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12:20:2002 Entry: "Ann : ...and we almost rearended a Mercedes in Boston..."

...and we almost rearended a Mercedes in Boston...

Sandusky, Ohio

DREAM 11.12.02

Stan and I were walking down East Colfax Avenue in Denver. I have a mouth full of pearls and it's choking/gagging me. I start to spit them out into my hand as I'm crossing the street. I can't see too well either, and I'm probably running into people.


Weird how when I'm visiting one place, I dream I'm entirely someplace else.

When we arrived in this town to stay overnight on our way to Cleveland, the desk clerk at the Comfort Inn was telling us about the horrible tornadoes that had ripped through there last night. I'm so glad that we were a day late.

Earlier we had driven by the house in South Bend, Indiana, where I used to live when I was a pre-schooler. My parents and I left in 1967 when I was five. On our way back out west in 1971, they refused to stop by to see what it looked like, for fear that the neighborhood had gone to hell and they wanted to preserve the memory of it as they remembered it. That's bullshit thinking if you ask me. And there was nothing wrong with the neighborhood. It reminded me a lot of the area where Stan and I lived on Grant Street in Fort Collins.


Batavia, New York

DREAM 11.13.02

Stan and I were travelling somewhere out west I think. We were driving for miles in what appeared to be a city because there were all these houses above the road set on hills, sort of like the way our house is IRL. The house numbers were in the hundreds of thousands, like 486,700 or something, but they kept increasing and decreasing, so we never knew when we were approaching the center of town. It seemed rural at the same time it seemed urban, it was very strange.

We were at my mom's house and Stan's sister Jamie was there too. She had some large sketchpads (18x24) of art she had done. I had layed them out on some furniture of my parents, on their stereo speakers, on some other things my mom had. My mom wanted to see what the sketches were, then she started getting mad because they were on her furniture. I didn't want her to get mad at Jamie because I had put them there, so I apologized and said I forgot that she didn't want me to put anything on her furniture. She kept going on about how she didn't want anything placed there, and wouldn't accept my apology, so I blurt out, 'just go ahead and kill me, I don't care anymore.'

I said this in my sleep, out loud. I woke myself and Stan up. Immediately, Stan says, 'Oh great, do you know what you just said?' Coming to, I say 'Yes, it was just a dream.' Stan said, 'I hope they (meaning people in any adjoining rooms, the motel managers) don't think I'm trying to kill you.'

Heh, it was a little freaky. I was waiting for the manager or the police to come knocking on the door at any time wondering if I was OK.

How can such an enjoyable day cause one to have such antagonistic dreams? We spent the previous day at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, otherwise known as a pilgrimage as Stan put it. There's just so much to see that it's impossible to see it all in one day without some seriously sore feet. I'm not much of one for reading small print stuff in a museum either, I prefer large print/visuals (my eyesight sucks). The John Lennon exhibit on the top floor had mostly handwriten pages of songs. I found it extremely hard to see because the light was dim. I suppose they had to have it that way so that the print wouldn't fade and the paper wouldn't yellow. Hard for blind old bats like me, though. Most memorable item in the entire Museum? An abstract drawing Jim Morrison did at age 11. Simply unbelievable, puts anything I did at that age to shame. Other items of note: Jimi Hendrix's drawings from when he was a teenager (or so): most of the people he drew were white. I found this odd as I thought it was more natural to draw oneself. The clothes (on mannequins) exhibit was enjoyable. And the repeating movies of the inductees by the year inducted was fun to watch. Hope I can go again sometime. If you're looking to find a whole section devoted to your favorite band, however, you'll be disappointed. There's just so much territory to cover and it's mostly all very collagey. Favorite year of induction: 1996 includes Velvet Underground, Pink Floyd and Bowie. I'd like to watch that segment again.

Today we head to Liverpool, NY, then on to the Boston area. 20 years ago I'd want to go down to New York City. Now I could care less, and prefer to avoid it.

I'm hungry. We've been living on cheese crackers. Must have real breakfast some day.


