A Strange Dream

I went to bed at a decent hour last night (about 10:30), and I woke up around 4:15 am from a really weird dream. I was pretty emotional about it when I first woke up, as I am from time to time with dreams. Only nothing really deeply emotional or personal happened in the dream. Here's what happened, and I'll try my best to paint the whole picture, though some of it will be ridiculous and won't make sense...

For some reason (these words are usually used quite a bit when describing a dream) I had some kind of dangerous job. I don't know if I was a hitman or an assassin of some kind. All I know is that my job involved traveling and laying low wherever I went. On this journey I am in Sweden and I'm staying with one of my old babysitters. His name is Marshall, and he was an important adult figure to me when I was really young. He was one of my models for father type figure. But he's never lived in Sweden and I doubt he ever will. Regardless, he had his own place in Sweden and it was in a pretty typical sub-division. I'm staying with him for a couple days and during that time we had a couple of talks about where I was headed in life and what I wanted to do. I didn't really have a good answer or plan, and I told him that I was basically just taking it one day at a time and doing my best to come up with something soon. He said that was fine and I could stay with him as long as I needed.

So one day he leaves for work and I'm at his house alone. I'm basically just sitting around, mixing drinks, and watching TV. Out of nowhere this girl arrives. I don't remember if I let her in the house or if she'd been there the whole time. In the dream I just accepted that she was there now. She looked like Ellen Page (the girl who played Juno), and of course since I think Ellen Page is beautiful I thought the same of her. She sits on the sofa with me and we start talking. It turns out her name is Katie. All of a sudden a gunshot rings out and a bullet shatters the big glass sliding doors in the room and explodes the couch cushion next to me. She screams and we both dart behind the sofa. I know that there is a sniper outside and off in the distance, and he's trying to kill me or anyone associated with me. I'm sure he has a great view of the room we're in right now because he's up on a hill that overlooks the subdivision. Basically, I know we're fucked, and she's freaking out. I tell her to stay calm and that I'm going to get us out of this situation. We're still hiding behind the sofa as I take off my White Sox jersey and throw it across the room. A bullet explodes the wall on the other side of the room as the sniper attempts to hit my jersey, thinking its me. Meanwhile, me and Katie take off running in the other direction towards the garage part of the house. We're getting shot at the whole time but we make it.

Once we get into the hall, I ask her if she has a car there. Katie says that she does, but her car is very "different". I tell her it doesn't matter. As long as the thing has four wheels and moves at speeds greater than 40 mph, I don't care how "different" the car is. We get into the garage and we find her car. It is very tiny, has only two seats, and is black. But I don't question it at all. I climb into the passenger side and she takes the wheel. She explains to me that it is some kind of electric car, but it requires me to provide the electricity. I look down at my feet and there are pedals that look like they would be on a paddle boat or a bike. It only takes a few rotations to get the car fully charged, but you still have to do it manually. So I pedal for about a minute and she starts the car up. We escape the house and we only hear one more shot get fired during our escape. She's still a little freaked out, but she's calmed down quite a bit. So as she's driving this car I'm pedaling to provide the power for it. She asks me where I'm from and what I'm doing in Sweden. I explain where I'm from and tell her that I'm kind of like a secret agent, but I can't go into many details. She accepts this.

It becomes dark very soon, and we hit a section of road known as the "Swedish Tunnel". It's basically just a large underground tunnel with orange overhead lighting that goes on for many, many miles and has four lanes of traffic. We keep driving, and I can tell that she's a little smitten for me. Probably because I saved her life, but I can't be sure. All I know is that I'm attracted to her as well and we start to flirt a bit. One thing about the car... you can't pedal when you're turning. She's in control of the steering wheel, the brakes, and the gas. But occasionally when she was making slight turns I would be in the process of pedaling. Supposedly this damages the car a little bit when you do it, but I kept fucking up and pedaling at bad times. This upset her a bit and I kept apologizing, but she was very understanding of how weird all of this was to me. I ask her if there's anywhere fun that we can go, and she says there is. But she also seems very shy or hesitant to show me. I ask why and she tells me that it's because it's not THAT much fun.

