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Dreamed that I was at some sort of beach festival. In Santa Cruz? In Capitola? Maybe. The festival was supposed to be the Big Fun, except that I wasn’t really having the Big Fun. And when I looked down at my arms, they were covered with a web of scratches, bruises, and track marks. I wasn’t alarmed by these at all; I was embarrassed.
So, I decided to leave.
I went to Berkeley.
I was near the intersection of Grove and Adeline at a storefront that looked like my old Tae Kwon Do studio.
Went inside and there were a bunch of zombified people sitting around. A few of them I recognized—like John Simmons, upon whom I used to have sort of a crush and now think is an utter creep.
Eventually, I came to realize that this place was some sort of psychedelic mushroom dispensary operating under the guise of being a church.
I didn’t really want psychedelic mushrooms, but the head guru didn’t seem to know this and called me over, mumbled some kind of mumbo jumbo, and began slicing me pieces off this mushroom—they were kind of like pieces of clear, thick wax and when a few of them fell to the floor, I began trying to retrieve them.
Then I saw a woman who looked impossibly like Micah.
I say “impossibly” because the woman looked like Micah when Micah was young, and even in the dream, I was aware of the passage of many, many years.
This must be Micah’s daughter, I decided.
Micah? I called out to her.
And as the woman approached, I thought, No, this isn’t Micah’s daughter, though the resemblance was strong, and the woman said, No, I’m not related to Micah, but I know Micah. How do you know Micah?
And then I woke up.
###
In real life, Micah was a close friend of mine some—what? Thirty-five years ago? (Ulp!).
Micah dropped me for being impossibly self-involved and narcissistic.
And I suppose I was impossibly self-involved 35 years ago.
Though never narcissistic.
###
What else?
Loraine and I did not hike through the forest yesterday though we did go to lunch.
She’d fallen the afternoon before in that very same forest and banged up her knee pretty spectacularly. Also, although it was sunny, temps were below freezing, and the wind was high.
So, instead, we drove to Rhinebeck and had lunch at the upscale Terrapin.
I’ve never quite understood why Terrapin is so upscale: The venue is interesting—it’s an old church that’s been remodeled as a restaurant—but the food is only slightly above mediocre.
As I was standing near the register waiting to pay my bill, an exceedingly soignée woman approached wearing what to my untrained eye looked like a Hermès scarf.
“Excuse me,” she said, “but have you ever thought about modeling?”
“I’m a little old for that gig,” I said.
“Not at all,” she said. “There’s a resurgence of interest in models in their sixties.”
Sixties! I thought. As if.
Anyway, she gave me her card. Is a photographer.
No, I am not going to call her.
But the encounter did give me an endorphin surge.
Babe, you still got it, I told myself. Whatever the hell it is.
###
Also, today’s headline on the Drudge Report—my go-to news aggregator though its political bias is somewhere to the right of the Federalist Society’s—is trumpeting: 90% of Online Content Will Be AI By 2025.
And this just scared the shit out of me.
They are gonna have to implement a universal basic income very, very quickly, I'm thinking.
Whoever the hell they are.
So, I decided to leave.
I went to Berkeley.
I was near the intersection of Grove and Adeline at a storefront that looked like my old Tae Kwon Do studio.
Went inside and there were a bunch of zombified people sitting around. A few of them I recognized—like John Simmons, upon whom I used to have sort of a crush and now think is an utter creep.
Eventually, I came to realize that this place was some sort of psychedelic mushroom dispensary operating under the guise of being a church.
I didn’t really want psychedelic mushrooms, but the head guru didn’t seem to know this and called me over, mumbled some kind of mumbo jumbo, and began slicing me pieces off this mushroom—they were kind of like pieces of clear, thick wax and when a few of them fell to the floor, I began trying to retrieve them.
Then I saw a woman who looked impossibly like Micah.
I say “impossibly” because the woman looked like Micah when Micah was young, and even in the dream, I was aware of the passage of many, many years.
This must be Micah’s daughter, I decided.
Micah? I called out to her.
And as the woman approached, I thought, No, this isn’t Micah’s daughter, though the resemblance was strong, and the woman said, No, I’m not related to Micah, but I know Micah. How do you know Micah?
And then I woke up.
###
In real life, Micah was a close friend of mine some—what? Thirty-five years ago? (Ulp!).
Micah dropped me for being impossibly self-involved and narcissistic.
And I suppose I was impossibly self-involved 35 years ago.
Though never narcissistic.
###
What else?
Loraine and I did not hike through the forest yesterday though we did go to lunch.
She’d fallen the afternoon before in that very same forest and banged up her knee pretty spectacularly. Also, although it was sunny, temps were below freezing, and the wind was high.
So, instead, we drove to Rhinebeck and had lunch at the upscale Terrapin.
I’ve never quite understood why Terrapin is so upscale: The venue is interesting—it’s an old church that’s been remodeled as a restaurant—but the food is only slightly above mediocre.
As I was standing near the register waiting to pay my bill, an exceedingly soignée woman approached wearing what to my untrained eye looked like a Hermès scarf.
“Excuse me,” she said, “but have you ever thought about modeling?”
“I’m a little old for that gig,” I said.
“Not at all,” she said. “There’s a resurgence of interest in models in their sixties.”
Sixties! I thought. As if.
Anyway, she gave me her card. Is a photographer.
No, I am not going to call her.
But the encounter did give me an endorphin surge.
Babe, you still got it, I told myself. Whatever the hell it is.
###
Also, today’s headline on the Drudge Report—my go-to news aggregator though its political bias is somewhere to the right of the Federalist Society’s—is trumpeting: 90% of Online Content Will Be AI By 2025.
And this just scared the shit out of me.
They are gonna have to implement a universal basic income very, very quickly, I'm thinking.
Whoever the hell they are.
