I noticed that I didn’t share a previous Oprah Cameo in the Pinko subconcious after having an entirely unrelated Oprah appearance just the other day.

Dream 1:

There was some sort or natural disaster- flood or very slow tsunami- that involved waters rising slowly enough for me to randomly run into Oprah, explain to her why I am sometimes disappointed in her worship of comsumerism and her corporatification, and essentially her seeming apotheosis, but I really was saying these things in a friendly way.  She wasn’t exceptionally mad at me and I helped her climb into a tree to escape at least temporarily the rising waters and then I was able to pass her Smokey and Pugsley and then climb the tree myself.  I was happy that I could help her, but I was also happy that she was around so someone could help me save the doggies because otherwise the dream would have been terrible and sad.  It is unclear if she gave me a pile of money.

Dream 2:

The fresh one.  I was on some hike with someone from work who I am mad at, but this hike somehow made me late for some function, and also made me late for being able to check my e-mail.  Since I was unable to check my e-mail in the morning, the following ensued.  I entered a large auditorium that was fairly full of people milling about waiting for the function to start.  Was it Optionetics 2008???  Only the Random Randroid would know.  Anyhoo, I meet Geenie Cola there and I am VERY surprised, but somehow weirdly not THAT surprised to see her milling about with Oprah.  I walk up and Oprah hands me some handouts that are various scientists’ Curriculum Vitaes and I don’t really have a clue what is going on, but Oprah is talking to me like I should know what is going on and I think she might be a little bit put off by my seemingly unprofessional manner.  She says she is excited to work with me on this important issue, and Geenie C. gives me a little bit of the silent communication of “go with the flow, it’s Oprah!!!!!!!!!!” So I do so.  It happens that Oprah sent me an e-mail that I hadn’t had time to read explaining to me that she wanted me to help her find a head for the Oprah Stem Cell Institute (OSCI).  I silently chuckled to myself that UC, stem sell lover and aficianado that he is. Would. Be. So. Pissed.  Those are the breaks!

This is an odd one, and fresh from last night.  This was one of those dreams that you have but don’t initially register upon waking up, but subsequently remember later in the day.  Some might not remember the big B, but it is to their discredit and possible harm, as he represents a particularly dangeral form of the college professor.  He was once an interesting and challenging practitioner of the web log, and while he had nary a cob logger, he would sometimes cob log himself out and about.

As an aside, I know Professor Berubé knows all, as is his dangeral wont, thus I expect him to find this page before either an Easterbrookian meteor or the Rapture render the point moot, but if he beats the ticking clock, I’d suggest some important things for the Prof. to increase his dangerous arsenal as I remain stunned that the hero of our subconscious lacks a RateMyProf chili pepper.  If I may offer this advice.

I really can’t think of anything more annoying than student evaluations.  We can, however, understand a little bit of the incredible danger involved in exposing oneself to Prof. B.:

Put your hand inside the puppet head indeed.

Anyhow, in my dream I was excited to receive a text message from my obviously good pal, Professor Berubé.  His message was about how he had just left a movie theater having finally gotten around to seeing Speed Racer. He was ecstatic about the colorful family fare.  My conscious mind was surprised at this evaluation of the film, but in my dream it seemed so obvious that he would love it as I did and as Kathleen did.

Upon waking and reflection I feel less sanguine about such harmoniousness of thought between our dear Professor and myself.  In all seriousness, Speed Racer, is a film that could easily be denounced or praised on a numerous number of fronts.  Compared to a wide swathe of the kid or family movie buffet, it certainly can be considered challenging.  I’d consider writing a bit about it, but the discussion would be amongst myself as no one I know has seen it outside of my subconscious and Kathleen.

I’m still surprised we don’t get more write-ins to this bloggo.  I know that this can only means the dreams we don’t get are super whacked out.  mdhatter sends us a classic wtf but sleazy like YOUR dreams of the genre:

Kara Thrace [Battlestar Galactica.  Starbuck.  I think there are some people I am not reaching.- Pinko]
needed to learn multivariate calculus for a very important
mission. The hangar deck had long since been converted to a lecture
hall, and she sat in the middle of the hundreds of available seats. At
the lectern, 70 or more feet away stood the other person in the room -
my best friend Mr. Christopher X (an ACTUAL math professor). He was
the best Earth had to offer.