After a bit her car breaks down. I feel really guilty and responsible for it, and while she's upset about it, she doesn't blame me for it. We put the car in neutral and push it off the road and into this weird train station/roller coaster loading area. It's for such occasions when your car breaks down. It's a separate track that will pull your car to wherever your destination is (ridiculous right?), and it's run by the Swedish police. Well as we're loading her car onto the track, a policewoman approaches me and hands me two tickets. One is for $89 and one for for $35. I'm not sure what they're for, but I'm assuming it's something related to me fucking up the pedaling system while Katie was driving. So I accept this, and Katie and I get back in her car as the track drags us to her "fun place".

It turns out that this place is just a very large casino/shopping mall. I'm holding hands with Katie as we walk around. They keep the area pretty dark because they want to show off all of the pretty flashing lights of the different shops and tables in the casino area. We haven't done anything yet, but I'm already having a great time. I tell Katie there was nothing to be ashamed of here, and that I was just happy I was with her. She blushes at this and we continue to walk around for a while. The whole time I'm trying to figure out a way that I can either stay in Sweden or bring Katie back to the U.S. with me when I return home. I don't want to leave her, even though I've only known her for about 2 hours. Eventually we go up and we start to shoot some craps at a table with a few people.

We're having fun and laughing with some strangers. I turn around to look behind me, and standing there looking around confused is my best friend Garrett Callender. I walk up to him and surprise him. We hug and I ask what he's doing in Sweden. He says he's there for something regarding college and Jane Grote. I can't remember what. I introduce him to Katie, and Garrett acts surprised when he sees her as well. He says he already knows her, and this baffles me considering I just met her a couple hours ago and he's probably been in Sweden just as long as I have. But they don't talk much. I comment on how weird it is that we're in the same foreign country at the same time, but Garrett doesn't see it as that big of a deal. I tell Katie and Garrett that I have to go to the restroom, and I leave them for a moment. I head down this well-lit hallway that looks very similar to a hallway in Dunham Hall at SIUE. I go into the bathroom and approach the urinal to do a #1. Sitting near the sink is a stack of bowling score cards that are done with green ink and have the Ghostbusters logo on them. I finish pissing and wash my hands before commenting on how cool that is. I steal a few of them, stuffing them into my pocket, and head back out into the hall.

As I step out of the door, I look up to see Kevin Nash. Yes, the professional wrestler. I'm surprised/thrilled to bump into him, and he was a really nice guy. I talk to him for a few minutes and tell him that he was one of my favorite wrestlers while I was growing up. He thanks me and we discuss wrestling from the late 1990's for a bit. I get my picture taken with him (I had a digital camera) and we say our goodbyes. I return to the casino area to meet up with Katie and Garrett, but I can't find them. I look around for a long time and I finally find Garrett. I ask where Katie is, and he says he doesn't know. But he has to leave, so I say goodbye to him and tell him to call me when he gets back to the states. I go looking for Katie and I find her sitting alone looking very sad. I sit beside her and ask what's wrong. I think she's pissed about her car, but she tells me that she's confused about what she's doing with her own life and she's not looking forward to me leaving her. Just as I'm about to give my response to this...I wake up from my dream...

I laid there in bed for a few minutes trying to remember as much about this dream as I could. Then I quickly got on here to write it all down. I don't know why I felt inclined to make sure THIS dream got written down, but I did. I know it doesn't make a lot of sense, and I'm sure I'll remember certain parts and forget certain parts over the next couple days. But please, if you've taken the time to read this whole messed up dream, please leave me a comment on what you think of it and what you think it means.

I wish you to wear this dress and bonnet

Wow. I laughed a lot at this one. I should follow Robot Chicken more closely, but not being in the country or having a TV makes that harder.

