dream a little dream of me
09.17.03 @ 12:58 p.m.
I remember that when Martha (who, Liz, if you're reading this, is your "janie jones" and despite her 'punk kid' comment, is younger than you) and I went to Portland, we came out of Powell's and into the face of sad and seemingly shell shocked Zoomba-ers. They're a club of bicyclist that ride down from Washington Park on tiny bicycles at high speeds yet remain within the law. The cops, however, don't much like them and a week ago last Friday, took all their bikes from the communal spot across from Original Rocco's. (Which is next to Retread Threads which charges way too fucking much for anything, though we saw some cool shirts.... like the girl one with a guitar on it that says 'play music'--I would have gotten it despite its priciness if they had my size, damn it.) We walked past them and they looked at us and said "The cops took our bikes." Like stunned children. And it all made more sense to me when I thought we happened upon them the day after the event, but actually it was a week and a day after the event. All we could say was "I'm sorry?" I mean, what are we going to do about it? "Yeah, fuck the man! Let's go take down the bicycle cops up at Pioneer Square! RAAAAAAAAH!"
Bicycle cops are so not intimidating. I think it's the shorts.
I had an odd dream last night. I was wandering around an old school and when I came to a window, past it walked Julian Casablancas (The Strokes), Jack White (White Stripes), and Anonymous Skate Punk Musician. And when I say 'walk', well, Jack was in a powered wheelchair. Julian was wearing a white version of the cowboy outfit Jack wears on the cover of Elephant and Jack was wearing a big white jacket with large white feathers with black tips adorning it. ASPM was non-descript. I walked around more and came into a commons-like area where Jack, Julian, and ASPM had set up in a triangle. Julian, oddly enough, had a guitar. In fact, he was carrying a guitar when he went past the window. The way they were seated, you had to walk through the middle to get past them and consequently the middle was the best place to hear them. As I passed through, I dropped a copy of the Willamette Week right in the middle of them. Why, I do not know. The rest of the commons is a local pizza place, Pizza Shmizza. A girl I knew in junior high and high school works there. Time passes, I gawk at Jack a bit, and then it's night and time to leave. As I walk past Jack et al I pick up the newspaper I dropped and knock over someone's drink (a glass of milk for the hard rockers, haha). I'm apologetic, but Jack whips out a little tape recorder, states the time and says "girl retrieves newspaper and knocks over a drink." It's all performance art. He tells me he liked what I did from an artistic standpoint. I raise the glass (having picked it up immediately after knocking it over) and say "I'm glad it worked out for your artistic sensibilities." They all gave me a weird look and I fled.
Outside, a wild-eyed young man in a gray hooded sweatshirt (I'm not hip enough to say 'hoody.' Okay, I just don't particularly care for the term. Dunno why) demands change. I deny having any, but the whole time I'm talking to him I can feel and hear it clinking in my pockets. He gestures into the dark outside the streetlights and says "He needs his money!" I still deny having any. Then he threatens to make the streetlights go out and hurt me in the dark. The lights would have to go out because there are tons of people across the street to witness anything untoward. I still say "It's too bad, because I don't have any money." I make my escape to a crowded quad to try to find my dad. It's still night and it's the lawn between the library, the art musuem, and PLC Hall at U of O. In Animal House, it's the lawn with the statue on it. I can kind of see him and my friend Andrew comes up to me and say "Is that him?" Renee, the girl from the pizza place, comes up and says she'll help me find him. She waves Elvis Costello (!) over and we all link hands (Elvis Costello-Renee-me-Andrew) and he says "Come on!" As we're weaving through the crowd, I look to Renee and say "Is Elvis Costello helping us find my dad?" She laughs and nods. "You know what I love about this place?" I ask. "It's so surreal." She laughs again and says "I just work here."
It was amusing enough a dream for me to wake up and write it all down immediately. A rare thing these days.
[Also, entries labelled [p] are private and unreadable to y'all. As in password protected when accessed properly. Sorry.]
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
