Welcome back, my friends, to the "Battle" that never ends.
We're so glad you could attend. Come inside! Come inside!
This is 'BATTLE OF THE BANDS' ('BOTB') where you listen to different recordings of the same song and vote for the one you like best. Two "Battles" per month, on the 1st and 15th. Six days later (the 7th and 21st), I place my own vote, tally 'em all up and announce the winner.
Friend? Foe? Stranger? No matter, ALL are welcome. So pull up a chair, pour yourself 24 oz. of 'DOG BITE High Gravity Lager' (or the poison of your choice) and turn it up to Eleven!
[NOTE: Links to the first year of 'BOTB' (#1 - #24) can be found at the very bottom of this page.]
Thursday, April 30, 2015
SOMETHING FOR GEM JULIE, DOCTOR CHERDO AND GIRL WONDER
I just woke up 32 minutes ago (10:03 AM my time ) and I wanna tell yaz my dream, because it started with you. (Peoplez already think I'm crazy - some might even say I "drive the Crazy Train" [HA!] - so I probably ought not to be doing this publicly, but the show must go on, and so... here goez)...
As I told CHERDO (in a comment) and Robin the GIRL WONDER (in an Email) shortly before going to bed last night, that I wasn't feeling well. My stomach has been bothering me for several days. (It couldn't be the rotgut corn liquor, could it? Maybe it has eaten away my stomach lining. If so, at least I've lost a little weight, and no one sees the stomach lining anyway.)
I haven't been sick as a dog, but I've felt nauseous as a... [this is where your alliteration skills come in, Julie, 'cause I can't think of an 'N'-word to go with nauseous.]
So, I thanked Cherdo for the "medicated milkshake" (milkshakes having been an ongoing joke between us during 'A To Z') and I went to bed. Cherdo had gone with "Z Is For Frank Zappa". I told her I had been CERTAIN that "Z" was going to be for Charles Mingus. Truth is: I had been listening to a classic Charles Mingus album late last night. (This illustrates that sometimes, even when I say what seems to be totally abstract, off-the-wall stuffs, there's a kernel of truth to be found therein, but I just don't usually bother to 'splain it. It's good for the mystique - keeps the folks down on the farm guessin'.)
I toss and turn and finally fall asleep. The dreaming starts and you're in it, GEM JULIE. Don't worry - nuttin' weird, creepy or strange. I was very touched by your 'Yearning For Yesteryear' post which I read late, so I think I was just dreaming that I was on some old vacation from my youth and you were on vacation with us. Something like that. FUN! Think of all the swimming and all-we-can-eat buffets (a big attraction on my family vacations in Las Vegas and Reno).
So, I slept for awhile, but then I woke myself up by turning over in bed. First thing I noticed was that my stomach still seemed upset. I leaned over to look at my clock radio, and the bright, red digital display said 4:44 AM. But at that very second I'm looking at it, it changes to 4:45.
I roll over and fall back to sleep. But what feels like not-too-long-later, I'm awakened by the sounds of someone walking in my house, maybe opening some drawers. I look to the clock radio but there's no digital time display! I reach under my bed and drag up the .38 revolver that used to belong to my dear departed Grandpa when he was a cop-guy. (I don't ever expect to need this gun except for perhaps shooting it to start the potato sack races at the county fair, but I like having it as a souvenir of my Grandpa, whom I love and who was one of the greatest "characters" I've ever known.)
I get out of my bed and go to switch on the bedroom light but... NUTTIN'! The light doesn't come on, and I can clearly hear someone moving around in my house (which I live alone in, by the way). So, in the dark, I find the doorknob and turn it. I begin feeling my way down the hallway, pushing the light switches as I go, but no lights are coming on. This intruder has obviously somehow cut the electricity to my house. And I'm thinking: How am I going to shoot this guy in the dark if I can't even see him? I'm in the living room now, where I can hear him just some feet away, but again the light won't turn on.
Then I turn in bed and wake up. Oh, sheesh! I was dreaming that whole thing. I can see a red glow from the clock radio's digital time display, but I don't even bother looking at it, because I know the electricity is on, the gun is under my bed and all is right with the night. So I roll over and fall back to sleep.
After what feels like a long, deep sleep, I wake up again because there's this funky Jazz riff that keeps playing over and over and over in my mind. I mentioned that I'd been listening to a classic Charles Mingus album just before retiring for the night. Well, the first track on that album is a legendary instrumental titled 'BETTER GIT IT IN YOUR SOUL' which contains a certain memorable riff that gets played and replayed during the track
With that addictive riff still playing in my mind like a broken record, I realize that I need to visit the "little boy's room". My first thought is: Wow! I slept a lo-ooo-ng time. I'll bet it's about 10:00 AM right now. I lean over to look at the clock radio and I smack my forehead against the wall. You see, the way I have my bed positioned, one side of it is flush against one wall, and sometimes I wake up on the wrong side of the bed.
So, I roll over and lean over the other way and the clock says... 4:33 AM.
Hokey-Smoke! All those many hours ago when I first looked at the clock and it changed from 4:44 to 4:45, I was dreaming THEN TOO!
I get up and visit the "little boy's room". And, yes, I'm REALLY awake this time!
Then I go back to bed. I toss and turn for about 45 minutes and fear I'll not fall back to sleep. But at some point I do fall asleep... and dream:
I'm at some school with God, my Sister, and a jovial, old Black man (Charles Mingus?) who is either the superintendent of the school district or the principal of this particular school. As I'm walking across the grassy playground, I stoop down and notice that there are Books all over the place, underneath the grass. I think to myself: If anyone wants a Book they can just pull back a section of the grass and grab one. So I grab two copies of the same Book.
Then I notice in the grass an old pair of black, high-top tennis shoes. And since I need some, I pick them up and start putting them on my feet. I figured these shoes had been there in the grass since the 1970s but I want them, so I start lacing them up. Meanwhile, my Sister keeps singing the Bee Gees song 'STAYIN' ALIVE' ["Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk..."], which is starting to really irritate me. ("Walk" = black, high-top tennis shoes?)
Meanwhile, God and the old Black man are kind of joking around with each other, saying funny things, and sometimes yakking to me. And I'm struggling to get these shoes laced up properly. The left shoe was fine but the other didn't feel secure. That's when I noticed that the right shoe doesn't have shoe laces, but it's a long, sheer strand of nylon ribbon (like you'd use as the finishing touch on gift wrapping), and whoever had laced it up in the past had missed quite a number of the eyelets. Plus, the shoe was kind of ratty and the leather was ripped badly in a few places.
But I needed and wanted the shoes, so I just tied up the ribbon, telling myself that later, when I had some time, I would start from scratch and re-lace that right shoe properly with that ribbon.
At that point, God walked away across the grassy playground (exit, stage left) and just then, my Sister interrupted the jovial, old Black man with a question. The man, in a friendly, joking way replied to her, "Can't you see that I'm talking here to God and tennis shoe boy god?" (Interestingly, last night, I signed off on my Email to Robin the "Girl Wonder" as "~ Boy Woeful". One shoe was woeful, and the man referred to me as "tennis shoe boy god". Not sure, but that might be some sort of clue.)
And that's the exact moment when I woke up (again), rolled over to look at the clock (without smacking my head on the wall this time) and it was 10:03 AM. And for the first time in several days, my stomach feels fine.
So, Gem Julie, now that 'A To Z' is over and you have more time, would you please interpret my dreams for me and then pass your interpretation on to my psychiatrist.
He needs all the help he can get.
~ Stephen T. McCarthy