Big John

A common thread of this and our other blogs is our desire that the places and experiences that brought us together are not forgotten. With this in mind, I thought I would share with the group a piece of a project that Berg and I keep telling ourselves that we're working on. It's a collection of short stories that occur in and around Pittsfield that illustrate life in modern rural America. As of now, I have finished one and am in the process of writing two others. I'm not sure where Berg is, but last I knew, he was finishing up the tale of Ralph Kendall's day in court. Since I think that I am finished with my first short story, and because it's not that long (it's more like an anecdote), here it is. Let me know what you think about the story and the project in general. There's room for other authors as well, I'm sure. Here it is:

"Big John" by E. Roderick

It’s June in Pittsfield. My father and I are pulling out the 700 lb slabs of limestone that formed the now-broken steps leading from the road to the front walk of our house. The top three steps are already gone, pulled to the back yard in our lawn tractor trailer, and stacked crudely, waiting to be used for yet another of one of Dad’s grand gardening schemes. We assess the bottom, and heaviest step. After prying it out with crowbars, we proceed to lift it into the cart. 5 minutes and multiple curse words later, it’s in the trailer. I begin to pick up chunks of masonry and concrete and throw them in with the slab. Looking up from my work, I notice a man walking towards us on the sidewalk. Closer examination reveals him to be none other than Big John. ‘Just keep working. Maybe he won’t talk to us,’ I think. John’s less than 100 yards away. He waves.

“Hi John,” my father says. Dammit, Dad. He recognizes his mistake. “Want some lemonade?” he asks me, only half-jokingly. John picks up his pace.

“No.” He’s not getting out of this that easy.

Big John lives in Pearl. He’s a bearded man with long, greasy hair. He stands about six feet, four inches tall with broad shoulders. A couple times a week, weather permitting, he hitchhikes into Pittsfield where he conducts whatever business an unemployed, eccentric man has in Pittsfield. When he’s finished, he begins his 20-mile journey back to Pearl. Washington Street becomes Highway 106 as it passes our house and out of town. Highway 106 also happens to be on the way to Pearl.

“Good afternoon, friends,” he says in his coarse voice. Please keep walking, please keep walking. He stops. “Now what have ya’ll got goin’ on here?” I want to tell him that it’s called “work”, and that it’s best accomplished without distraction. My dad answers instead.

“Well John, I bought the front steps from the old Congregational church before they tore it down, and I figured I should replace my old broken ones before I hand over my forced labor here to the Army.” Great. Good job, old man. There are at least three topics in that statement that Big John can work with. I hope you’ve got nothing planned for the next couple of hours.

Everyone in town knows Big John. Many people give him rides, but only the hardiest can manage to transport him all the way to Pearl. Most let him off in Detroit, sometimes Milton, offering some lame, on-the-spot excuse in order to escape his incessant babble. Big John is a storyteller with opinions on every topic, travelling down infinite tangents as if he were allergic to making a point. According to John, he’s done everything, seen everyplace, and met everyone. His stories are never the same and, as rule, always conflict with one another. Today, he spins a yarn about a stint in the Navy.

“The Army, eh? You finished high school yet?” I tell him that I just graduated. His face lights up. “Well, that’s about the time I joined the Navy too. Me and old Bill Hendricks- he lived down by Bay Creek, nearer to Pleasant Hill than Nebo, mind you- me and Bill went together to the recruitment office in Pittsfield the day after graduation and signed up for the Navy. That was about the time that President Kennedy was shipping more and more troops over there to Vietnam. The newspapers didn’t talk much about Vietnam then, but some of us seen what was going on. I told Bill, I said…” He drifted off. “Well now, come to think of it, Bill didn’t live by Bay Creek. He actually lived in Pleasant Hill. Well I said to Bill, ‘Bill, you and me need to get in this fight before someone makes us fight’, so we decided to join up before we was put somewhere we didn’t want to fight. But that President Kennedy, he sure knew what he was doing. I wish today’s politicians…” I study the ground, trying to find more rocks to throw in the wagon.

My dad responds to Big John’s ramblings with the occasional “Oh really?” or “Uh huh.” Every once in a while, he checks John’s facts: “Well John, I always thought it was called the Tet Offensive, not the Ho Chi Minh Offensive.” John assures us that it is indeed the Ho Chi Minh Offensive, named after the campaign’s major objective: the capture of South Vietnam’s president. The man has an audience, and for now, he’s indominatable. My sharp sense of smell picks up what’s probably the real reason John rarely makes it to Pearl in one vehicle. I try not to calculate the last time John washed his clothes, let alone changed them. The smell is overwhelming. I interrupt.