I missed most of the dialogue, but the last lines caught my ear -

“…..(unintelligible math garble)”

“What the frak is this!?”

“That’s how we roll here, Starbuck”

“Grrrrrrrr”

(ring ring) (ring ring)

fade to rerun of King of Queens

at Jennifer’s here.

Betraying us here.

Don’t worry we have an awesome one from Chuckles on deck, plus I’ve got Oprah.

Chuckles, who is a genius at remembering dream details, gives us another highly detailed, first-person sci-fi actioner dream featuring a decent chunk of the Law and Order cast. The only thing keeping it from being ultra-awesome is that Michael Moriarty wasn’t in it.  Also noted:  Jennifer’s hilarious and very familiar Elton John and Brendan Fraser dream.

The dream starts in media res, that’s “in the middle of the action” for you plebians, as I walk out of a dense jungle onto a muddy mangrove breach. I am exploring a new planet with my friend E and we are hacking our way through the root systems of the trees to get to the blue ocean that we can see through gaps in the foliage. We are discussing the various merits of assorted bands like Super Furry Animals, Of Montreal, Le Loup, Sound Team, and Georgie James. I believe E was very specifically trying to get me clued into Spoon and Pavement. There were a whole troop of people following us, but I wasn’t paying attention to them because I was busy hacking a path with a machete and frequently fending off ferocious native animals. Most of these animals were -equivalents like cobra-equivalents that had the body shape of a cobra but were lime green and had leafy natural camouflage like some of the sea horse species. This coloration was much appreciated because the foliage was all browns and the cobras stuck out. (I am not colorblind in my dreams, which is almost poetic.) There were also poisonous frogs that had a disturbing propensity to leap toward us, but being expeditiously experienced explorers, E and I were expertly batting the frogs away from our persons. We made a game of trying to bop the leafy, lime-green cobras with the flying frogs.

After some time, we reached a muddy sort of beach that was like a shallow channel that ran parallel to the real beach line some twenty yards further. The channel was of varying depth but never more than a six feet or so. We trudged through it and hacked a path to the real beach and cleared a path for our expedition. After clearing a patch of beach, the ground turned from mud to entirely white sand and matched the rest of the beach like there had never been mangroves growing in it.

The expedition began setting up tents and atmospheric monitoring gear under the watchful leadership of S. Epatha Merkerson. Lenny was there with Benjamin Bratt and they set up a big flat screen display and wisecracked about the apparent lameness of the local wildlife. They did not regard the lime-green cobras as much of a threat because the cobras could not move faster than a slug on the sand. The cobras’ leafy scales caught on the sand. The frogs remained tennis practice for anyone interested in smacking a frog with a clipboard. E and I wandered up the shores for a few hours while they set up camp and came to a marshy area about three hours north along the coast of the beach and then turned around and headed back to the camp.

After the camp had been set up, Lenny, B. Bratt and S.E. Merkerson called me and E over for our instructions and briefing. Apparently, our main reason for this expedition was for Skidoo product testing. The big flat screen display had a schematic for some new type of underwater ramjet-equipped Skidoo. It looked like a big whistle that you strapped into and dangled behind. Once you started it with a little forward motion, the special water ramjet would accelerate you for a period of time that was to be determined by our product testing. E and I stripped down to our Hawai’ian Speedo-styled bathing suits and then Lenny started making wisecracks about how we would only be able to have less flow-resistance if we had a full body electrolysis treatments. Then B. Bratt made the crack that such a treatment would also be the only thing that could make us look any gayer and E then said, “Well I am gay, so what is that supposed to mean?” Lenny and B. Bratt looked embarassed and apologized saying that it was “hard to break old habits.” S. Epatha Merkerson told everyone to “cut it out” and get to work.

Lenny and B. Bratt then handed us our ramjet Skidoos. They were only about the size of your average whistle and had straps for a finger. I thought we were being messed with more, but Lenny pointed out the scale on the six foot+ flat screen display and assured us that he wasn’t fooling around. E and I strapped on our flippers and our ramjet-ring Skidoos and waded out into the crystal clear ocean. The sandy beach only lasted for about ten feet before dropping off sharply. E and I gave each other one of those “here goes nothing” looks while Lenny, B. Bratt, and S. Epatha Merkerson watched us from the shore with clipboards and pens in hand. They were now all wearing lab coats and sunglasses. Lenny had a white streak of sunscreen on his nose.