Later, the same day,

Framingham, Massachusetts

or as Jim Morrison would say (or words to that effect: 'This is the best part of the trip...this is the part I really like, the best part...')


It couldn't get any weirder than this, folks.

Act One: The return of the Crazy Diamond.

introduction: A long time ago, there was a young girl who lived in a small town not far from a mine of beautiful crystalline gems. The young girl asked her father, the stingy ogre, if she could go to the mine to find some gems. The ogre said 'maybe sometime.' The sometime never came, and one day the stingy ogre took the young girl far away from the little town, where she never got to see the gems. She always resented her father the ogre for this, as it would have been no hardship on him to take her to look at the mine, just once before they moved. Years passed, and the ogre got stingier and eventually the girl married a man and they moved far, far away from the ogre. One time, while researching his genetic past, the man discovered he had family that was from the same part of the world as where the girl used to live a long time ago. What strange cosmic coincidence! Years later, they were travelling out there to see the man's mother and grandmother and to see the places where the girl used to live when....

intermission: Remember the dream with Bill in it that I had where I discovered a Syd Barrett CD that was pre-Pink Floyd, only to have Bill give me 'Madcap Laughs' a week later IRL?

Remember the recent dream I had concerning Syd Barrett where I'm reading a book by him, there's an envelope with words on tiny pieces of paper, the words fall to the floor, I crawl down to pick them up only to find that there were a bunch of small (not real) diamonds that had fallen to the floor as well?

Remember that I wrote that I doubted that dream was psychic or anything in any way?

finale: After we left Batavia and were heading toward the Syracuse region, I was looking at the road atlas, playing 'Piper at the Gates of Dawn' on the CD player and out of nowhere, it hit me: Herkimer. Herkimer Diamond Mines. It was legendary. I had a friend who had a Herkimer Diamond. I never went there when I lived in Liverpool. I looked up Herkimer in the atlas, and much to my surprise found it was just past Utica off the New York turnpike. (It was only 40 minutes or so outside of Syracuse...why my dad--the stingy ogre--never took me is beyond anyone's imagination). So Stan and I went. Not to the mine itself as it was early afternoon and we wouldn't have had that much time to dig around, but just the gift shop. I finally got a Herkimer diamond. Then it hit me again...this is the dream. These are the fake diamonds that fell to the ground, as Herkimer diamonds are in actuality quartz, but the way they are formed they look a little like a cut diamond. My dream foresaw, or saw to it, that I see Herkimer, something I had long forgotten about. It was important that 'Piper' was playing during the time that I suddenly remembered to go see Herkimer, as that is what the words on paper symbolized.

Shine on, You Crazy Herkimer Diamonds.

Act Two: Diamond Dogs. After we left Herkimer, we were travelling along the New York turnpike and three K-9 Units passed us. Sort of weird, but nonmemorable other than the fact we were listening to noneother than Bowie's Diamond Dogs (the exact song, not just the album!) at the time. Weird. The choice of CDs was completely unintentional.

Act Three: Whore Motel. Lodging rates in New England SUCK EGGS. I got the (not so) brilliant idea to see if we could find a mom'n'pop motel off the main route somewhere outside of Worcester. It'll be cheaper. Sure, if you don't mind a DAMN SKANKWHORE MOTEL! It was hot and stuffy, the dropped ceiling asbestos tiles were stained, it was small and cramped, the shades were torn and didn't cover the windows fully, and there was a sign on the bathroom sink that said 'do not sit on sink.' WTF? I guess we should've been suspicious because it said 'Trucker Rates' but it wasn't on a truck route. I asked for my money back, and the manager said she didn't know how to do that because it was on a credit card and it allready went through. WTF? She eventually figured it out, hopefully. Maybe she could tell I didn't already turn a quick one while non-New England accent, sensible clothes and honest face had 'confused midwestern tourist' written all over it, and she probably took pity on me knowing I wasn't just a local working girl.

