Nigh Prophetic.

I got a call from Jon on Friday, asking if his Zune was in my living room. As I had just scoured the room for Kelli's Visa gift card (which I still haven't found, to much dismay), I could say with much certainty that the mp3 player simply was not there, and that he should check his car.

I got a text from him later, asking if it was perhaps in the sleeping bag we had out on Tuesday night. I said I would look and let him know. I didn't, because it had pretty much been completely unzipped when I took it downstairs Wednesday, and it hadn't been there then. I felt kinda bad the rest of the night, but there wasn't anything I could do about it.

That night, one of my dreams involved Kelsey and me standing in my living room, looking at the sleeping bag crumpled on the floor.
"You should check the sleeping bag," she suggested.
"Fine," I ceded, "Even though it's not gonna be there. This is stupid."

I picked up the sleeping bag and the Zune fell into my hand. "Well," I said, "There it is. I guess I should call Jon."

Today when I was at work, I cursed myself for not checking the sleeping bag before I went in. When I got home this afternoon, I went downstairs to find the sleeping bag. I figured I should check it just to make sure.
I picked it up, unzipped it all the way, and guess what?



It wasn't there.



I sighed and trudged upstairs, heading back to the living room. I recalled Jon spending a lot of time in the red chair, so I lifted up the seat cushion and TA-DA, Zune!

But I had you going there for a minute, didn't I?

Stream of Consciousness

About a year ago, I found this written on a folded up sheet of paper in with all my high school things. I have no idea what the context was; all I can assume is that I just started writing words down that I thought of in some sort of stream-of-consciousness fashion. Take a look:


School has many authorities that manipulate the system while highstepping students' playgrounds, which contains ancient stones from Antarctica, which have many secret chambers that help hobbits die, but non intentionally, because preposterous antelopes leapt into the galaxy, causing pandemonium and supply and destruction of the Yankees, who did not know that intimidating mountain lions and butterflies lurked eerily nearby, waiting to pounce upon red wheelbarrows full of rainwater beside the white chickens of many much doom and supply supplication, suggesting that bamboo isn't fit for human consumption because of a magical saying that goes like this:

"Exotic resources filled the red DOOM bountifully, exaltingly, and numbingly with peanut butter scones, which saved a young panda's life, which caused humans to DIE from bamboo consumption, aka 'Bambooitis';"

therefore bamboo was genetically altered and burning eternally in the flames of the hobbits of the abyss.

Life After "Jest"

I've decided I need to be more well-read. I'm compiling a list of books to read when I'm done with Infinite Jest in September--because I WILL FINISH IT by September 13, darn it.

This is what I have so far in the vein of classics (EDIT: though not in this order):

Life of Pi - Yann Martel
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, because it's been far, far too long
Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
1984 - George Orwell (so I can compare the two)
The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera
Everything is Illuminated - Jonathan Safran Foer
Something by Gogol
Something by Dostoevsky
House of Leaves - Mark Danielewski (a project I started twice and never finished)

Other books:
A Song of Love and Death - Peter Conrad
Mozart's Sister - Nancy Moser
Under the Dome - Stephen King

That's my list as it stands right now, and I am fully aware that there are others I want or need to read, but I'm kind of distracted by the organ music emanating from my neighbors' house. It's a strange combination of sprightly and unsettling.

EDIT: I've decided to follow Sarah's example and write up an actual written list of books I want to read. It will be easier for me to keep track of, and I do so love actually crossing things off of lists. Also, my list is continually growing, but I think this is a good place to start. Sarah threw The Bell Jar at me today and I think that will be my first read after Jest. Also Animal Farm and The Giver are in there, since I haven't read them in ten years and I feel I'd understand them better now.

QUESTION: So far I have two requests to do buddy reading. Monica and I are going to read Everything is Illuminated together up at school, and Sarah and I want to read 1984 and Brave New World together and discuss them. Anyone else want to pair up for a specific book? After Bell Jar I plan on doing the buddy books first, so let me know!

Dreams.

It's funny how some people forget how to dream. I'm not talking about like life goals or hopes or desires, but actual dreams. Like, from a REM cycle.

I rarely tell my parents what my dreams are made of, in large part because 1) it's rarely something they'd find interesting, and 2) they don't get that it's okay for dreams to be weird. I don't know if "weird" is right, because usually when I tell them a strange dream, my parents shake their heads and laugh at me, asking me if I'm on crack. It might be thoughtless of me to say this, but I doubt crack addicts remember their dreams. If they do, I'll bet they're horrifying.