“Where you headed, John?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m just headin’ back home. John Sanderson drove me into town. He was goin’ to visit a man in Bowling Green fixin’ to sell him a 1937 Farmall for his implement museum- the one he owns in Milton.” I once visited Sanderson’s Tractor and Implement Museum in Milton for my Illinois History class—I fell asleep on an old John Deere for most of the tour. I find myself wishing I was back in that machine shed.

“Is he taking you back to Pearl?”

“No,” John replies. “He didn’t know when he’d be coming back through.” I nod. He starts up again. Apparently Big John is as bad at catching hints as he is at catching rides. Then it hits me: what if there’s a point to all of Big John’s ramblings? What if he’s just talking to us so that we’ll feel obliged to give him a ride? I see the method in his madness. It ticks me off.

John ends up talking to us for a total of about forty-five minutes. By the time he was finished, John had re-educated us about politics, American history, the space program, the weather, and even the old Congregational church. Dad finishes the conversation.

“Well John, we’ve got to get this rock to the back before it gets too late. We’ve still got some more work to get done before dark.” Yeah right. It’s 3:30 and he hasn’t even had his afternoon nap. John offers to help us. “I appreciate the offer John, but you better get moving if you’re going to catch a ride before dinner.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Finally.

I get on the tractor and start it up. I head up the driveway and look back. John is still standing there talking to my dad, probably negotiating for a ride. I park the tractor near the other old steps stacked near the dog pen and begin pulling out the smaller chunks of stone, leaving the big slab for later. Ten minutes later, I walk back out front. Neither John nor my dad is there. Dammit. He’s suckered Dad into taking him to Pearl. I run back and check the garage; the car is still there. Good. Wait…my dad is too nice of a guy not to offer him a ride. He must have invited John inside for something to drink before heading out.

I walk through the back door into the kitchen. My dad is sitting at the table watching Stargate SG-1. He’s alone. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Where is he?” I ask.

“Who?” is his response. Jack O’Neil is fighting some parasitic alien on the TV.

“The Pope. Are you kidding me?”

He’s used to my sarcasm. “John’s walking back to Pearl.”

I’m confused. “You mean, he didn’t ask you for a ride?”

“Nope. I offered him one, but he refused and said that someone always picks him up along the way.”

Now I’m dumbfounded. “Wow. I was sure he was going to ask you for a ride.”

My dad turns his attention from the show and looks at me. “I don’t think John was looking for a ride, Evan. I think he just wanted someone to talk to for a while.” I don’t know what to say. I suddenly feel very selfish and embarrassed. It reminds me of those stories you hear in church about Christ or angels disguised as beggars giving us sinners the opportunity to be saints. I vow to give Big John a ride all the way to Pearl next time I see him walking.

I start upstairs to take a shower, but Dad yells to me from the kitchen. “Big John wanted me to tell you something.” I hope for something profound, something to ease my mind and make me feel a little less terrible. I listen. “He wanted me to tell you that Bill Hendricks actually lived on 6-Mile Creek on the other side of Pleasant Hill.” I laugh and continue upstairs with a smile. Nothing he said could have sounded better.

The Harper Valley PTA

Over ten years ago (yikes), I was involved in the Pittsfield Theatre Guild's "Silver Celebration," a 25th-anniversary show which consisted of lots of musical numbers from the shows it had put together since 1973. As was traditional during PTG musicals, there was a warm-up song which was sung before each rehearsal - ours was "Harper Valley PTA," a 1960s polemic about the hypocrisy of the sexual morals of a small southern town. During the indictment of the PTA members, the singer includes the lines,

"Well, there's Bobby Taylor sittin' there and seven times he's asked me for a date
Mrs. Taylor sure seems to use a lot of ice whenever he's away."

After this line, one or more of the various adults in the production would often intone, "What would she use that for?" and the other adults would laugh. Being a perceptive almost-7th grader, I laughed too. However, I had no idea what she would use the ice for, either.