Act Four: Free Food. After settling on an Econolodge in Framingham, we were in much need of nourishment, as there's only so many cheese crackers one can live on for so long. We did have a good cholesterol-filled real breakfast in Batavia, however, but our internal organs and tastebuds were crying out for a salad. SALAD! We drove through the city, which is the strangest construction of any municipality I've ever seen. The main drag has a divider going down the center of it with a high chain link fence which means you can't pedestrian yourself across the street or go from one side of town to the other. Neither can you make left turns except maybe after going a mile or so. I've never seen any place so weird. We found a Whole Foods which saved us from the tortures of MacDonald's salad. Whole Foods...just like Home. We parked the car, got out, and a man tells us 'They're closed.' Evidentally, the power went off which meant they had to close the store for a while as they got everything restored. We waited until they were open again, meanwhile countless other locals got back in their cars and left. I guess waiting is a midwestern virtue. Once inside, we grabbed four apples and found the salad bar. Two guys stared at both of us. It was creepy and disturbing. One of them appeared to be wearing a Seinfeldian Manziere (male bra)...he definitely had breast development that didn't appear to be from excess fat. Look, guys, if you want to do the sex change thing, it's fine by me, but please, do not try and look like a normal straight guy while you're growing your boys, OK? Put on a dress, grow your hair, doll up your face, please, be a drag queen or just look like one, but puhlease don't try and look straight because it does not work and it just gives your Aunt Ann here a really bad case of the heebeejeebees. Shudder. We're having problems finding plastic silverware, so I ask a young woman behind the deli counter where they are and she mumbles politely and motions. I didn't hear her, so I asked again, she smiles and mumbles again and motions for the second time. I then realize I am completely immersed in Seinfeld and have gone from Manziere Episode to Low Talker Episode. I nod and thank her, although I still hadn't a clue of what she told me. We eventually did find the silverware. Anyway, when we go to check out, all our items needed to be weighed to be rang up, and their electronic scales weren't working. There was no way they could enter our purchases into the cash register without the scale! So, the kind manager gave us our salad and apples. For free. 'Take it and run!' the cashier said happily. Guess it kind of makes up for the lodging prices.



The undisclosed Island in The Atlantic, somewhere


I was talking to some people. There was a young boy there only about five or six or so and he was flirting with me. Most spooky. I was wearing a bathing suit that was laced up with thin wire, like the kind used in beading. I was trying to explain to some people how I didn't have a sponsor when I graduated from high school, so I had to get my best friend, who was also graduating, to be my sponsor. Then I found some photos of myself from graduation to prove to them that I didn't have a sponsor. It was as if I was speaking/moving in the photos. There was a big purple cat in the dream. I was holding it tightly. That was the best part.

A little explanation regarding that 'sponsor' bit. I can't remember IRL having to get a sponsor for high school graduation...that is not done I believe. I do remember having to get a sponsor, or someone to accompany me for my MFA graduation, but that had to be a professor. I shared my prof with two other women because he was one of the more likable of the lot. I was the only one who sat with him, however, it was odd. I'm glad I sat with him because the other two had eachother to keep themselves company. I do remember something about sponsors for (ugh/shudder) religious confirmation, thanks to Tim reminding me of the whole tedious hellish ordeal not too long ago (Gee, thanks, Tim). Now THAT was where I had no sponsor. Since Catholics are known for their large families, naturally your typical Catholic family wouldn't have had any problem finding a sponsor for young Maria Teresa Christina's confirmation. But my parents weren't your typical Catholics. Both were only children and so was I. And I had no Catholic friends, let alone friends older than myself who had been through a confirmation. All my friends out west around that time seemed to be Methodists...heh. (Now they're all atheists, like me). So I used my mom as my sponsor. What else could I do. And that name thing? Where you have to take some ridiculous superfluous polynym at confirmation? I didn't. I just used my given name, Ann Elizabeth. You know what? I think that means the whole damn confirmation thing should be nullified, don't you? Ann is not and never has been a Catholic. Ever. It's just so stupid to make teenagers--whose thoughts are on music, school, the opposite sex, whatever--have to be confirmed to a religion. It's not as if *they* are deciding. They can't vote in elections, what makes anyone think they can decide about their religion. Their family is deciding, the teenager has no choice in the matter. It's brainwashing is what it is.




