My life in dreams part 1

I had a dream last night that an unidentified third party, Andy and I stole an alligator from the zoo. It actually may have been another kind of animal as we were leaving with it, but when we got to where we were going, it was an alligator for sure (I thought it might have been a crocodile, but having looked at images, it wasn't).

We put it in a rigidly square-cut dirt hole that was the same width and length of the animal, so when looking top-down on it, it fit inside snugly like a person in a grave. But the depth was the same height as the gator, so it fit like a perfectly formed ice cube in a tray. Later, my view of the hole would pan out and I could see it was in the center of a kind of bull ring, but at first we were right on top of it looking down.

It was thrashing around and slowly the perfectly vertical walls started to fall in on it, creating a ramp it could escape on.

This is when my view became much farther away.

He ran around for a bit, and may have eaten the third party. I woke up not really disturbed so much as confused because really, what the hell was that about?

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Three for a dollar

I awoke this morning with artichokes on my mind. Which is weird. Not nearly as weird as it would have been to wake up surrounded by artichokes - a realization that made me feel a little better.

I wasn't dreaming about artichokes, you understand. But at 6:30 as soon as I opened my eyes (and experiencing a bit of an upset stomach) it was almost all I could think about. Mainly just the word and the image of what they look like.
I started thinking about artichokes as a metaphor for time, with each year being a leaf torn off the thistle. This is a frightening image if you think about it (which I did) because eventually whoever's doing the tearing will get to those really thin pedals, rip them out all at once along with the fur, causing everything to age decades in an instant, then bite into the heart which would what? End all time?

So I shook that metaphor and started to concentrate on the last time I had an artichoke. Narges' grandma gave me three this past June or so, and I cooked them up for myself, Andy and Rew. I made a Parmesan garlic butter for dipping (cause I didn't have mayonnaise) which was good. While I ate it I tried to remember the last time I had had an artichoke. At the time I may have been able to remember, I don't know.

Again, I should point out, I didn't wake up wanting an artichoke, or with an artichoke taste in my mouth. Their existence just occurred to me, is all.

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Traffic School

This is the stupidest thing ever.

"Vehicle Code section 22106 states that drivers are not allowed to back a vehicle on a highway "until such movement can be made with all reasonable safety." Most of the time, it can't, so it's a good idea not to back up on a highway at all. The author knows how to speak French, but not Spanish. Particularly on steep downgrades, the approaching traffic, especially large vehicles that gather speed quickly, could be coming faster than you think."

This kind of thing has been in every section, and they always ask a question about it.

Dear iPod while on shuffle

I love you. Who would have thought of these songs in this order? No one but you, you magnificent genius, you.

Kings of Leon, "Wasted Time"
Rage Against the Machine, "New Millennium Homes"
Dido, "Sand in my shoes"
Gnarls Barkley, "Transformer"
Nancy Sinatra, "Bang Bang"
Korn, "Freak on a Leash"

I can't wait to see what's next.

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You got some BALLS, La Boulange

I've never been to La Boulange before, despite the fact that they're everywhere in San Francisco.

Today, since I have a borrowed car, Narges suggested I go somewhere I can't walk to, so I made my way to Strawberry Village for my first trip the "the bakery."

I ordered an open-face club sandwich (with avocado) expecting to get something in the form of this, which I would need to eat with a knife and fork.

What I got, was a NORMAL sandwich (although with three layers). And it wasn't even cut into 4 triangles like a REAL normal club sandwich.

Don't get me wrong, it was delicious as all get out and had me licking the plate when I was done. But the point remains, I was expecting an open-face club sandwich - which would have been a radical interpretation of the traditional club sandwich composition (the aforementioned triple-decker 4 triangles). What I got was a (delicious) bastardization of the triple-decker club sandwich. In fact, this would even qualify as half-assed, since there were half as many cuts as would be required to turn it into 4 pieces.

I wish I had taken a picture, but it was so tasty, I ate it too quick.

I just inadvertently defined college life

Ode to my old, departed friend

Dear Saturn,

I paid cash for you, to a guy who was selling on behalf of his deceased mother. I picked you up in the southern part of San Jose off of Highway 85. I forget the exit now, but there was an El Pollo Loco right off the freeway.

It was Sept. 1, 2001 and I was 18 years old. I had spent the summer working on a garage for Spanish Tony around the corner, but had started at Chabot in mid August. You had 48,000 miles and a silver windshield sun-blocker that is still in your trunk. On the way home together, I was blaring the radio, and I vividly recall how funny I thought it was that I bought you from a religious person and the first song that played was “Running with the Devil” by Van Halen.

The guy I bought you from had forgotten to sign something, so on September 9, I drove back down. I returned the knitted tissue holder I found in the console, because I thought the son would want to have it. He didn’t, but neither did I. We got you registered on Sept. 10, 2001 (dad towed you back from the garage yesterday, Sept. 10, 2009).

I quickly put on the Metallica sticker, the Disturbed smiley face and the KSJO sticker (never did get flashed for Whip ‘em out Wednesday). The boys teased me about the “performance” switch ("This car couldn't do 135 mph if you pushed it out of a fucking airplane").

I tried to change your oil myself for the first year or so, but you’re so low it was hard to pull off. I needed a jack and two jack stands just to slide under.

In June of ’05 your transmission went out, probably because the guy who checked the fluid level during an oil change left the dipstick sticking out. I was in the Grapevine, on my way back down to LA. It was in the mid 90s, and after you cooled down and got a pint of tranny fluid, I drove you slowly back down the hill. At this point, you’d already been broken into four times, including the time that the guy bent your passenger-side door back to get the stereo. You still leak when it rains.

You had your driver-side window smashed, and your lock jimmied at least 8 times. You gave up three cell phone headsets, two stereos, two toolboxes, a great Gap blazer, sunglasses, my "Bleach" CD, my Mag Light and a can of Diet A&W Root Beer.

We ran out of gas twice. You got a flat on the way back from JoNelle's rehearsal dinner.

Back in San Francisco, you lost your water pump, fuel pump and there was the time your brake caliper came off and stopped my car (literally). I’m sorry about that, I should have tightened it tighter.

There was the hobo inside you that Monday morning, the checks stolen from your trunk, the ticket for running the stop sign by work and the time you got towed on that Thursday morning. You took us to Daily City BART after the concert. It’s been a big year. You became unreliable, but we had some good times.

I’ll probably drive you a few more times, but not like it used to be. We’ll fix your head gasket, but I won’t trust you to make it over any bridge. Probably, I’ll donate you or drive you into a dealership for what I expect will be less than $500 in trade-in value (BlueBook has you at $700 in “good” condition).

But Thanks Car. We had an eventful-ass eight years together.