Blog by Sumana Harihareswara, Changeset founder

21 Apr 2003, 9:25 a.m.

"If I Want a Long, Rambling Story With No Point, I Have My Life" -- Jerry Seinfeld

Hi, reader. I wrote this in 2003 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 So it may be very out of date; the world, and I, have changed a lot since I wrote it!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.

A dream from a week ago: I'm trying to start a restaurant. My sister is helping me cook sample food, including French fries and beets. Andy Ross, the owner of Cody's next door, is helping me figure out regulations on whom I have to pay. The set of regulations is called CAUCE.

I take a break from cooking to visit home, which is my parents' house in Stockton. We're expecting guests, and when I open the door it's a blood aunt and her husband, who looks just like Osama bin Laden. I wonder whether I should call the authorities, but he acts like a legit person who just highly resembles bin Laden, and jokes about how much hassle he gets from security personnel.

I take my aunt and uncle out on the town, and in a bar some yokel starts messin' with my uncle. Uncle takes the guy down with a judo throw and runs away.

I think I chase after him and end up on the Berkeley campus. The student union is also a Circuit City-like store where Eric from Cody's is selling electronic equipment as my boss looks on. I escape by crawling under and between incomplete walls of equipment, and happen to see my sister listening to music on headphones.

There's a crowd because it's graduation day. We gather around some guy, a dean or a chancellor, who gives a speech. "I'll be trying not to be elitist in this speech, ha ha. Well, my daughter is graduating today, and as I told her..." and he starts speaking in Italian. I look at a brochure in my hand, which is Zed's weblog. I look at it again and it changes, because he's posted a new entry.

This is the third time in the past year that I've dreamt of a weblog on non-computer media. (First a candy bar wrapper and then sculptures.) A poor motif, sir, but mine own. [Update: I guess bin Laden shows up in more than one, too. The perfect synthesis: his acts of terrorism are actually a weblog.]