I am mystified because I just remembered this the other day, and upon further reflection, I still don't know what she was using that ice for! Obviously the first line makes sense - he's unfaithful to his wife. I assume the second line is referring to something sexual, but I can't think of any specific act that it could mean that would have been okay to reference (even overtly) in a chart-topper in 1968. Was it just that the general sexual activity going on in Mrs. Taylor's house required a lot of ice when her husband was away? I could have figured that out in 7th grade.

The jokes made by the older cast members definitely implied that they knew exactly what the ice was for, but now that I'm older, I wonder if they really did. Others who may have had experience with adults in the PTG may agree that some of them did so only for the thrill of a power trip, exerting authority over others while not exactly creating a transcendant theatrical experience.

Does anyone have any thoughts about this? What was that dang ice for, anyway?

I Miss...

I miss having easy classes from 8:30 am to 3:30 pm...
I miss me and my friends wanting to form a band...
I miss Bunny Factory...
I miss making movies with Kyle, Spencer, Nathan, Kenton, Garrett, Ben, and others...
I miss the Fall Festival and Pig Days...
I miss Sicsam...
I miss Berg's basement...
I miss playing Phantasy Star Online with Kyle...
I miss watching Kyle play video games all day (Amplitude, Sonic Adventure, etc.)...
I miss riding my scooter...
I miss band, pep band, marching band, and everyone involved...
I miss sitting with the band in the bleachers during football games...
I miss Mr. Norris...
I miss theater and acting in plays...
I miss all of the cast parties...
I miss old East School...
I miss Giovanni's Pizza...
I miss paper football...
I miss Halo nights and the huge number of people that came to the Frere house...
I miss the Halo Force and our Sunday trips to Springfield to do battle...
I miss walking to Jiffi Stop for snacks late at night...
I miss walking around Pittsfield in general...
I miss swimming in Spencer's pool on warm summer nights...
I miss wiffle ball and the Rhode Island Spectres...
I miss the nights we would play board games like Risk and Star Wars Monopoly...
I miss renting weird fucking movies with Adam Stinson...
I miss sleepovers at Nathan's house...
I miss Ryan Lawber pretending to be Solid Snake from Metal Gear Solid...
I miss walking the bike path from PCS to home after school...
I miss watching Dragon Ball Z...
I miss the "friends within yelling distance" club (Kyle, Ben, Spencer, Derrick)...
I miss old County Market...
I miss going to Myerz's place to watch WWE pay per views...
I miss the sleepovers at Garrett's house, including Fort sleepovers...
I miss playing Scene It! at Garrett's...
I miss going ghost hunting...
I miss hanging out at Sammy Suds with Berg...
I miss having chocolate milk with Spencer and Braxton...
I miss all of the old GeoCities websites we used to make...
I miss taking weird pictures with Kyle's digital camera...
I miss trips to Jacksonville to go see a movie and going to Hastings...
I miss thinking that the Best Buy in Springfield was awesome...
I miss Spencer Heaton's puberty screeches...
I miss playing Animal Crossing and fucking up Nathan's town...
I miss the random sounds and voices Ronin/New Friend Evan would make...
I miss cheese stick nights at Pizza Hut...
I miss listening to backmasked songs (Ohhhh here's to my sweet satan)...

I miss the past...I fear the future...I carry on............

I'm back :)

Hello? (hello?) (hello?)

Well, we've let it happen again - the blog has discernibly lost its momentum. We started a new blog to regain momentum, but we let that cool down as well. I will try to do better at posting semi-regularly, but when I'm the only person doing so, it feels like a hopeless battle.

I am still in Abilene, TX, where I shall reside until early May. Laura and I are getting married in Pittsfield, and will be around for the summer, if anyone (Derrick?) wants to go to a Sox game sometime. We will be moving to England in the fall, which is quite scary but exciting as well.

There. I just updated my close friends on my life. It doesn't take very long, but it goes a long way toward building an online community of people who can remain friends over the long distances that have crept into our lives. I know Bradley will read this and want to comment, but he'll be scared to unless someone else does as well. Any takers?