Thomas Jefferson Stole My Clothes

I went down to Iron Crown's offices on High St., but it's not the two houses. It's a ramshackle set of offices built into some old stables. I don't have any clothes so I walk down the row of offices dressed in two towels. I sling one towel over my shoulder toga style, and I am surprised at how comfy it is. I get to where Coleman sits, but he's not in. There is just an old flannel shirt draped over a ratty wheeled office chair. Bruce's door is closed, but I can tell he is not in. That's fine, I came here for my clothes, not a confrontation.

I turn left at Bruce's office and head back through a storage area to where the offices connect to Monticello. I keep walking back through areas alternating between storage and museum. The path I'm using depends on knowing the right doors to go through, so not many people know about it. The storage areas are dimly lit and dusty, full of wooden boxes painted shades of blue and gray. The museum areas are a little better lit. They're full of fancy chairs that would break if you sat on them and old paintings in elaborate gilt frames, each with a little light attached to the top of the frame. I can see out the windows on my left to a large field with trees and people having fun playing frisbee and bocce ball.

Somewhere along the way I realize I am dressed in my street clothes, which I must have gotten from one of the storage areas. I'm also carrying some heavy, odd-shaped object covered in black vinyl. The museum is closed, but hear some lady walking around looking at the paintings. I get a glimpse of her and her short tan skirt but I manage to sneak past her into a storage area. I come out of that into another museum area and there is another lady walking around. This one has noticed me, so I take a right toward a door to a balcony. I started on the first floor, but the ground has been sloping away and I'm now on the third floor. The woman is old and taller than I am, she has a huge chest with a push up bra that looks like it was built in a naval yard [This is basically Lady Wilburdon from Neal Stephenson's Interface].

Just as she demands to know what I am doing, I jump off the balcony. The vinyl thing is tucked in my left arm like a foot ball, and I grab the second story balcony (which is more like a fire escape) with my right hand to stop my fall. Dangling from the balcony, it's an easy drop to the gravel road running along the side of the building. I start to run toward the front of the building where my car is parked. The woman is trying to figure out how to call security, but she can't figure out what name it is stored under because it is my sister's phone. I know that because my sister has to deal with so many security firms that she would have just stored it under "Monticello," but I keep my mouth shut and keep running.

As I'm coming up to my car I reach in my pant pocket for the keys, but they're not there. I realize that I left them in my leather jacket. But then I realize that I'm wearing my leather jacket. That's why I came here in the first place, right? I reach into the inside pocket and there are my keys. I get in the car and pull up to the exit on Market Street, next to Bob's Wheel Alignment. I need to make a left, and I can see two cars and two motor scooters coming from the right. I've dealt with the security company before and I know they'll pull a bootlegger reverse in their Hummer and block the exit from the parking lot. So I take a left into the wrong lane. I the two cars and the two scooters pass me on the right and then try to merge to the right and out of oncoming traffic. But another car passes me on the right, honking it's horn. Then another and another. I've got my signal on, but no one will let me over. Finally, after Market St. transforms into Avon St., but before it dead ends at Monticello Ave., I am able to pull into the right hand lane. I figure it would be better to keep a low profile, so I take a left onto a side street rather than turn onto Monticello Ave. The last thing I remember is driving around Belmont with a satisfied smile on my face.

This dream was posted a day late.

Dangerous Elevator

I'm in New York City for my interview with the L1 society. I wake up in my hotel room only to find that I don't have my luggage, so I have nothing to wear to the interview except what I was wearing yesterday. I put on those clothes but the pants are horribly wrinkled and I can't find the shirt.

I walk out of my hotel and realize I don't know which direction the L1 society is. However, I know that the L societies are in descending order going down the street. I know that if I walk out of my door in Belmont and turn right, walking so that the street numbers decrease, I pass the L4 Society and the L3 society and so on. So I turn right and walk so the street numbers are descending.

It takes me a long time I walk through the buildings instead of on the sidewalk. But I'm not worried. I pass the L4 Society and then the L3 society, so I know I'm going in the right direction. I know that L stands for lemma, and I'm trying to guess what the different lemmas are for the different societies.

Finally I get to the Flatiron Building, which is right across the street. I'm up on the fourth floor, so I push the button for the elevator. Waiting for the elevator to get there I realize I don't even have any shoes or socks, and I haven't clipped my toe nails in ages.

