My dreams last night were really disturbing. Not because they started with a zombie invasion and ended with an Indian massacre (I was an Indian), but because of how nonchalantly these inhumane travesties were treated.

I admire my upbeat spirit a bit, but mostly I just feel an unsettling realization of my unawareness around the tragedies of this world, on an intellectual and emotional level.

Okay: it's an inspiring era when I've been able to grow up with a minimum of hardship. I'd just like to appreciate the lives of my fellow humans, a bit more. I guess realizing that many things are Bigger Than Me, and Bigger Than I'll Ever Know... those are a big part of it.

How about this one?:

"Northampton, a town so lovable you could marry it... if our oppressive traditionalist government would get up to speed with the times and allow people to marry towns!!!"

Hehe.

Just being silly, and I should note that I have a warm place in my heart for equality and activism.

I'm a... Flying Castle.



You seem dense liek rocks with yur head in teh clouds.

"Hey, could sum1 go out and get sum milk, maybe a few practical household supplies?"

"Not right now, I'm polishing teh dragonzzzzzzzzz!!!!!!!1 lol"

Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.

Hi.

Here are some ideas for a better nation.  We can do them in one of our existing countries, or build a bubble city under the sea.  Whatever works for you.

---

Lobbies

Do you know who owns your government?  It's probably not you.  It's a bunch of strangers you've never met before with suitcases full of shiny things.  "But how can I fight the power of shiny things?!?" you may ask.  Believe you can, first up.  Our forefathers were on the right track, and we can be too.  The point is: lobbies are great, but checks and balances should ensure that the biggest lobby is always, always, always: the people.

President

Hehe!  What a funny idea.  We're still into mascots.  What kind of mascot would you like?  Probably someone that is virtuous, intelligent, and even witty.  Too bad, you only get to choose between two mediocre puppets that are the lapdogs of the millionaires promoting them.  Good, honest corruption.  Corruption that is part of the system, so what do we expect?  But picture this:

What if we held a job interview for the position that judged which candidates were actually qualified for the job?  First of all, forget campaign spending.  A candidate that is caught spending a single cent is immediately disqualified, even arrested.  Instead, picture a rigorous series of tests that judge political science knowledge, historical knowledge, cultural awareness, and contemporary trends.  The government will portion an equal amount of time and money for candidates to reach the people, and sanctioned debates will be held in the same spirit.

Voting on Issues

"Democracy" means that the government is comprised of the people.  Have you ever played a role in the government?  Really?  Voting on candidates is really cute, but how about some attention to the people and  the issues, and a little less of all the red tape between them.  No candidate reflects your views, and voting for any guy is sending an inarticulate message about what you want accomplished.   Imagine being able to speak your mind on where you want to steer the world, instead of which candidate you hope might support your views.

---

Ta da.  It's a start.  I'll get to work on that bubble city, now.

Remember that scene when Lancelot valiantly slays his way through the wedding party to save some damsel who really didn't need it and who wasn't really a damsel?  That's the image that came to my mind when reflecting upon America in Iraq.

I won't pretend to know a lot about politics, but it is hard to image freedom at gunpoint.  Maybe we're having trouble nurturing and cultivating because we're a little frantic, but I still think we may salvage things well enough if we get real with ourselves and work together. 

It's only a flesh wound?

Oh! First came a scene on a baseball field with Shane Day and Phil Spring's little brother.  I was congratulating Shane on getting in the paper for being in the top six.  But one of them punched the other.  Then the other punched back, really hard.  I had to separate them, and shouted "fighting is the single most stupid thing we human beings can do", and it really did feel that simple.

Oh! This started in a bookstore.  This funky book chick was making orgasmic sigh noises while talking about books.  She said she sold more that way.  I gave her private advice: that her face belied how little she really cared.  It was well meant and well received.

Oh, there was a part with me being thankful for being born when I was, so that I could see the dawn of computers, but also great advances.  Then I was in Grampa's study playing a game with Ern and we were driving robots through head-on traffic or something.  Getting fully dressed before my grampa came by, of course.

So I saw the queen. Her car got caught up on the palace doors for a moment, but I bowed as best as I could. So did a number of British notables, and a guy (who I'm saying is Oliver Cromwell, but was simply some old white guy I "recognised") bowed and looked my way confidingly.

