The Amazing Dr. Funkenstein and the Mind-altering burrito

In Closing

2007-05-26T12:53:27Z

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.)

Ferris Bueller and the Dodge Tango

2007-05-26T12:05:55Z

"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.

Verizon Wireless

2007-05-26T11:24:13Z

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.

Public Enemy

2007-05-26T11:15:33Z

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).

A Reflection on Dem Honors Conference

2007-05-26T11:08:03Z

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.

A Friendly Bear

2007-05-26T10:25:56Z

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.

Lions, Peacocks, and Bears-- Oh Crap!

2007-05-26T10:07:29Z

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.

Toilets

2007-05-26T09:55:58Z

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 (The Movie!)

2007-05-26T09:52:05Z

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!

The Bloggies!

2007-05-26T09:00:24Z

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.

The Fabtabulous Four Goes to England

2007-05-26T08:58:40Z

The four of us decided to go to England for a week of fun. Brett, Joel, Max, and myself. (Max is actually from England so he was acting as our tour guide, taking us to all the fun spots and such.) I pack one small bag (because what guy travels with more than one bag) and board my plane directly from the runway. We all walked up these white plastic stairs to plane as if we were The Beatles. So we're hanging around our hotel room in London, bored as hell. The boys decided to go off and do something I have no interest in doing. I decided to fly home for the afternoon and come back and have dinner with them (as if the ride was under an hour). I told Max this and he didn't seem to think it was illogical either. I rushed back to the airport (or perhaps I should spell it aeroport because it was in jolly old England). Running, once again, directly from the street onto the runway, I grappled onto the landing gear of a plane taking off for New York city. (How I know this, I don't know.) The gear is pulled back into the body of the plane and I enter the seating area from the bathroom. I got back home, which looks like a two-story brownstone from A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints. I walked upstairs and said hello to my mother, explaining to her I was only back from England for a hour or two. She tells me that this girl I'm incredibly attracted to has come over and is using our shower. I suddenly have to use the bathroom. Our bathroom is huge. There's a lot of light grey marble, with maple cabinetry and gold fixtures. Behind the creme-colored shower curtain is the girl I'm incredibly attracted to (who will remain nameless). She's taking a shower (apparently that's a running theme with her and my dreams.) We talk briefly and she seems happy to hear from me. (I begin to theorize she came over here while I was on vacation to scope me out, via my family, for boyfriend material.) She told me to toss her a towel. I grabbed the first one off the rack and threw it over the rod. (From a third-person narrative state I can see that the towel I have tossed to her- the girl I'm incredibly attracted to- is actually an electric blanket which shocks her and renders her unconscious.) As I walked down the hall I see my brother run past me into the bathroom. My mother and sister soon followed him. I began to wonder what was going on so I went back to the bathroom. There I find my family huddled around the unconscious body of the girl I'm incredibly attracted to (wrapped in the shower curtain) as they try to revive her. - Look what you did to the poor girl! - I didn't mean to-- - Just don't. - She asked me to throw her a towel. Who leaves an electric blanket on the rack near water? - You're an idiot, John. - Is she going to be alright? - Yes. Fortunately we got her in time to help her. - Is there anything I can do? - I think you've done enough. Why don't you just go back to England? I looked from the doorway at the scowling faces of my family members, protecting this girl as if she was one of there own and I was not. Incredibly dejected, I leave for the airport.