As soon as I kicked my flippers while holding out my hands like Superman, I shot off like a rocket underwater. The ramjet-rings worked marvelously. E and I made it to the marshy area in about ten minutes and then shot all the way back before the rings ran out of power. S. Epatha Merkerson said that was excellent but now it was time for a shallow water test. I didn’t really understand this because E and I had not held our hands more than six inches underwater the whole time. Nevertheless, Lieutenant Van Buren must not be disobeyed so I strapped on a new ring, a snorkel and waded into the muddy channel. I had to dodge some frogs and lime-green cobras, but the ring worked once I squatted in the water and pushed off.

Unfortunately, the ring worked too well. It felt like I was being dragged through a muddy puddle which is basically exactly what it was doing. I kept hitting sticks and getting goo in my snorkel. After a bit, I realized that all the cobras were after me. I was moving pretty fast, not as fast as in the ocean, but fast enough that the cobras kept missing. I got to the marshy area and turned around.

The ring was loosing power faster than before, probably due to the fouled water and all the resistance of trying to drag me through mud a few times. On the way back, I was moving at about 75% of the speed as before and the cobras were getting really close with their strikes. I also had a train of frogs following me now. In order to avoid getting bitten by a cobra, I flipped over on my back and managed to grab a stick and started swatting the cobras like and action hero sword fighting while being dragged by one arm. It was pretty badass. Then the ring failed.

I was about 50 yards from the expedition site and I had to get up from the mud and start foot slogging it while fighting off a horde of bounding frogs and cobras hanging from the branches overhead. As I finally made it back to the camp, with sticks and mud and leaves plastered all over my body, I realized that everyone was laughing at me. S. Epatha Merkerson had insisted on the shallow water test as a joke. It wasn’t quite so funny when the wave of frogs that had been following me came into sight. Everyone had to fight them off, frogs were knocked flying in all directions.

I woke up giggling.

Mandos sends us this awesome one below, while Jennifer tries to horn in on our dealio and post her cameo with Martin Bashir at her place. 

Back to the Mandos in question:

I rarely remember my dreams, and that’s why this one is so odd.
Somehow, it involves George Clooney.  It’s not very long and a little vague.

***
So, George Clooney and I are visiting Western Canada (why we’re in each
other’s company I don’t remember), and we decide to steal money or
something from somewhere, probably to do with oil.  On our team is a
12-year-old girl with dark hair wearing a pink sweatshirt.  Somehow,
we’ve already pulled off the heist, and are using my aunt’s house as a
staging ground.  We have an enormous attack helicopter parked in her
living room (our escape vehicle), where we’re watching TV.  The
12-year-old girl is bored and goes upstairs to play with the other kids.

My aunt lets in some guests, and they turn out to be a SWAT team.  They
somehow fail to notice the attack helicopter in the living room and
instead go upstairs, where the anonymous 12-year-old girl spills the beans.

But I am unconcerned, because I know that George Clooney and his star
power will talk them out of it.  And somehow, he does.

But then I notice that something awful has happened.  Three of my teeth
in a row have just fallen out.  They don’t look like teeth at all, but
they look like little versions of those round bones you sometimes see
inside of big steaks.  I check my mouth in a mirror, and my mouth is
actually full of shark-like teeth, and they’re growing back.  Probably
another consequence of being in the company of George Clooney.  I keep
feeling the gums with my tongue.

Meanwhile, my mother (who is also there) and my aunt scold me for not
taking care of my health (ie, seeing a dentist and other things.  Must
remember to make a dental appointment.)

Anyway, I’m about to start arguing with them, but then I wake up.  I
notice I’ve been feeling my teeth with my tongue the whole time!
***

BP sends this ultra BP dream to us:

I was going to see Buffalo Tom; of course, they were playing in a
dive bar, in a grungy part of town. As I was hanging, I noticed that
the building we were in, part of an industrial complex that had been
rattily converted to a bar, was actually kind of cool. Along the
river, near a thriving commercial area, and otherwise in a generally
decent shape other than, you know, kind of abandoned.

My kind of buildings.

