The Amazing Dr. Funkenstein and the Mind-altering burrito

What could I really say to y'all that would really be able to express what I'm feeling at this moment. The lack of words I'm experiencing is a lot like the process we went through recording dreams for our blogs. There's always this divide between the actual dream and how the dream can be put to words. I tried my best to make it like fiction, with what dialogue I could remember and paragraph breaks, but some dreams refuse to be that neat. (And I tried my best to point out the breaks in continuity too.) They can be too crazy or forgotten all too quickly-- and that's the same way I feel about you guys.

I'll try to remember you as best I can-- it's been a vivid experience, for sure-- it was pretty crazy (although, to be fair, I think I'm the craziest out of all y'all.) Perhaps we can look back and formulate our experiences into words like we did on our blogs.

I'd like to thank everyone who read my blog-- I tried to make it readable and humorous-- an insight into me. And I'd like to thank everyone for sharing a little bit of yourself with me too.

Goodbye.

PS- I'm Hawkeye. The rest of you can fight over the other characters. (I believe BJ is taken too.)

"My family" is in my living room, but it doesn't look like my living room-- it looks like my Aunt Maria's old living room with the tawny hardwood floors and matching entertainment console. There are four small children from that movie Cheaper By The Dozenrunning around the room, playing. Playing the part of the wife and mother is Blythe Danner (DeNiro's wife in Meet the Parents/Fockers). Tom Amandes playing the father (Dr. Abbott from the TV show Everwood) but sometimes is also played by Lyman Ward (the father from Ferris Bueller)

I feel like I'm viewing the action through a camcorder that I'm holding. It's as if I'm just walking around the room recording the scene and no one can see me.

Two of the children go behind the entertainment console and find a strange electronic device.

- What's that? They pull the cabinet farther away from the wall.
- It's a bomb! mother says.

The kids start freaking out.

- What do we do?
- I don't know, father says.
- I wish Ferris were here to be our bomb squad, mother says, looking into the camera. (Apparently I am Ferris Bueller. And this is a little Ferris Bueller's Day Off moment.)
- I wish he were here to be my bartender, father says, also looking into the camera. (Apparently Ferris Bueller is a bartender as well.)
- What do we do?
- We have to get out of here.

The camera whip pans over to an easy chair in the corner where Mr. Feeny from Boy Meets World (William Daniels, for all you keeping score at home) addresses the camera

- Thank heavens you have the Dodge Tango with optional seating for seven (with plenty of leg room) heated seats, chilled cupholders, four-wheel drive, and traction control to transfer motion from the wheels that slip to the wheels that grip. It should do plenty fine for getting us all out of here.

With that they all run out of the house and into the navy blue Dodge Tango parked in the driveway. Seating all seven of them, they power out of the driveway and down the street.

I am left holding the camera on the sidewalk.

I'm walking in Kissena Park, down this particular bend in the jogging path where the wild wheat grows. I turn the corner and on the side of the path there's a man (a little older than me) buried up to his shoulders in the dark wet dirt. He looks like he's been beaten stupid. He groans, swaying back and forth with a stupid expression on his face and a glazed look in his eyes. He is serverly bruised and cut up, and he's bleeding and drooling from every orifice and cut.

I know this man. I consider helping him, but decide it would take more than just me (especially because I don't have a shovel). So I walk home to get help.

I enter my living room and address my sister, who's on the couch.

- You'll never guess who I just saw.
- Who?
- Chris. Sarah's ex-boyfriend. (Sarah is a friend of my sister's. And Chris is her dorky, psychopath ex-boyfriend.)
- How nice.
- Someone planted him next to the road in Kissena Park. We should go get some shovels and dig him out.
- No. I don't think so, she says casually.
- We're just going to leave him there?
- Yep.
- Well, should I at least call the police and have them dig him out?
- You can do that if you want. Personally, I plan on sitting here and watching TV.

And with that she continued watching TV. I go upstairs to use my cellphone.

I sit on my bed with my Verizon phone out and I dial the numbers 911. A robotic female voice says

- I'm sorry, the number cannot be reached as dialed.

