Friday, May 26, 2006

Hoops. Dreams.

I'm not one of those people that constantly bogs down conversations talking about "this rilly 'mazing dream I had last night." Not my style. Also, almost all of my dreams are unbelievably boring, so there's not a whole lot of material to work with. For some reason, the last five years or so, I've had an inordinate amount of dreams set in oddly-lit airports. Again, nothing exciting; mostly me just wandering through empty terminals or sitting at an abandoned Pretzel Time. Occasionally I'll find myself running, and a few times I've been in the parking garages that overlook the airport but, really, that's hardly the definition of sonombulant variety.

Anyway, I bring it up because I had a dream last night that struck me as odd. Rather, less odd and more vaugely insulting.


I dreamed that I was in a gymnasium that, for some reason, had a lot of dirty laundry scattered about. I stood there minding my own business for a bit, then a large group of people were suddenly surrounding me. In turn, they all told me that I could never play basketball and that I should just give it up. I tried to tell them that I had no desire to play basketball, but that seemed to only make them angrier. At the peak of their rage, they parted and dispersed. I looked around like a caged animal, fearing they'd return, then I noticed German hoops phenom Dirk Nowitzki practicing jump shots at the far end of the gym. I sauntered over and shook his hand. He told me, in perfect english, mind, that they were right about me, but I should join him for an ice-cream sandwich. We eat ice-cream sandwiches. I woke up confused.


-I have never in my life had a desire to play basketball. Ever. I'm barely even aware of the sport, other than the team from my hometown is in the playoffs this year. Also, I am fully, fully aware that I'll never play basketball. I have bad aim, for one thing, and it would probably only take three or four trips up and down the court to make my Velveeta-n'-delicious-chili-stuffed heart to explode. Not exactly an athlete, me. Also, I think you have to be willing, at any moment, to put out a rap single and, damnit, mine's just not ready yet.

-Given the above facts, I'm a little insulted that my own subconcience would decide to tell me, in dream form no less, that I will never play basketball. I know that already, my brain. No need to press the issue! Why not also remind me of how I'll never get a Phd from Yale or that I look like a clueless foreign exchange student when I wear tight sweaters? Just not cool.

-Dirk Nowitzki seems like a nice fellow and I'm glad to meet him, dream or otherwise. Very tall.

-Ice cream sandwichs are like cold bricks of Valhallah and we should all go get one right now.

So, yeah... dreams are weird. Anyone with any ideas about what this dream means, don't keep it yourself. Share with the class.

Side note: While I do not want to play basketball, I would gladly give up my soul to the Dark Prince for a chance to pitch Major Leauge Baseball. Just so all the cards are on the table.


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