Blog by Sumana Harihareswara, Changeset founder
A dream I had last night
Hi, reader. I wrote this in 2001 and it's now more than five years old. So it may be very out of date; the world, and I, have changed a lot since I wrote it! I'm keeping this up for historical archive purposes, but the me of today may 100% disagree with what I said then. I rarely edit posts after publishing them, but if I do, I usually leave a note in italics to mark the edit and the reason. If this post is particularly offensive or breaches someone's privacy, please contact me.
I had a really weird dream last night. If other people's dreams bore you, then be warned. This one's long, with attempts at interpretation.
First, I was a reporter for some national humor magazine, and I visited some lecture being given to a sixth-grade class (yet it was full of people about my age) by some woman who was very much like Prof. Moran from my 1939 Films class. Only she had written some sci-fi novel called "1/3 + 2 1/3 = 3" or something, and she was a Scientologist, and somehow this formed the rationale for all she did. And the guy in front of me (who was kind of like one of the singers in DeCadence) didn't understand what was going on, so I tried to help by writing down "She's talking about Scientology" in my little notebook, but he didn't understand, so I wrote it again, but he had made some noise, and we were in the front rows, so the teacher began picking on him. I knew that I was an outsider and shouldn't get involved, but I couldn't help trying to defend him. "I was just telling him 'she's talking about Scientology,'" I said. But I couldn't do much as she berated him.
[In Russia, I've been warned, I won't be able to do anything about any domestic violence I see.]
[DeCadence has a free spring concert coming up. And one of my friends is dating a singer in the group.]
[As far as I know, Prof. Moran is not actually a scientologist. But she does enjoy science fiction.]
Then, as the class exited, I rejoined my colleagues from the humor mag. A girl excitedly asked us if we were from the Heuristic Squelch (UC Berkeley's mag), and we were from a paper that also had "Squelch" in its title, but I was also on the Heuristic Squelch, so it was tough to try to disabuse her of the notion.
[I often read The Onion, BBSpot, Modern Humorist, Brunching Shuttlecocks, Segfault, and the Heuristic Squelch. It would be cool to write for, say, MH. As if. But I have had two Segfault stories published, long, long ago. The better one was about a tech support gal. I don't remember what the worse one was.]
Then, somehow, I was home. Somehow saw my dad through the windowshade and we smiled at each other.
[My primary windowshade recently malfunctioned.]
Then I think my sister and maybe my dad and I were looking through a bunch of junk that my dad owned, in some rather foreign environment...or maybe it was like the house my parents rented years ago in Stockton. And somehow my friend Dan was there! And he saw something that looked like a little violin-esque sculpture made out of soap, and said (over and over, and I repeated it once) that it was (I don't remember exactly) a Stradivarius made for Sonny Kennedy. And we had bought it for 75 cents, and it was worth millions.
[Who isn't always looking for the diamond in the rough? I recently bought a blouse at a secondhand store, a tie at a church thrift store, and a corded phone at a garage sale, seeking bargains. And when I was at the secondhand store, I heard the employees mention that they were keeping the store open late to await the arrival of one Secondhand Stew. One of Dan's nicknames is "Stew." I wonder if Secondhand Stu does or does not advertise?]
[I recently heard about a friend of a friend of a friend who was dating a Kennedy. Yes, one of THOSE Kennedies. And I recently made a tasteless joke about Sonny Bono's death, which I often conflate with Michael Kennedy's and John Kennedy, Jr.'s.]
Maybe it was between those two main vignettes that I was with my mom in some high school. I was at the age I am now. And I remember seeing some sort of weird drink mixture. And I remember seeing two high school seniors in chairs in some corner of the playground/greenspace. Both guys. One snoozing, one long-haired and working intently on math or physics, not responding to my presence.
[In Connie Willis's short story "Time Out," which I read yesterday, a number of grown women interact with children at an elementary school. One is testing them. It's a good story, and that is nowhere near the whole premise. As well, drink mixtures are discussed, or at least mentioned.]
[I know a lot of physics/math/CS people, a number of them longhaired (both male and female), and I tend to envy their focus and persistence. I feel as though I don't really have either. I'd be the snoozer.]
So that's my dream. I warned you quite fairly that it was a dream, and I hope not too many of you were hoping for steamy fantasy and are now disappointed. None of that last night, none that I remember.
Other news: Still writing my paper. Thinking about music I like. Poll courtesy of some of the music I've been listening to.
Random note: Driven won the box office this last weekend. (Holds head in hands)
Poll: Every time I close my eyes