I thought it might be worthwhile to take a run at getting someone to
fund an adaptive reuse development, so I contacted some city
officials, and arranged for a tour. One or two of my college profs
decided to come along, and so did Buffalo Tom. It was more
interesting than getting back on the bus.

Abandoned industrial buildings are relatively dangerous…. so after
walking through the ground floor and along the river, we were going
to walk around the streets, when one of our party offered to take us
through the upper floors. It was Mike Rowe, who apparently had
worked in this factory before becoming a cable TV celebrity on the
West Coast. The building had been a metal fabrication plant, and he
led us to a material lift platform.

Which was savagely dangerous; it was supported at two points in the
center, so if we weren’t completely balanced, it would ‘teeter-
totter’ and dump people off. “So it’s essential that you hold on
tight” said Mike Rowe with a smirk as he grabbed the control box,
which was hanging from a cable.

As we were getting situated, one of the Buffalo Tom guys came running
from a dark corridor, jumping on the platform and throwing us all off
as we yelled at him to be fuckin careful, what are you an idiot?
“I’m a drummer” he said. [PP adds “heh, effing drummers!”] Then, hurrying out behind him came a young
woman, straightening her dress and pulling up her panties, and it all
became clear. Or clearer.

At this point, I realized one of the members of the group was Rudy
Giuliani. As the girl straightened her clothes, Rudy’s eyes got that
bright sheen they get when he talks about 9-11, and his tongue darted
at his lips like a lizard. Re-pulsive.

So up we went. R-e-e-a-a-l-l-l-l-y slowly, like industrial lifts do,
grinding and shuddering and swaying side to side. Through near-total
darkness. Occasionally, the lift is disoriented by projections,
leaving us hanging by our hands, all the while Mike Rowe is rattling
on and on about working in this place.

Eventually, we get to an upper landing, and the platform shudders to
a stop, with much noise and banging. Mike Rowe smiled. I think he’s
bitter about all the poop. We all walked off onto the rooftop, while
Mike Rowe talked about the history of the business. I kind of walked
to one side, and peering around a corner of the structure, saw…..a
playground. Kids playing kickball, running around, flying kites.

Pointing this out to Mike, he said “Well, there IS another way up.
But that one’s no fun.” as he grinned. Suddenly, he noticed someone
walking our way from the playground, and hurriedly continued “…but
it’s time we got going. We can just go out this way…” and as he
led us back away from the playground, we jumped him [Rudy] and threw him
down on the rooftop, holding him down under a piece of corrugated steel.

As we’re holding him, the man from the playground comes around the
corner; he looks astoundingly like Ed Harris. He greeted Mike, who
muttered something from underneath the steel, and said to us “Has
this guy been giving you a tough time? Yeah, we never liked him
around here. MIke, I think we might just have you stick around for
eight hours or so.” and then he directed a worker to use a
backloader’s bucket to hold the corrugated steel in place.

That’s when I woke up. But I like to think that then we all grabbed
Giuliani and pitched him down the lift shaft.

Jennifer had this one, and it’s pretty good!

Continuing our trend of dream cameos featuring celebrities and pets, I had this one Monday night.

So I am in some long, wooden building, like barracks of some kind but it is divided into alcoves of some sort.  Everyone is unpacking.  I think it is a camp of some sort.  I go to the alcove next door because I need to borrow a hanger or something.  This is the first sign that this is a dream.  Well, in the next alcove who is there but Nicole Kidman!  This doesn’t seem like too big a deal in my dream.  She is very polite and helpful, of course.  She sees that Smokey Dog is there and she is happy to see him.  She acts like they are old friends.  She says she’s about to take a nap and she wants to snuggle buggle with Smoke Dog.  I think, well that is very sweet, but I am worried that she could be possibly disappointed in Smokey, or perhaps she has some romanticized notions about dogs in general.  I mention that it would be fine because Smokes loves to snuggle buggle, but does she happen to…know…about full frito?

She says that she is used to dogs and she knows their ways.  I then worry about her waking up covered in dog hair because he sheds like Chewbacca if Chewbacca were a pug dog.  Again, she seems fine with it.  I wake up just as I wonder to myself if Smokes has his butt juice on “squirt”

I’m just too much of a nervous wreck in my dream to feel comfortable with Smokes not stinking or hairing up Nicole Kidman, who seemed quite nice.