The elevator comes and it's in the corner of the Flatiron building, with glass all the way around so that you can see the city around you. It starts going up instead of down, so I figure I must have gotten on the wrong elevator. As it goes up it keeps getting smaller and smaller, until I'm sitting on the floor and squeezed against the door. I'm wondering how far up it can go, because I didn't think the Flatiron building was that tall. That's when I notice the recorded voice of a tour guide, talking about how the cars on the street don't stop as they pass the building. The elevator leans forward (or is the whole building) until I am dangling over the city, scared out of my wits that I'm going to fall.

Connections with reality: I've been thinking a lot about axioms and lemmas in relation to what we can say about God if we reject the Bible. I was also thinking last night that I needed to clip my toe nails.

Pseudo-Taxi

I was driving my car down Avon Street in Belmont, giving a taxi ride to some guy sitting in the back seat on the right. We're listening to the radio, and a Widespread Panic song comes on. I pull over to the side of the road and stop behind a parked car. Somehow I am now on the passenger side. I put my feet up on the dash and lean back as Widespread Panic starts to sing, "I've done so many bong hits/that I can't move."

"I love this song," says the guy in the back, "it was practically the anthem of the 70s."

"It might as well have been my anthem of the 70s," I reply, "considering how I acted in the 70s." I pause for a bit before speaking again, "Not that I want to go back to the 70s."

Three Evil Geniuses

It was a sunny day in Belmont, and I was playing in one of those yards on a hill that is flat on top but slopes sharply down on one side to meet the hill. That's when an evil genius drove up the side of the slope in a VW Rabbit and tried to run me over. I figured it was just random chance and didn't pay it any mind until another evil genius tried to run me over. Pretty soon I was being chased through Belmont by three evil geniuses trying to run me over.

Eventually I managed to break into a house by the lake, which I crawled through like a soldier under fire. I made it through the house to the patio, where I hid behind a chair watching traffic. Someone I couldn't see whispered a hint to me, and I dashed to my right through a hedge, and into my brother's neighborhood in Richmond. The evil geniuses were still after me, but I managed to get into one of the alleys and finally evade them.

Once I made it to a safe house, I was shown a comic book for each of the three evil geniuses, detailing the particular way in which that evil genius is considered a pathetic loser in the evil genius community.

Later in the dream I became an evil genius myself, but I don't remember that part very well.

Teleporting Kobold

I was playing live action Dungeons & Dragons with some friends, and I was the dungeon master. So I come up with a plan where a tribe of kobolds will put all of the children in the town to sleep and kidnap them.

Keep in mind that from this point on, I am a kobold.

We (the kobolds) shoot our sleep-poisoned arrows way up into the air from Concord Dr. I run around the back of the house I grew up in, past one of the children and on to the one I am supposed to kidnap. This is really disturbing because the children are all dead. They all have arrows sticking out of them as if they came straight down out of the sky. The kids are standing up, held up somehow by the arrows, but with dead, zombie-like expressions, and red splotches of blood covering them like the spots on a cow.

But not wanting to let incredibly distubing imagery get in the way of a good plan, I grab the kid and run toward the other end of the back yard, where the player characters are hanging out. This may not seem like the brightest thing for a dead-child-kidnapping kobold to do, but I still have to steal the bicycle part, which is near the rickety and rusted jungle gym we used to have. I am quickly spotted by the frisbee playing swords and sorcery characters, and pursued at high speed out into the street.

Seeing as I can somehow run about 40 mph as a child and bicycle part laden anthropomorphic lizard, I quickly out pace them. Behind me I can hear the cleric (an older woman I don't know) yelling a spell at me. As the sound chases me down the street I realize she is casting teleport hold on, because she knows that kobolds can dimension door. [Note for those who do not play D&D: kobolds cannot dimension door.]

I manage to outpace the sound of her spell, but keep running until the duration wears off so that I can use the dimension door to teleport the hell out of there. I manage to do so, ending up in Belmont near the intersection of Boling Ave and Monticello. I teleport onto the shoulder of the road, and I am almost immediately run off the road by a large truck. It is a truck for a shipping company whose name I can only read because I studied Russian in college and therefore know the Cyrillic alphabet.

Then I woke up. It was about three in the morning and I had to take a piss.