Let's all take a moment to consider the Internet. Before the Internet, you spent time with loved ones and friends, probably enhancing your life in the process. With the Internet, you throw all of that out the window so you can read what some dork thought about last night's Top Chef on Twitter (spoiler: LAAAAAAAAAME!!!! PLEASE RT!!!!!! #kanyewasframed).
Of course, that's not all there is on the Internet. There's also a plethora of strange and exciting websites (such as this one, minus the exciting part) where people talk about their lives and some of the interesting things they've figured out, like being able to control their dreams. That act is called lucid dreaming, and I am really intrigued with it. Laura thinks the reason I'm intrigued is because it'd allow me to fly around the world in my underwear. I maintain this is incorrect; in my dreams, I'd much rather be a wolfman who terrorizes the inhabitants of a sleepy town in Manitoba. I actually don't know why I'm so interested in being able to direct my dreams, except that it's a large block of time where I'm not really doing that much. I might as well spice it up.
One of the first steps to lucid dreaming is being able to vividly recall your dreams, and so I've started writing down my dreams as soon as I wake up. Most mornings, this works pretty well. Other mornings, like today when I all I wrote was "Larry + Darrell = Dweezil + Larry" (seriously... here's proof), it leads to great confusion. Still, I continue to document them because I am devoted to seeing this crazy experiment through to the end.
The next step, after writing up your dreams, is to analyze what you've written and try to find common elements. The idea is that, once you pick up on these subtle hints that tell you that you're dreaming, you can then spot them in a dream. Once you know you're dreaming, you can start to experiment with things, like trying fly around the world in your underwear or becoming a wolfman and terrorizing the inhabitants of a sleepy town in Manitoba.
As I write these dreams up, I'm watching for these common elements and for a while there, I thought I found something. In one of the first dreams I wrote about, I moved into a retirement home where Chevy Chase was my next door neighbor. When I woke up the next morning, I was a little giddy. Maybe Chevy Chase was one of those signs that I was dreaming, and he'd start popping up all over the place in my dreams! Not only is Chevy Chase pretty memorable as a signal, but maybe it also meant I'd be getting some dreamtime Vacation/Fletch-era Chevy comedy. I am definitely cool with that, although I'd be considerably less excited about Cops and Robbersons-era Chevy.
Unfortunately, in the several days since I made my Chevy Chase breakthrough, I've yet to have another Chevy sighting or really discover any commonality amongst these dreams. The only thing I've got going right now, and it's a huuuuge stretch, is that I seem to occasionally have people with odd first names (Chevy, Dweezil) as supporting players in my dreams. If I encounter Yahoo Serious tonight while asleep, the trend is confirmed. Then, I must seriously question why I'm dreaming about Yahoo Serious and Dweezil Zappa.
Last week, I went to the US Open in New York. It's the one athletic event that I always wanted to see, and it lived up to the bill. Do you ever have an evening where you feel like destiny has put you on a one-way track to Amazingville? That's how my night was at the US Open.
The start of the night wasn't perfect. We were all in shorts and t-shirts, having been at the stadium all day during the heat. Normally, shorts and a t-shirt is just fine on a summer night, but this particular night found me seated on the very highest row of the biggest stadium there in particularly drafty weather. (Fortunately, we were able to devise a rotating system involving souveneir t-shirts and an extra women's jacket that kept things tolerable. I don't think anyone will claim that our clothing rotation system had us looking particularly stylin', though.)
Along with the fact that the highest row in the stadium is a little chilly, it's also, well, really high up there. I felt like I needed a Sherpa and a sturdy yak to reach the summit of Arthur Ashe Stadium. The view was great, but I was worried that a strong sneeze would knock me over the rail and splatter me all over Roger Federer's bodyguard. Summary: I couldn't see or hear that well, I was slowly succumbing to hypothermia, and Venus Williams refused to play the game of tennis and send her opponent back to her butter-churning dayjob in Latvia.
Then, when things were looking unfortunate, someone voiced the thought, "Hey, I bet we could move closer to the court for the Andy Roddick match." That's what we did. We got as close as we could get there in the upper tier, and then we decided to get brazen and move into the lower section.
We soon learned that we didn't have to particularly sneaky to get close to the court; the Richie Richies down in the lower section all left early and so we were pressed into duty as seat-fillers. On the way down to our new, ultra-great seats, we bumped into Christie Brinkley. (I tell you, friends, she is a living testament to superior genetics. That woman is looking alright.) After our giggle session with Christie, we found our new seats, where Andy Roddick easily could've bludgeoned to death with his serve. It would've taken some stretching, but I could've given him a wet willie; that's how close we were. After Andy finished demoralizing his opponent, we stand up to leave the grounds and go home, and who's right there? Why, it's David Robinson and he's giving out high fives. All of that craziness took place in the span of 45 minutes.
There's a lot more to the trip, like the musical comedy we saw aimed at senior citizens and the Aussie guy who turned into the James Bond of beer thievery. I'll save all of that for later, though. In the meantime, here are the pics and whatnot of the trip.
Also, lookie lookie, I made a new thingee called insultabot.com. Create strange, random insults and use them to enrage everyone on Twitter.