[something like this]

No, the only time I tell my dreams to my parents is if they're still haunting me years later, or if I'm trying to remember them because they were really cool.

Which brings me to my next point: we all easily remember the worst dreams we've ever had, and we often remember several of them, comparing whose subconscious is the most unsettling; but anytime I've ever had an especially cool dream, I have to work my butt off to remember it. Generally writing it down helps me, but only if I do it quickly before everything fades. Sometimes, if a dream is exceptionally cool, I'll remember it for a long time just by telling people about it.
Exhibit A: The Din Stalker. One night back in early high school, I had a dream that my sister Linden and I were at home alone, watching television. We heard a tapping at the window, and when we looked up all the blinds were gone from the windows, and this shadowy, creepy guy leered at us. We instinctively knew he was going after Linden, and we ran around to hide behind our big, heavy front door...which was gone. Every glass in our house that looked outside was now uncovered, providing dozens of ways for the Din Stalker to peer in. We hid all over the house, in every room, only to have that creeper looking in on us and waving menacingly. We finally ended up in my basement, eventually in the walk-in closet. I woke up just as the stalker was breaking the door down with an axe.End Result of Exhibit A: I prefer to keep the blinds closed when I'm at home, especially when I'm alone.

Exhibit B: Ioan Gruffudd. Around the same time as the Din Stalker Dream, I had a dream that I was walking around Churchill, knowing that Ioan Gruffudd was there. I don't remember exactly what happened, but we kissed and he said stuff and I don't even have real memories of it. I just have to tell myself what happened. Why can't I fully remember dreams as awesome as that?

End Result of Exhibit B: Frustration. [I feel like Ioan is disappointed in me.]

Exhibit C: Forced Marriage. Probably senior year of high school, I had a dream that I was on my way to a church (Faith Lutheran, to be exact, probably because of my experiences there with Livonia Youth Choir) with my parents, dressed in all black. I didn't know why we were going, but it seemed ominous. We pulled up and I got out of the car in front of the church, where my old stand partner from Ward Church was waiting in a tux. Apparently we were going to be married. Now, I have nothing against the guy, but I have never been in any way attracted to him. I started crying and trying to get away, but they just dragged me into the church and I was forced to marry him.

End Result of Exhibit C: I always feel uncomfortable even talking to him on facebook, because whenever I think of him I think of that dream and get creeped out. He is in no way a creepy guy, but that's what happened.

Exhibit D: Series of Awesome Tally Hall Dreams. About 2 years ago, I had this awesome dream about Tally Hall performing in South Africa in the same place as the CMU Choir, and I got to help them set up, and Zubin started making out with me. The only reason I even remember this dream [which I'm not telling in great detail because it's long and complex] is because I told Liz and Monica and we discussed it at great length. A year ago I had a series of dreams one night involving Tally Hall, and they were completely. Awesome. I believe I wrote them all down and I know I told Kelsey and Liz, but apparently that wasn't enough because I only remember that after one concert I got to hang out with them, and then aliens attacked and Kelsey and Andrew and I were abducted and Kelsey and I defeated the aliens.

End Result of Exhibit D: Feeling like a fangirl, and knowing that I will never, ever post my dreams on the "Tally Hall Dreams" page of the Hidden in the Sand blogs.

Exhibit E: Zombie Mental Hospital. This one I remember in great detail because it was both scary and awesome, and I felt like a total badass when I woke up. Josh Graham and I ended up at this abandoned mental hospital and its grounds overrun by zombies. We holed up and found other survivors, and the zombies started to bust in at the sound of the music from the outside speakers (reminding me of Left 4 Dead). I was about to go all Samwise on them with a cast iron skillet when I woke up. It was a great dream.

End Result of Exhibit E: I feel that I will be ready for the zombie apocalypse, and worse, I think I could survive.

Heck, sometimes I even remember weird or awesome dreams my friends have had, particularly if they involve me, but sometimes that's not even required.

Exhibit A: Butterball Chicken. Kelli had a dream, probably in early high school or late middle school, that she and I were at the mall, and I killed someone with a butterball chicken. I'm not sure exactly how this was accomplished, or even if it was cooked, but these are the possibilities I can think of:
-bludgeoning someone to death
-stabbing someone with a leg
-tearing off the skin and strangliing someone with it

End Result of Exhibit A: Once again I feel quite wrongly like some kind of MacGyver who can kill anyone with anything, even a butterball chicken.
EDIT: After reading this Cracked article, I feel I could actually do this.

