beautiful, funny, sad & true

While driving home from the store today, I saw a police car along the side of the road with the words “UFO Response Team” emblazoned on the back, and the little kid in me got all excited thinking about all that stuff again.  You see, when I was young, I had an endless fascination for UFO’s.  I had a stack of books about them (by authors like J. Allen Hynek and John Mack) and I watched every TV show I could.  The Air Force used to have a special team called Project Blue Book that investigated sightings and stories, and for about two seconds in the late 1970’s, long before “The X-Files”, there was a TV show based on Project Blue Book cases that was called “Project U.F.O.”

Long before conspiracy theories abounded or distrust of the government became de riguer, there seemed to be a kind of mythology about UFO’s.  One show described an ancient site in South America that was given the insipid name of EarthBaseOne, which (after decades of retrospect) looked like an Inca temple.  It was a large square, with no roof, and in the walls of the square were carvings of skulls.  One was human, and the others (all around the walls) were slight variations on human faces.  Some were very similar to our current visage, while others were grotesquely misshapen.  A quick Google search revealed that the site’s real name is Tiahuanaco, in Bolivia.

Anyway, the show put forward the idea that extraterrestrial life forms created humanity, and that Tiahuanaco was the place where they worked out their ‘design’ for us.   An interesting theory, and one that I’ve never forgotten.

So anyway, I got to thinking about all that UFO business again this afternoon, and I really wanted to see the show “Project U.F.O.” again.  It took longer than I would have thought to scrounge up an actual episode (Due to a government cover-up, perhaps? KIDDING!), but here’s one for you.

Warning:  WATCH THIS CLIP AT YOUR OWN RISK.  It may have been based on an interesting premise, but the show is a complete and utter turd.  Do not attempt to drive or use heavy machinery after watching it.

You’ve been warned.

There, see?  I warned you.

Last night’s dream took a while to get going, but it ended in a classic BFST way.

I am sitting in the back seat of a van in the driveway of my childhood home in Yakima with my two estranged stepsisters and one’s husband, drinking a concoction that the younger stepsister made from lemonade, vodka and whiskey or something.  We are sitting and talking awkwardly, and the husband calls me by a different name, so I say automatically, “You mean Todd.”  He gives me a little laugh and shrugs it off.   I set down my mostly full glass, stand up, climb out of the van, and walk across the front yard into the house.

As soon as I get inside, the dream’s location changes to that of a busy office setting.  I duck into the bathroom, pull down my pants, and start to. . .um. . .go Number Two.  As I’m doing that, the door starts to open.  It’s C, one of my real-life friends, so I tell him, “Hey, I’ll be out in a second.”  I reach over to lock the door, but the lock is broken.  I stand by the door, pants down, and try to  maneuver the door into position in such a way that it will latch and lock.  C says, “Oh yeah, I think they said something about the lock being messed up.  Here let me just [he opens the door enough to reach through] try and jimmy it.”

I say, “Just. . .hang on.  I’ll be done pretty quick.  Let me finish up in here first.”  C ignores me and continues to fidget with the door.  Pretty soon, there are five or six people walking around in the large bathroom, which turns out to be sort of a hallway that leads elsewhere in the building; a very high-traffic area normally.  I tug at my pants and tell everyone that I’m almost done, and that they should be patient for just another minute.  I finally get them corralled out the door, when a co-worker of mine runs into the room, smiling mischievously, knowing that she’s consciously disturbing me.

I make a sort of growling noise under my breath, and she asks, “What?”  She has her hand over her mouth, and is clearly trying not to laugh, which makes me totally furious.

I can’t contain my anger anymore.  “I’M WIPING MY ASS, EVERYONE,” I say loudly and exasperatedly.  “GO AWAY.”

She runs out the door, and I wake up, laughing at another crazy ending to another crazy dream.

This is dying to be shared with everyone.  It’s the original Apple iPad, courtesy of Mad TV, FIVE YEARS AGO.

In no particular order (Actually, they’re in reverse chronological order):

veni, vedi, vici

not quite there yet

Ethiopian wedding

Hydrox

George Harrison

beach trip

halfway through

the mental game of music

synchronicity

still don’t smoke

quite a group

lovely day in Seattle

Amen

happy as we are, thank you

Silver Falls

Port Townsend trip

dream girl

non-nostalgic nostalgia

wedding, play, garden, hike, learning

Of Yakima and Feces

the Oriental Chicken

Catherine Burton (Bunton?), R.I.P.

Oceanside

mona lisa

lots of big musical news, and links galore

a very coherent narrative

what if it is?

apples and bananas

cello scrotum

by way of example

flirtation versus pedantry

communication breakdown

Enjoy!