After that, an acting teacher rounded up the civilians on the stairs for acting class. Arrested Development's Tobias was there (and for the record he's a total poser). The teacher was Tony Soprano. He made fun of Tobias for saying "thank you" for 20 mins during a radio interview. He has his assistants run over a guys mechanical pencil, and he tauntingly handed each piece back separately. He asked a guy to get him coffee, and then poured the cream on his head.  This whole scene was as funny as it sounds.

8 Reflection
7 Peace
7 Strife

Last night I dreamed I was in Canadia, and I was in a lunch line at a school or something. I started to get some cereal, and someone explained that I needed three votes of confidence from strangers to get through the lunch line. I made friends with a lot of strangers, as I asked for lunch votes.

The chicken fillets stuffed with jelly looked delicious.

Heh.

My dream last night was sprawling, vast, and nonsensical, but there's one part I'm fond of.

Outside my window were two little mice reared up on their haunches, conferring with each other. They were wearing tiny little ninja outfits. Suddenly, they scurried towards the house...

Good god, it feels good to have a coherent space again.  That was driving me rabid monkey mad. 

Welcome, Spring.  Come on in.

Heh.

Thank the shiny golden gods I live next to a gym.

“…and she pulls the concerto around her like it is… a sea full of dolphins.”

It wasn’t the sort of thing you typically heard a teacher say in front of a class of second graders. But even while their second grade attention spans were simultaneously distracted with questions like “how many pollywogs are in the fishtank?” and “will Sally notice if I wipe this boogie on her backpack?”… they understood, intuitively, that Mrs. Serrafi was going off the deep end.

It had started after the valentines. The class had been told to celebrate Valentine’s Day by putting paper valentines in the boxes of the other classmates. After that they folded red paper in half and learned how to cut out a big red heart to make a valentine for their parents. After that, Mrs. Serrafi stood up in front of the class and came very close to a breakdown.

Usually when she pushed “play” on the machine, it played a chime and told them to open their workbooks. This time the chime was the aching voice a sustained oboe, which was soon wrapped up in the swelling wave of strings that carried the concerto along in a way that was soft and sweet. As she took a deep breath and began to explain the meaning of Valentine’s Day, her tone was just like the voice she used to explain Groundhog Day a few days earlier. But she seemed distracted. Agitated. Her posture changed and her voice wobbled. Maybe she was distracted by the music, since her eyes closed as she continued speaking: speaking about love, and how impossible it is to describe, and how tragically ephemeral it truly is, how deliciously fleeting. Though she usually addressed the class by reading verbatim from a Teacher’s Guide, this time she had bounced off the rails completely, and had brought a lucid spirit into her second grade classroom that welled up from within her and came out in a manifestation that was a struggle of definition, a challenge of understanding, a deep and furious personal battle of belief.

And so her struggle to describe her thoughts and feelings ended with prose that sounded more like poetry than lesson material.

“…and she pulls the concerto around her like it is… a sea full of dolphins. Playful, healing, beyond words…”

And when Mrs. Serrafi opened her eyes, she looked agast. Where had that come from? What did it mean? Would she get in trouble? Had anyone seen?

The music died with a final gasp of the oboe.

For a moment, the gurgle of the fishtank sounded very loud. There was a rustling of fabric and an uncomfortable cough (there were seventeen pollywogs, and no: Sally didn’t notice). A couple children clapped weakly, because they didn’t know what else to do. It was a Very Uncomfortable Moment.

Then another teacher came to the front of the classroom. It was Mr. Serrafi. He showed Mrs. Serrafi a folder, and whispered to her. He pretended to talk about the folder, but the words he whispered were:

“I love you.”

Leaving his secret in the hollow of her ear, he turned and walked back out of the classroom quickly. He didn’t think everyone had heard.

Mrs. Serrafi’s poetry hadn’t gotten much appreciation right away, but now the scattered clapping crescendoed, swelling up into appreciative applause.

Mrs. Serrafi changed, flustered by the children’s attention. Her lips drew inward as she held back an embarrassed smile. Her gasps came in short busts as she strained against her laugh, eyes tearing up, and her neck and face straining to depict her emotions.

She looked thankful and relieved and very happy.

And that’s how Mrs. Serrafi’s second grade class got their first glimpse of romantic love.

Free hugs are not a crime!

(Worth seeing it all, since it tells a great tale.)

Once upon my head:
A testament to hattedness,
Floating on the wind.