Exhibit B: Zombies with Josh 2: Electric Boogaloo. This time it was Josh Graham who had the dream where we were stuck together in the zombie apocalypse, but I got separated from him in a crowd and was ripped to pieces. He looked over, freaked out, and got away as quickly as possible. I would have been offended, but it was really the only logical choice.

End Result of Exhibit B: I am resigned to my probable fate should the zombie apocalypse ever occur. But that doesn't mean I won't go out with a bang.

[You're welcome.]

Exhibit C: Suicide Party. A friend of mine recently had a dream that another friend of ours was having the usual crowd over to his house...for a suicide party. From what I gathered, he was going to commit suicide and he was just...having a party! And we were all acting like everything was normal, but I think the dreamer was kinda freaking out, which is how that all normally works.

End Result of Exhibit C: I am actually very shook up about this and more wary of my friends' emotions.

I had a dream the other night that was incredibly weird in its specificity, involving Kelli, myself, a murderer, other Daria characters, and members of our family. When I related it to my mother, she shook her head and said I was crazy. I'm sorry, if you're not having crazy dreams, then you're the weird one, not me.

I'm only gonna break, break your, break, break your heart.

While I was toiling in burrito heaven today, I was listening to Q95.5 before I had the chance to change the radio to the oldies station. Because they play the same 8 songs on repeat without even changing the order, the DJ kept going on and on about how unbearably long the title of the new Usher song is: "DJ Got Us Falling In Love Again." At a rating of 10.7 (10 syllables and 7 words, my own scale), he rated this particular title as "long as hell."

Really? Do all of the titles for everything only have to be 4 words or less? I understand that most songs can be boiled down to that, but really, that song would be referred to as that title even if it weren't official. It's the most memorable part of the song. I'm kind of glad most songs don't work that way though, otherwise Imogen Heap's Hide and Seek would be known as "Mmm What You Say," Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" would be called "Born And Raised In SOUTH DETROIT," and Regina Spektor's "Dance Anthem of the 80's" would be known as "Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeleeeeleleeelelee eep," But I digress.

I guess songs like "(I Can't Help) Falling In Love With You" by Elvis Presley would probably give that DJ a minor headache, only to be cured by songs with names like Crash Test Dummies' "Mmm Mmm Mmm" and "No!" by They Might Be Giants.

It's at this point that I'm reminded of Stephen Fry's podgram about language, and how we should use words for the joy of using and listening to them, just like music. Yes, we use music to express emotion in the same way we use words, but ultimately music is utilized in order to get some enjoyment or pleasure out of it. I would go on about this, but I moved tangentially, there.

With song titles like "There's A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven't Thought Of It Yet" and "A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More 'Touch Me,'" Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco would probably give this DJ an aneurysm. It's no wonder the only Panic song I regularly hear on the radio is "I Write Sins Not Tragedies."

Album names can be ridiculously long, and one that would probably send this DJ into a fit of epilepsy is Fiona Apple's When the Pawn....

I didn't really have a direction for this to go, I just felt like complaining about the stupid DJ on Q95.5's Mojo in the Morning. Kelli will be posting a much more eloquent and entertaining blog about songs that have very silly beginnings soon, so head on over there!

Whaddaya know.

It would appear that I am now 21. How about that.

belated BYBS: Family

I know it seems all kinds of cheese to have two Blog Your Blessings Sundays in a row be about friend and family, but if you actually know Kelli and me, and you know anything about the situation at hand, you'll understand why I am saying right now that I freaking love my family. You don't even know.

I mean, I loved them before. "It's just whatcha do." I love the fact that Oma has a sense of humor even at 80; that Uncle Kevin is in the FBI and used to climb everything possible [and impossible] even as an infant; that Lydia is smarter than like 8 whips put together, and knows a total of four languages; and then of course there's Linden, Kelli, and my parents, whom I couldn't possibly live without.

But this weekend and in the weeks leading up to it, everyone in our family really stepped up to the plate and showed the world that we stick together, and we stick up for each other. It has been nothing but an encouragement talking to the family about the situation (or The Scoop, as Kelli and I dubbed it), and I know it has been at least doubly encouraging for Kelli.

If we learned anything this weekend it's that most people never change, either because they don't want to, or because your perception of them has. Also that Uncle Kevin is so awesome he makes Chuck Norris wet himself just by looking at him wrong.

If this seems cryptic and un-revealing, it's because I don't want to gush about our family drama in a permanent place on the internet. So nod your head, agree that family can be pretty awesome [especially if you have been hearing anything about ours] and go on your merry way.