Shower Up, Cowboy

2007-05-26T08:09:46Z

I dreamt I was in the apartment of this really attractive girl I wanted to go out with. (I had not been there before I had this dream. However, I have since. But now my memory of the dream apartment has been altered-- I keep replacing it with the imago new apartment. I'll try to dig deep here and recall her bedroom as I dreamt it.) It was dim. I'm not quite sure about this, but I think the walls were almost goldenrod yellow, with these small torch-like lamps mounted on them for light-- but they weren't providing too much light. The floors were this dark oak hardwood. I was sitting on the foot of her bed and she was sitting across from me in a chair. - I want you. she said. - Don't toy with me. I'm a very fragile man. - No, I'm serious-- - Thank you Jesus-- - But you have to live up to my standards of cleanliness. Why don't you hop in the shower quick? I wasted no time in making my decision. - Where is your shower? - It's down the hall and to your right. I exited her bedroom and entered her hallway. It was straight out of the second floor of MOMA-- white walls with artwork hanging in gold frames, light wooden benches in the middle of the hall, and on the right side there were windows with light streaming in. There was something strangely small looking about it, as if I was looking at it as a photograph from farther away. And on top of all that, there were people walking around her apartment looking at the art. I navigated my way down the hall, moving between people. I was carrying a bar of soap that I don't know where it came from and a towel that looked a little small for me. Right in front of the bathroom door, sitting on a bench, is my father. He seems really eager to talk to me about art and we have a little conversation. But (of course) I have to cut him off - Sorry Dad, I have to take a shower 'cause I have this girl waiting for me... And, y'know. He seemed a little disappointed but he let me go. I made a right past him and entered the blinding light of her bathroom.

Reflection on my Wonderful, Wonderful Web Project

2007-05-26T07:37:57Z

I was a bit antsy about this web project at first. I mean, here we spent six months trying to make full-bodied theses, fully fleshed-out ideas with thousands of examples and diagrams over fifteen pages-- and suddenly we had to cut it down to a page or two. Ironically, I thought, two pages is how we all started our papers-- maybe we should have kept it there if we were going to do this. But of course that couldn't of happened that way (Tougaw!) because we needed the journey. The quest of writing our papers not only made them stronger with each draft but also helped us as scholars and as human beings (well, anything's possible, right?) However, this was my favorite form of the paper. At first I even made it too short-- always willing to sacrifice content for humor. But I got the stuff I needed back in (refocusing the paper back to Jane Eyre and less references to me sleeping) and had a lot of fun manipulating the appearance/color scheme (who doesn't like "Starlight Over the Rhone" by Van Gogh? No?) and using the images for jocular purposes.

Mr. McGinley's Gym Class

2007-05-26T07:27:08Z

I was in the Saint Francis Prep gymnasium. There was alot of shine coming off the amber hardwood floors. It was junior year again and we were all waiting for our wrestling/judo class to begin. We were all seated on blue gym mats, waiting for Mr. McGinley. I wasn't in my normal spot-- I was farther from the door. Mr. McGinley shuffled in the door, dressed in sweats like the rest of us. He was his usually scrappy self, with his big glasses and carrying that clipboard he never wrote anything on. - Okay men, stretch out. We're gunna wrestle today. I went over to talk to Mr. McGinley, except he wasn't just Mr. McGinley, at that moment he was also my Dad. - What about that kid who broke his ankle? I said. - What about him? - Don't you think, for safety reasons... we should practice someplace else? Just then my mind cut to this flashback of a kid being slammed onto the hardwood floor and him holding his ankle. (I know it was a flashback because there was an intense glare around my frame of vision like on TV.) - I suppose you're right. C'mon men, my Dad/Mr. McGinley addressed to the group, We're going to the field in Queens College. And then we're in one of those big maroon vans Prep had for the Athletics department, driving up Horace Harding to Queens College-- except we're taking the big curve and driving as if we're coming from College Point (my house) instead of from the opposite direction, where Prep is. My Dad is definately driving at this point. We talk about what we're doing, about how wrestling on the grass in the Queens College ball field will be safer (we did have an actual dialogue, I just can't remember it at this point.) We drive up this big hill and decend downwards onto Queens College as if from a tremendous height. (A height which obviously does not exist along the LIE.) It's very ideallic-- almost to the point of being Edenic. And there's this big sports field complex (like five fields) somehow in between the theatre district and the actual gymnasium.

Perfect Dark

2007-05-26T07:20:11Z

There are some experiences that you have in your waking life that are so vivid, so intense, that they dominate your dreams. This happened to me a few years back when I played a video game called Perfect Dark. (Perfect Dark is a first-person shooter for the Nintendo 64 console.) I'd played multiplayer mode with my brother against a really tough computer. And all I could dream about was the game. The blurry vision of the TV screen. Machine gun fire. Running. N-bombs going off in these huge auras of blackness. How is it that video games like these implant themselves into our minds? What effect does that have?