My Hat
1/2007 - 2/2007

After learning the awful truth, you may stick with XP. Or run screaming to Steve Job's room to tell him you just had the most surreal nightmare.

The new Microsoft OS constantly scans the content on your hard drive, and then plays judge, jury, and executioner with your hardware. I've heard from a friend that his machine got disabled by Vista because it detected mp3s without legitimate tags. Whatever the details are... it's not true from the truth that is surfacing:

Vista Crippled by Content Protection

Vista's Suicide Bomb: who gets hurt?

A Cost Analysis of Windows Vista Content Protection

Anyway, here's the summary:

"The Vista Content Protection specification could very well constitute the longest suicide note in history."

Be careful!

Doing Well in the Valley

Walking on way past "Art Space" business in back street. (Reminiscent of that dream with lots of black people in a luckily-discovered classroom in the midst of a road trip – wiki these comparisons?)

There was a firm with Brantner and others, inside jokes. Downstairs basement part.

Later: clicking through accolades, many of which had hints of who they were from (people I knew). Standing up to stretch, and spinning on my hands upside down like a gymnast on the horse thing. Christophe in office outside browsing the accolades joins me for a break just over the ridge in a breathtaking field speckled with white flowers – children played way down to the left in a playground.

“Well, the flowers are a little girly, but this is beautiful. I love the Valley”, I said.

I felt I was doing very, very well.

9 Successful atmosphere
7 Satisfying creative environment
6 Frolic

I saw Avenue Q, recently, wherein Gary Coleman ex-child-star sings a heartwarming ditty about enjoying the suffering of others. (Schadenfreude is a word that means just that. Yes, it's German. Hehe.)

- Do you think people enjoy the suffering of others?

- Do you? How?

- Is there a positive side to this trait? Can we channel it in a healthy way? Are we doomed?

My inner pro-wrester lauds his prowess with such ferocity that he shatters the camera.

My herd of elephants stampedes through the entire Parisian esplanade full of stamp-collection enthusiasts.

Two-hundred mentos are simultaneous teleported into a single two-liter bottle of diet pepsi.

Ka-blooom!!!

Ern and I saw Ave. Q and it was a blast.

Funny, and also a lot more serious than I expected! Here are some points that were worth mulling over:

- Okay for now (compromizing with life and dreams and striving from there)

- "Everyone's a little bit racist"

- "Schreudenfreund", or whatever

I was totally talking about my last one on the phone last night with a friend, and maybe that helped this one happen. Whatev, here it is:

I was on a crowded beach of the future. There were stairs and rows, almost like stadium seating, but the whole place felt very open and fresh. There were weird vehicles - I saw two passenger plane tails sticking out of the clouds, just hovering, and was confused until I saw them lift up vertically like harrier jets.

I was dancing on the stairs, using the railing to pull myself around while I danced like a robot. A girl and her friend were laughing at me. I plopped down and said "how's it going?" and we struck up great conversation. She had wavy red hair that was eerily perfect, like it was made of plastic or something.

Up above was the boardwalk. People milled around playing games and strolling. A couple was totally getting it on on a bench, and that was okay. A trio of construction workers discussed philosophy nearby, maturely. It was then that I realized: this was a future utopia.

This was also the moment I realized: hey, this is a dream.

Looking around, it was hard to imagine that all the detail was from my own head on the fly, so I tested it out by zooming my eyes around and absorbing as much information as I could. A phone ringing sounded familliar and I realized it was mine, in my own apartment right nearby off the boardwalk. I opened the door and went up the stairs. There were a zillion little details, very visually crisp: this guy was painting near a stepladder in the hallway stairs, my bathroom door at the top had some art drawn on it, as I entered my room there were shelves of games and cool toys. The view out one window was of the ocean (thinking about it now, that was on the wrong side) and it looked like a Martha's Vineyard harbor, like Oak Bluffs. Out the other window was a parking lot. All this seemed to confirm that this was all very meaningful, like I had a glimpse of the future utopia, or my own future, or my own mind or something.

Later, I looked out the window and saw a night cityscape instead of a harbor and I thought "oh come on Curt - pull it together".

9 Detailed clarity
6 Vague meaningful revelation

I need to have a plan for next time. I struggle with what to do, and lose focus and clarity. It takes a lot of concentration to hold it together when you enter this state of mind! The flying idea from last time felt like a great exercise in concentration, but I should get a book and think it through more.