilities of a sea monkey!” Which I think is rather good. “Brine shrimp” would probably be better, but hey. I was unconscious.

A friend of mine got taken in by that Sea Monkey ad. A very, very stupid friend. He must have got the temperature wrong or something, because all he got was a sad plastic castle full of smelly water. If you’ve ever wondered, here’s what healthy brine shrimp look like at five weeks old.

February 7, 2018 — 9:23 pm
Comments: 10

Clown stole my pillow…

Tail end of the long weekend, and I’m unutterably depressed by the totally predictable international response to the whole phony evil-jews-club-adorable-baby-seals-on-the-high-sea thing. That’s my cue to witter on pointlessly for a while.

As I was skimming just under the surface of consciousness thing this morning, I dreamed a clown leaned in the bedroom door and stole my pillow.

Brrrrr. Not a nice wake-up call. Forget out-and-out coulrophobia — is there anybody on the planet who thinks clowns are the least little microscopic bit funny?

And if the answer is yes, and it’s you — can you try to explain it to me? Because I’m totally not getting it.

Huge shoes, monstrous facial features, golf pants and smacking each other around with giant hammers. Nope. Not getting it.

Also, jack-in-the-boxes. Did you have one? Did it make you laugh? Because mine scared the shit out of me when I was little.

Granted, I have an exaggerated startle response. Or, as my mother put it, I’m real goosey. But knowing when the thing was going to pop out of the deal wasn’t any help at all, I was still like, “aiiiii! The clown, it taunts me!”

I guess a touch of Pop-Goes-the-Weaselphobia is to be expected.

May 31, 2010 — 11:02 pm
Comments: 25

But I don’t wanna marry Kevin!

bless this mess

So I had this dream. I dreamed there was this ratfaced dude with long, limp brown hair and they were like, “right. This is Kevin. You’re going to marry him.”

And I’m like, “wait…what?!”

And they go, “you promised you’d move to England and get married, didn’t you?”

And I’m like, “uhhh…yes. I guess.”

And they go, “well, the regular guy can’t make it, so you’ll have to marry Kevin.”

And I wail, “but I don’t wanna marry Kevin!”

That’s going to be my personal catchphrase for a while. You’d appreciate the power of this dream more fully if you had any idea how many suicidally stupid things I’ve done in my life because I felt like I’d promised somebody something.

And don’t get me going on the irresistible power of the dare!

Okay, so this here is what I laughingly call my studio. Actually, it was a proper artist’s studio for years, but then I raised three baby squirrels to robust adulthood in it. Squirrels are a genetically-engineered cross between rats and psychotic trapeze artists.

It was my task this weekend to pull out everything I want from this great tottery pile of squirrel-tainted weasel poo so the Garbage Fairies can come over the holidays and whisk the rest away to Santa’s Landfill. This was what it looked like on Friday. I took one look and wailed, “but I don’t wanna marry Kevin!”

But I learned something, going through my old drawings and other artwork. I learned that, if I work hard and put my mind to it, I sure can suck. I also learned that ammonia dissolves india ink — good to know when you find a big crusty pool of dried ink with squirrel tracks radiating outwards in all directions on a hardwood floor. This happens to everyone some day, and now you’ll be prepared. You’re welcome. Also, I found many hidden caches of inky peanuts and dessicated broccoli, so you’ll be relieved to know I’ll be okay in the lean times, thanks to my beloved psychotic trapeze rats. Fare thee well, boys — wherever thou mightst be!

Wait! How long do gray squirrels live in the wild? Never mind…

December 18, 2007 — 7:09 pm
Comments: 12

I dreamed last night…

That my boss had one of my co-workers put to sleep. I was like, “look, if you’re not happy, isn’t it enough to fire her? Do you have to have her lethally injected?”

And he was like, “no, I really think this is for the best.”

March 7, 2007 — 8:15 am
Comments: 2