I am understandibly confused. I look at the screen of my phone and the characters aren't 911 (they are something like 3 to the exponent #_7.5). I look at the keys as I press them. 9-1-1. Once again they don't come out that way and the robotic female says

- The number cannot be reached as dialed--
- Yea, because of this stupid phone--
- Please hang up and try again.

I really bang my fingers into the keypad. And, once again, it comes out wrong.

- Please do not use physical force with your Verizon phone. Thank you.

I am extremely aggravated. I slam my fingers into the phone like an ape. The phone turns red and vibrates like a porcupine.

- Listen, honky, the female voice says, if you don't stop hitting your phone the Verizon police are gunna come around and plant your ass out.

I try to calmly dial my phone, but I am shaking with rage. I carefully press the buttons, 9-1-1.

- I'm sorry, the numb--

I throw the phone to the floor. Suddenly I hear a police siren and I dive under the covers of my bed.

Apparently there is some kind of revolution going on. The government has been taken over by Facists. (Perhaps an army of George Bushes and Ronald Regans.) To keep me safe my friend Nick Ryznyck walks me out of the city. We exit this tall cyclone fence into this forest territory. He leads me to this set of slightly oversized bunk beds with bed sheets wrapped around it for privacy.

- We gotta put you up here to keep you safe. I'll come get you later when the heat dies down.

Nick gives me a supply of rations (which he puts under the bed) and I proceed to live in this bunk bed fortress for months. My hair and beard grow long and straggly. I begin to go stur crazy.

Then Nick comes for me and brings me home to my family. They've all gathered at my house (which doesn't look anything like my house) to welcome me home. But I'm having trouble readapting to society. I have no manners, my hair scares people, (and I think I'm acting chimp-like).

I thought we were great out there. (And I'd like to thank all of you for telling me I did a good job-- I am fueled by your praise.) I wish I had gotten bigger laughs (those professors need to learn to laugh louder.) I wish I had memorized my script-- actually that would have been impossible because I didn't finish writing it until after the first panel.

It's a fun little fact I thought you should know now-- I wrote my intro to the Modern dreams section while Scott Cheshire was talking. (Thanks Scott!) A few of you (especially those from my section) knew that I was having trouble coming up with a joke for that introduction. But I feel I really pulled a rabbit out of the toaster when I came up with Sigmund Freud on TV.

My Dad's dream prompted my own little dream about bears in the park.

I was walking in McNeil park (in that same field down by the water) when I saw a bear rolling around on its back in the tall grass. I try to sneak by it quietly but it sees me and plods over to me in a very goofy fashion. It starts rubbing its face on my hand like a cat.

- Nice bear... Nice bear... Don't eat me.

Soon the bear starts nipping my hand with the corner of its eye tooth as it rubs against me.

- Okay, too rough. I have to go now.

I begin to leave. The bear looks confused and cocks its head to the side. It runs after me and rubs up against my side, almost knocking me down. I decide to pet it a little more to satiate it. The bear starts to turn its head as I pet it trying to nip at my hand and claw me with its paws.

- Woah, I say, backing away, I have to go now.

I start to leave and once again the bear cocks its head to the side, confused. It chases me again and pushes me with its paws, really trying hard to get me to play with it.

- Look, I say with my hands up, I'm sure you're a very nice bear. But we both know what happens when bears start to play rough. I just can't handle that-- I'm sorry.

I leave and the bear looks very sad.

My Dad had another dream I thought would be cool to share with y'all.

My Dad is walking by the water in McNeil Park (which is near our house) and he sees a lion sleeping in the grass. He tip-toes by it and sees a peacock hanging around with seagulls. He moves on and sees two bears wrestling each other in the grass. They stop and roar at him, then they continue wrestling.

Walking home my Dad addresses one of our neighbors.

- Did you see the bears down at the park?
- Oh, is that what they're calling them these days?

He thinks our neighbor is a moron and goes home.

My Dad had a dream he was in a restaurant and had to go to the bathroom. He entered this huge room filled with all different kinds of toilets (but no regular ones-- all Dr. Seuss style). There were swings, things with lights, jewel-encrusted grails (big bling-bling). There was one that was a bowl laid into a folding table. (It must take real good aim to urinate into that.) Finally, after frantically searching the bathroom, my Dad found one that was a padded hole in the floor.

Phantasm- (noun) an illusion of the imagination.

