Dreams Reveal Important Shit about Yourself

For instance, last night:

I dreamed that I was in a retail establishment that also had a food counter.  There was a lunch lady type behind the counter, and as I perused the food, she became increasingly impatient with me to order something.  They had enormous brownies that for some reason you had to order by the pound, so I asked for half-a-pound of brownies.

She gave me my order in a plastic tub.  I opened it up.  “What’s the brown stuff on top?” I asked.

“That’s cocoa powder!” she anwered.

I walked away, but after a few steps opened the tub again, and realized that what I had was half-a-pound of ground sausage with cocoa powder sprinkled on top of it.

——

That is the dream.  Jill says that this is evidence that I am gay, which she says all the time (and I think there’s a lot more damning evidence than this bizarre dream, but never mind).

My interpretation: I was craving sausage (not of the penile variety), so I picked some up from the store and ate it this morning.  Fuck you, Dr. Freud.

Cinema and the Gun

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I’m sure much more learned and eloquent movie-nerds than me have written must-read theses on the cinematic language of violence, but I was thinking today how so much of our shared movie-love centers around the image of the gun.  When I think back to my own favorite movies, and to the characters and scenes that I love, there are so many of them that involve guns that is sort of makes me question my own nature a little bit.  I’m not a violent man, by any means.  I have never been in a fight.  I haven’t punched or slapped a person since I was in short pants.  But I practically require violence, and especially gun violence, in my film entertainment, and I am not alone, especially here in America.

Our film culture is so wrapped up with guns and gunmen that even the movie that is considered the first narrative feature in the history of the format ends with a cowboy shooting his gun into the camera.  I don’t own a gun, and odds are I never will, but it never stops being fun watching the sort of people who do.  Cowboys, cops, gangsters and bank-robbers.  If there weren’t movies about these types of people, what would we have left?  I know that my DVD collection would certainly be a lot smaller.

Think about your favorite movie images.  Is there a gun in them?  Why is that?

Oh, Crap!

I told a lady the other night that I would write her a romantic sonnet if she gave me a dollar to get a Coke out of the vending machine.  I should probably get writing on that.

Also, I should stop making outrageous offers when I’m thirsty and in desperate need of caffeine.

"I'm Not Here to Make Friends"

So, today, somebody I work with was telling me about a conversation he had with another employee, and the subject matter was why she didn’t like him, since she’s made it very clear that she doesn’t.  As they were talking, she said, “I’m not here to make friends.”

Interesting thing about that expression: have you ever heard it spoken by anybody who isn’t a total asshole?

I understand that work is not a social club, but what sort of person defines their work philosophy as specifically not being about making friends?  What sort of person isn’t even open to the possibility of maybe accidentally making a friend?

Personally, I’m pretty terrible at making friends.  I don’t really understand the modern dance moves kids are doing these days.  I’m awkward about it, and as a result, I don’t have a huge friends base.  HOWEVER, I am always open to the possibility of making them.  I can’t think of a situation in which I’ve thought, “Wow, I hope I don’t make any friends here.”

“I’m not here to make friends” is just an excuse to be a rude motherfucker at work while pretending that you’re just too busy working so hard to have time to be polite.

Bottom line: I guess there’s one less person at work that I have to worry about being nice to, since she isn’t here to “make friends”.  MESSAGE RECEIVED, MADAM.

Dear Cute Asian Girl Working at the Grocery Store

I worry about you.

You seem to possess infinite reservoirs of energy.  You’re always running around the store getting things for customers, or riding carts across the parking lot, or jumping over concrete barriers like an Olympic hurdler, your pony-tailed hair bouncing and thrashing about.

You are not the most adorable Asian girl I’ve ever seen, but you more than make up for it with all of this spunk.

I’m afraid that some day, somebody’s going to put you in a van and you will never be heard from again.

That is all.

Signed,

A concerned shopper.