Randy's Big Birthday Dream

I went to bed around 10:45 last night. My oldest son woke me up at 12:00, rarin' and ready to go. I put on Blue's Clues for him in the living room, but he demanded companionship, so I stayed out there with him. I also gave him an extra dose of his prescription sedative, so he conked out at 2:00 a.m., and he's still asleep. I also fell asleep, and had the following dream. I woke up around 4:00 a.m., and I haven't been able to get back to sleep, due to thinking about "what the hell was that?" So, here goes:

DW and I are riding in a car with her parents, in Southern California. We are following the PGA tour, apparently watching live feeds on a TV monitor in the car. This is odd mostly because I find golfing about as interesting as watching paint dry. The actor James Cromwell, who played a depressed character in "Six Feet Under," has gone stark raving mad, and is playing "depression golf," in which his golf strokes literally set the earth on fire and cut large swaths from the planet as his golf balls cut through. As we try to figure out why we can't get the video of a particular golfer, we realize it's because they've moved to another golf course, one that is obscured by hotels and casinos. We come upon Anaheim Stadium. It is festooned with faux-Confederate flags, identical to the rejected Mississippi state flags that represent the Confederacy at the Slidell historical marker, so as not to offend anybody. The occasion is a commemmoration of the team's previous move to Houston or New Orleans or some other supposedly benighted city, from which the team had returned. I was critical of the faux flags and of the diesel engines that were pulling trains around one side of the stadium. I thought the engines were of later vintage than the 1979 move, but my father-in-law thought that one of the engines might be a 1979 model. We keep on driving. At some point in the dream, we are in Hollywood, and we witness Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore perform a dangerous stunt, from the director's POV. Not the couple I'd want to see in a dream, I assure you.

DW and I are living in an apartment owned by her employers. These people are fanatical about neatness, and they apparently don't like alcohol. I have empty Mexican beer bottles all over the place. Our downstairs neighbor suddenly leaves for Ireland after a notorious murder is committed. The cops are having major difficulty, as murder victims are exposed in their graves, and they undergo a reverse process of dying, mooting murder convictions. Somehow, DW misses the importance of something or other that is related to the investigation (probably the fact that James Cromwell is digging up the planet), and I make a snotty remark implying that she is stupid. Also, I seem to recall a revived victim dying again, and a debate among the authorities as to whether they could charge the person who originally killed the victim with murder. DW retaliates for my crass remark by telling on me for the beer bottles, to no avail. I load the bottles into the car, and we drive through the parking area of our apartment complex. The lot is owned by Louisiana State University, and is used for athletic functions. No consumption of alcohol is allowed in the lot, so DW again tells on me for having beer. LSU being LSU, nobody gives a shit. Ha ha! We do see someone arrested for something, and we walk briefly down the hallway where he is being held. However, we are redirected, and we end up with the guy's male companion.

My father-in-law reveals that he is working on a project to simulate the destruction of Houston by chemical attack. I have to work, so FIL invites DW instead. We pull up to the home of the asshole ex-boyfriend of one of my sisters-in-law. FIL is concerned about the guy--heaven only knows why; like I said, he is an asshole. Somehow, and I can't remember the details, we find this guy as an outgrowth of what was going on re. LSU. Anyhow, while FIL is in the house, DW and I discuss whether she should go play destroy Houston. "I think it would be fun," I said. DW didn't quite agree; she was reluctant to participate in such a game. At this point, my oldest son got so restless that he woke me up.