quadrennially yours...

february 29th doesn't come along every day, y'know.

which is good, since this year it coincides with me being sick. yes, i got the flu shot, therefore it isn't the flu. i insist. regardless, for the last 48 hours, maybe 72, my head hasn't been right. (far longer than that, you say? oh, very funny. ha. ha.)

while awake i've been sneezy, achy, dizzy, sleepy, and a couple more of the seven dwarves. while sleeping...i've had some really weird dreams.

he (disentangling from she): i'm going to have to get some sildenafil citrate to keep up with you.

she (still smiling): what's that?

he: generic viagra.

she: generic? why generic?

he: for what we're doing, cheap is more appropriate.

she: that was not nice. not nice at all.

he: you can't have tawdry without audrey.

she: yeah, well you can't have odd without todd.

he: my name's not todd.

she: my name's not audrey.

[pause]

he: i have to go.

she: me, too...

for the record, i was not the "he" in this dream. also, i don't know any "todd and audrey" couples. nor was i aware that i was aware of the generic name for viagra. who notices that kind of thing? and who has dreams like this? bizarre.

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since monday, i have experienced several episodes of back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back sneezes. much to my discomfort, and much to the amusement of those around me. to them i say one thing: snot funny. it's fortunate i wasn't operating heavy machinery during any of these sneezures.

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in other news...

the president of the california fish and game commission, daniel richards, recently traveled to idaho, where he hunted, killed, and ate a mountain lion. he couldn't do these things in california, because they're illegal there.

apparently dozens of california lawmakers have called for daniel's resignation, saying his actions aren't consistent with his position with the state. he has declined to quit, essentially telling the lawmakers to go fuck themselves. i may be slightly exaggerating that last part.

legally, daniel is correct. he participated in a legal (in idaho) activity, broke no laws in doing so, and seemed to really enjoy it. good for him.

me, i have no quarrel with hunters, mostly because they carry guns, and people with guns are dangerous. what i've never been able to understand, though, is why so many of them get so much joy from killing.

i bet they wouldn't enjoy it so much if the quarry were shooting back. which is kind of what's happening in afghanistan, where u.s. military personnel recently burned several copies of the koran.

this was bad form, and a bad idea, in that it set off riots and killings in that country. recognizing the danger that riots and killings pose to u.s. forces, barack obama apologized to the afghan president, and told him it wouldn't happen again.

unless of course one of the gop candidates wins the presidency in november. then there'll probably be koran burning parties at the white house every week.

rhetorical query: if afghan troops, occupying america for the last ten years, were burning bibles willy nilly, what do you suppose the reaction amongst christians would be? someone should ask the gop candidates that question, i think.

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disconcerting moment of the day: a tweet from someone named megan calhoun (@social moms) showed up on my twitter feed today. the tweet said, "I'm happiest when ________ (fill in the blank)."

the disconcerting part: i couldn't fill in the blank.

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grotesquely overrated: filling in blanks.

quietly underappreciated: weeding out the daily surfeit of choices.

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note to the lovely mrs. spaceneedl: i don't know if you bought it, or i bought it, or if it was a cruel gift with purchase...but we have to promise~~promise!~~each other never to buy this institutional-grade toilet paper again.

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seen today on facebook: "Collective sob ladies...Davey Jones has passed away. How come I always got stuck with peter?"

i have no further comment on this post.

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on the night shift

"The dream is always the same. Instead of going home, I go to the neighbors. I ring, but nobody answers. The door is open, so I go inside. I'm looking around for the people, but nobody seems to be there. And then I hear the shower running..."

~~joel goodson, risky business

the act of living is fraught with anxiety. mostly about dying.

which would go a long way toward explaining recurrent anxiety dreams. what it doesn't explain is why those dreams are so bizarre and disconnected from living or dying.

for me, anyway.

i have at least three such nightmares, and while they never end in death, they also never end well. plus, the symbolism in these nacht-shades is odd to say the least.

one is a classic that many report: it's final exam day, and i've not attended class all semester. somehow i just forgot to show up until this very moment; it's far too late to drop the class, and failure is inevitable.

then i get distracted by something more important~~like the plane i'm aboard, which is flying extremely low, between power lines, just above rush hour traffic. how did i end up in a pilot's final exam nightmare?

i've also dreamed about playing tennis with jimmy connors. i find myself across the net from him, racquet in hand, with a very important problem: i don't play tennis. i used to, many years ago, but i can't even figure out how to toss the ball for a proper serve. and, it's jimmy connors.

then i get distracted by something more important, like actually crash-landing in a plane. my friend mike ditzler is usually traveling with me on these flights, and typically we walk away unfazed, as if this kind of thing happened all the time. then we wander off to begin a vacation somewhere.

somewhere like the pebble beach golf club. where it's late in the afternoon, verging on dusk, and we haven't teed off yet. there's no time to go to the driving range for a practice swing~~we have to get to the tee straight away.

inconveniently, i no longer play golf, and haven't swung a club in years. i swing badly (much like when i did play) and the ball heads into the rough in the trees on a hill next to a winding dirt path. or some variation thereof. i go to look for the ball, and darkess is falling. groups behind us are playing through, so i rush back to the fairway and try to play on. but we're now hopelessly behind.

a chance to play at a golfer's dream course (a very expensive opportunity) is frittered away forever.

what kind of anxiety dreams are these? golf at pebble beach? tennis with jimmy connors? flying, unflying, mike ditzler?

maybe these are just the symbols through which the fear of death whispers in my ear. and really, the specter could be much worse, much more frightening...so perhaps i should be grateful.

but just once...can't i stare across the net and fire a rocket down the line? can't i stand confidently over the ball and send a beautiful drive down the middle of the fairway? can't i show up for the final having attended class and actually done a useful bit of studying?

apparently not. the arc of the dreams is always the same, and i'm chronically unprepared. then i get distracted by something more important.

weirdly like real life.