Dream Diary - Entry #1


It started out in the high school cafeteria. There was an enormous line to get breadsticks and to use the ATM (NOTE: we did not have an ATM in our high school when I attended but I would not be surprised in the least if one exists in the new school bookstore).

As I stood there, I slowly started recognizing a lot of the other people in line from my days at Camelot. I first bumped in to Samona and then we saw Melissa and started talking to her. As we chatted, I realized that the line was no longer in the cafeteria but in a Vegas hotel/casino lobby. I was having a good time catching up with the gang and said, “now if only Baker were here…” as soon as I finished the sentence, Andrew Baker appeared at the other end of the lobby, near the Coke machine. He ambled his way towards me through the smoke.

“Come up to my room,” he said and April (who was now standing beside me) and I pushed our way past a group of sixteen year old girls doing the Electric Slide to the staircase beyond. I became suddenly aware that these were very familiar steps. They seemed to resemble the spiral staircase at the Schnitz. “Is this an Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall-themed casino?” I felt a brief tinge of excitement at the possibility of other Portland landmarks becoming hot-spots on the Vegas strip.

When we reached the second floor, we stood outside his room and he introduced his new girlfriend, an older Hispanic woman with long, black hair and a prosthetic leg. He didn’t really introduce us though, he only said, “this is my new girlfriend” rather than give us her name or her ours. But no matter because she quickly removed her fake limb and pulled several baggies of varying drugs from it.

First there were pills which looked suspiciously like Sudafed non-drowsy nasal decongestant. Then she produced a little bottle of liquid that I recognized as LSD. I removed the dropper and squeezed a tiny drop on to my tongue, licking the air in a lizard-like fashion. I offered it over to April then, saying, “Come on, let’s take this and go check in to our rooms before we have to deal with Lisa Porter.” A look of shock and horror streaked across her face. “Your mom is here?....And you’re HIGH on ACID?” Oops. I didn’t think that one through….

….and then I woke up.

Recipe for Disaster

Has anyone seen Be Cool? What a piece of doody. I just watched this sequel to Get Shorty on DVD and boy am I pissed. Elmore Leonard should kick F. Gary Gray in the teeth for transforming his novel into such a contrite and muddled mess. Though you have to hand it to him, he has found a short cut through the arduous process of adapting a screenplay. Instead of expending the effort to formulate a plot and develop characters, Gray reverts to stereotypes, clichés and the dreaded montage to move this film along. And I use the word “film” loosely as this was more like a music video stuffed with an array of meaningless cameos. Also, stuffed was John Travolta in to a black Italian suit, half a size too small. How fitting that his character’s name was Chili Palmer….he looked as bloated as a contestant in a chili eating contest.
It makes me wonder what kind of chili Chili Palmer is? Probably a meaty one that gives you gas.

In honor of the worst movie I’ve seen this year, I’ve concocted a recipe of my own design. Just like the movie, it is sure to be a gastronomical flop:

Chili Con Palmer:

One pound of Italian sausage, overcooked (For Travolta, of course)
¼ cup chili powder
One 12 oz. can of Pepsi (for blatant product placement)
One scoop of Vanilla Ice cream (for the obvious VH-1 behind the music rip-off)
1/2 cup Vodka (for the Russian mafia stereotype)
1 can of tomato juice (mix with vodka and have a Bloody Mary if you don’t want to cook)
1 12oz. can of kidney beans
1 12oz. can of pinto beans
1 12oz. can of Black Eyed Peas (wait, what the hell are they doing in here?)
1 large smelly onion (for the stinky performance of Cedric the Entertainer)
Salt-n-Pepa to taste (because they were the only rappers not parodied or performing in this movie)

Combine all ingredients in a crock-pot and simmer for two hours. Upon tasting, try not to mourn at the loss of the last two hours. It could have been worse, after all. You could have been watching Be Cool.

The Bathroom (A Haiku)

Not mine, floating there

A courtesy to flush it

Scent of gardenias