I was at my parent's house and was trying to talk to my dad. I think he was eating and was too busy to talk to me. I had to leave and was upset that he couldn't take a little time out of his "busy" schedule to talk to me. I was thinking of writing to him to tell him what an asshole he is. Later, I was in some sort of public building that was a combination of a movie theatre, concert hall and church. I had no idea why I was there, and I was all alone. The interior of the place was stark white, which would make it hard to see the screen or performers if it was a theatre. I was sitting toward the back and had a hard time seeing over all the tall people. I wanted to leave badly.



I miss my music.




I was supposed to have a part in a play that was to be spoken entirely in Spanish or French, I forgot which. I didn't spend time memorizing my lines, so when it got time to perform, I knew I would forget. It was a very short play, fortunately, and it was taking place in a department store. I started drinking these very tiny glasses of cognac (like the size of thimbles) but was quickly becoming inebriated. There were more parts to the dream, but they were stupid/confusing/embarrassing.


Hopefully the weather will be good and the ferry will run tomorrow, so we'll be heading home. I didn't fall in love with the place as I thought I would, which is fortunate. Too isolated, too remote, too lonely.



I was in a theatre or something with another woman, I have no idea who. There was a guy there who I think was David Bowie. He was the same age as he is now, but he had hair like he did circa "Man Who Sold the World" (i.e., long). I think he kissed my hand. It was pretty cool. In another part of the dream, it was really confusing. I was with Stan, and we had to meet Tim and Paula at the Hilldale Mall for some weird reason. It was like we were driving and they were following us or we were following them, or maybe Tim was driving (which he can't), I can't remember. I heard sirens, and we pulled over because we thought we were speeding, but we saw it was coming from the other direction. Then there was a very large utility vehicle in front of us that was very slow. This is the strange part...Tim puts a couple large 5 gallon jugs of some strange liquid onto that vehicle (while we're in motion) and says to us that they (the driver?) would take it to the mall for him and Paula so that they didn't have to go. I was rather mad because Stan and I still had to go there...we didn't have anyone to take our jugs for us. Then when in the mall, I was looking at shoes. I found some sandals that seemed very comfortable, but they were too large for me and they were really ugly. I also know I dreamt more about music, but it was rather confusing and I forgot most of it.



Bloomburg (or where ever), Pennsylvania (on our way home)


I was at my parent's house. Eric Clapton was in my bedroom, playing a guitar (but of course, what were you expecting?) trying to figure out the song. It was a Nirvana song--I forgot which song, probably something I made up for the dream--and he was having a hard time trying to get the fretwork correct. I thought this odd, I mean it was Eric Clapton. Then although the house was my parents house, it turned into Stan's (bio)mom's house. The foundation was made out of sand. Stan wanted to take some sand from her house home as a memento, so he asked her if he could and she said as long as it came from a non-structural support part of the house. He didn't show me where he was getting the sand from, but as I was descending the stairs to the basement, I noticed a big hole, about the size of a fist, in the wall. I asked Stan if that is where he got the sand from, and he said it was. I was mad because he made such an obvious hole, and I knew Stan's mom would be pissed. I told him he should go outside and get some more sand to patch up the hole, but it would still be pretty obvious. Then we were watching TV and there was an interview with Patti Smith on. Stan's mom couldn't stand the woman who was interviewing Patti to the point where she didn't even want us to have the TV on.



I am so darn exhausted.


Your vacations always sounds like something ugly you could have done without ;o)

Posted by Nico @ 11:25:2002:05:50 AM CST

They do? Actually, I had a good time. The beach was wonderful, although very windy. Wish we could've spent more time there instead of inside so much (due to some bad weather over the weekend). And the travel was pretty uneventful, which is good. And fortunately we *didn't* rearend that Mercedes!

Posted by Ann @ 11:25:2002:08:29 AM CST

By Ann @ 20:26 PM CST:12:20:02 ..::Link::..