There was this crappy b-horror movie made in 1979 (I think) by Don Cascerelli called Phantasm. What it lacked in scares it made up for in me being able to crack wise at it. (Think Mystery Science Theatre 3000, only funnier.)

But what really made this movie noteworthy for me (other than the Jungian archetypes I extract from everything) was it's creative use of dreams as phantasm. The main character, a young boy named Mike, (who has just had both his parents, and more recently, a friend of his brother's die on him) starts having these wild dream fantasies about the funeral director being an evil monster. Acting upon these dreams, the gang investigates to find "The Tall Man" is up to something at the funeral home-- or is that all a phantasm itself? Watch and find out!

Ladies and Germs, you know it’s that time of year when you start getting mail for The Bloggies-- the only award you’ll ever get for sleeping. I’d like to remind you how the process works before I describe the catagories. You’ll read this blurb, soaking in the catagories, and while you finish up your blog work you’ll send me nominations for the catagories (either by email or on my blog). I’ll compile the best of the best and send out a ballot. And when we party I’ll put on a little show for y’all.
Here are the catagories and a description of each catagory.

Le Dream Surreal
You’re driving to the grocery store. You hobble into the store using a ironing board for a crutch and realize your aunt (who’s been dead for twelve years) is the cashier. She tells you you have to slay the dragon so she takes you under the counter and into a dungeon. Well, you guys imagine the rest. This is for the most surreal entry of the year. Look for the dream that you thought was entirely insane.

The Dashell Hammett Award
This award is for an entry that is a mystery. Not everything is apparent right away-- the story unfolds to it’s conclusion.

Most Evil Dream
This dream must spew satan. You should be stealing some kid’s bike and run over a little old lady with it.

Freud-boy
This is for your favorite entry that discusses our friend Freud. Please note, this can be either pro-Freud or anti-Freud. (You might have to look back a’ways for this one.)

The Man with a Thousand Faces
This is for the best entry that discusses the work of Carl Jung in any way. (I’ll leave that up to you. Wink, wink.)

Hypnagogic/Hypnopompic
This is the award for that dream which is not a dream. The hypnagogic and hypnopompic states are those periods right before and directly after sleep (respectively) and have been discussed quite a few times on the blogs.

The Superfluous Limb
We all have assignments for our blogs. We have to record a dream this week and record a reaction to a dream movie the next. But there have been some people who have been so kind as to give us an extra entry. Whether it was information about a book, an extended discussion of something that was mentioned in the entry before, or just a personal antecdote we all really enjoyed reading something different.

The Hollywood Walk of Fame
We’ve all had celebrities show up in our dreams. Movie stars, musicians, maybe even an author-- cameos are incredibly flattering and strange at times (why is John Goodman eating my dinner?)

The Elusive Dream
We’ve all had to do these blogs for a year and it hasn’t been easy. Sometimes it’s hard to put dream language into the english language. The winner of this award discusses that gap between the dream and the representation of the dream. A gap in logic, a strange and indescribable feeling, or maybe just how hard it was to write.

The Pop Stop
This is an award for the invasion of pop culture into a dream. (Specifically, this is not just for a celebrity.) To win this award the dream has to involve pop culture in the plot in some way. Perhaps the dreamer has to act out a scenario from a video game or a movie. Or maybe they have to get onstage and perform with Britney Spears. The options are limitless.

The Cheech and Chong Award
This is for that entry that is truly up in smoke. From Hobson to the (well) just plain recreational, drugs have turned up in our dreams and our blog entries. Pick out your favorite trip and keep on trucking.

Most Prolific
This is the award for the person who just wouldn’t stop writing. Their entries were long, making sure to describe the color of the chairs in relation to the wallpaper. Look for a person who not only has long entries but also a lot of entries.

Best (Written) in Show
This is the award for the blog you loved reading because it was just that good. This person not only dreamed interesting dreams but wrote them in a way that was clear and compelling.

The Sunshine/Fuzzy Kittens Award
This is for that blog that made you feel good-- because it’s so unthreatening. There was no questioning of your sexuality or thinking about your mother in an inappropriate way. Everything is bright colors and lollipops.

I’d like to congradulate everyone on the work that you’ve done all year-- it’s because of our work that this fake awards cerimony is possible.