duck-shaped pain


18 April 2001
Parts of Me Compare Unfavorably To Salt Pork. The Question Is, Which Ones?

Another odd dream:

I was driving to work through some unknown neighborhood, one where all the houses matched. I, along was everyone else, was driving much faster than usual, like we were driving on the autobahn or making a mass getaway from the law. We just kept going around and around, like we were on a track. After about the tenth or fifteenth go-around, I got tired of it and exited.

I found myself on a tiny little street, one bordered by enormous oak trees. The foliage was so dense that I could not see any of the houses behind these trees, but there were enough signs of life around that I was certain that they did, indeed, exist.

I drove this way for awhile, going down the same, endless, straight street. Attached to one of these oak trees was a fluorescent green yard sale sign. "What the hell," I thought. "Do I really have anything better to do?"

I followed the instructions on the sign and pulled up in front of a itty bitty house with an enormous amount of stuff piled in its front yard. It looked like choice junk, too: tiki items, bizarre records and interesting, mismatched dishes. Stuff that I could buy and be assured that the items I decided not to keep could be sold for higher prices on the internet to ironic hipsters far away.

So I got out of the car.

This is the point in the dream where I discovered that I was naked. Not like that fazed me, but it was sort of a surprise.

I pawed through the selection of items. Some of it was good, but I kept thinking up reasons to not buy any of it. Not enough room. Ugly. Already have one. Not chartreuse enough. Finally, I reached the pile of furniture on the lawn, which was much more promising. There were a lot of pieces of 1950s black metal furniture, which I buy whenever I can find. So I start pulling out chairs and tables that I'm interested in, and ask the woman standing at the check-out table how much they are.

"Can't you see that these are taken already?" she says. I do not see. There is no sign or indication that anyone other than me wants these items.

"Well, I sold them. That thing over there already paid for them," she said, pointing to an enormous piece of salt pork who was also perusing the aisles.

"Hello!" the salt pork said. "Sorry to get here before you did. If I had known you were going to show up, I would have left a chair or two for you. But, what's done is done. Now I just have to figure a way to get them into my truck."

I am distraught. There is no way a hunk of salt port should be besting me at anyone. The woman senses my feelings and explains, "Well, how could I pass him up? He's a lot pinker and tastier than you are."

I'm listening to The Fall at work. My employer decided to splurge and get cable internet a few months ago. Since we never use the net for anything other than email or searching for things on government websites, that means a lot of bandwidth is going unused. I hate to see anything go to waste, so I make sure we get the most out of our $40 or so a month by listening to a lot of Internet radio. I listen to some jazz or bluegrass stations once in awhile, but 95 percent of the time, I make everyone around me listen to WFMU. People are more in to it than I'd expect. The afternoon crew, however, is All About The Hits. When they show up, conflicts arise and they usually win out. Oh well.

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