...and again

I don't know what the deal is, but there was another Anthony Bourdain cameo. I'm beginning to worry now.

In the first part of the dream I was in the car with my husband, on a road trip. It was a more or less spontaneous trip, and we were just exploring. We got to a little town in some southern state. As we entered town, we started to see people in the street, like there was some event. People were dancing and eating, there was music, and the streets were really narrow so we had to slow to a crawl and drive through the middle of everything. As we progressed I realized that we were going through very distinct racial sections of town. At first everyone looked Central American, and I commented that I felt like we had been transported to Nicaragua or Honduras*. As we got a little further the crowd changed. There was a transitional group that included a gypsy flamenco dancer (everything was very detailed, people's clothes, faces and hair). Then suddenly everyone was African-American and there was a large man in a stereotypical "pimp suit", dark purple with a bowler hat, all his accessories coordinated. He was very spiffy and was dancing and juggling a little pistol.

We didn't quite know what to make of this, and we were a little freaked out by these progressive distinct racial groups. We arrived at a section of town with only whites, and they were also out in the street, eating stereotypical things like baked beans and coleslaw. They looked pretty redneck, and they weren't very exuberant compared to the other groups [I love how my subconscious reinforces stereotypes...]; they seemed poor and resentful, like they were fomenting revolt.

At this point my husband had gotten really intrigued and wanted to further explore the town and see what the party was about. We stopped the car to try to decide what to do, and in the few seconds we were stopped, a mulleted blond guy went around the back and bent down. I realized that he was trying to let the air out of our tires with a modified Bic pen. [In the dream, those clear ballpoint Bic pens had a screw-in plug at the non-writing end, and this screw corresponded to the screw on the tire, making them the perfect instrument for emptying car tires; I filed away this information as potentially useful.] We realized we weren't welcome here, and the vaguely menacing atmosphere that had been growing since the beginning finally registered. Fortunately our tires were still inflated, so we got out of there.

Later we arrived at a hotel/resort somewhere in Arkansas. I'm not sure what we were doing there, but we were planning on staying at least one night. It so happened that Anthony Bourdain and his crew were there too, to attend some kind of conference. We were all eating at a big table, and he was flirting outrageously with me (including a roguish and extreme version of "footsies"), which I found flattering but disconcerting. I had the impression that it was a compulsion of his to keep his womanizing skills active at all times, and I told myself that I shouldn't be too flattered by the attention since I was just the most acceptable option present for maintaining his skills (his crew members were apparently exempt since they were too constant a presence).

Later, he needed help organizing handouts and a PowerPoint for a presentation he was making, and I was coaching him on the fine points of labeling Appendices. I said that at my workplace we usually marked them "Appendix A: Such-and-Such" and "Appendix B: Such-and-Such", but then pointed out that the "Appendix A" was probably superfluous, like making a one-item list with "1." He seemed to think that was witty, and also seemed to take my coaching seriously, as if he actually needed help, which was rather flattering (not to mention that he didn't seem to look down on the fact that I had a secretarial job). I felt a little guilty, though, because my husband had gone back to our room, disgusted (I inferred) by my indulgence of this blatant cad.

Things were a little more vague after that. There was a subplot involving a very odd mixed-breed puppy, gray with black speckles and very sheep-like. I did a little bit of research and came to the conclusion that she was actually a very rare and potentially valuable hybrid (she had hair like a poodle, so was allergen-free). According to random internet sources, there were either 330 or 990 existing ("Figures of 1,110 are thought to be inaccurately high"). I was wondering about her potential sale value, but she was also really cute, so I wasn't sure that I wanted to sell her. She seemed like a very cooperative and malleable dog, to the point that she wouldn't really even require training.

Then there was a subplot in which I was arriving at a boarding high school. I was only there temporarily, and there was a whole other group who was also only going to be there temporarily. We were going to be housed in dorms with large, open rooms and bunk beds. As long as the temporary groups were there, each room would contain 8 people, of mixed genders. I was happy to realize that I had snagged a top bunk against the wall, instead of one of the beds out in the middle of the room. The only people I remember were a real-life coworker and a random guy from my high-school class that I don't think I ever talked to. In the dream he was a kind of proto-River Phoenix/Keanu Reeves, and we were all aware that he was Going to Be Big, so everyone was friendlier to him in the dream than they were in real life high school. There was a bit of subtle jockeying to get a bed near his, which he didn't acknowledge openly--but I could tell he was happy about it. A more alarming element of the dorm was the presence of huge cockroaches and even several rats, scurrying around people's luggage.

{Not only do I always seem to introduce the most unsavory labels ("pimp"?), but I'm maxing out the tag characters to the point that Blogger won't publish my post unless I get rid of some!}


*Of course I've never been to either place, but it was very clear in my mind that the scene looked exactly like either of those countries.

anthony bourdain strikes again

All I can remember from last night's dreams are that Anthony Bourdain showed up again, which alarmed me a little. I don't think he had a major role, just a short cameo appearance. The main plotline involved a huge boulder-like formation of very hard red clay. At irregular intervals it would turn orange and then change to a pudding-like or jello-like texture, which was dangerous for anyone who didn't get off as soon as the color started changing (I think there was also a warning siren). There were a couple of kids playing on it, and some panic about where they were and whether they would manage to get off in time or were too absorbed in their play to notice the warning. There was also someone who had a big drilling machine* and was getting ready to drill into the rock/clay/pudding. Maybe that was where Anthony Bourdain came in--maybe he was the guy with the drill?

On looking at this written out, I feel like I should issue a disclaimer: I am not obsessed with Anthony Bourdain, and the part about drilling should not be interpreted in a...let's say Freudian...manner.


*I blame this part on the fact that we recently bought some used drill stem to use as fence posts.

multiple anthony bourdains

Of course I was on a group trip, and of course most of the trippers were young (young college age, I think). I don't remember much, but we were in a car, going slowly by an old church (cathedral?). There was someone seated on the steps, with a rather large bagged lunch beside him. He was opening up a couple of foil-wrapped packets, looking like he wasn't excited to be there. I got the impression that he had been marooned there for a while. He looked up at the car, and at that point we realized that it was Anthony Bourdain. He started waving his long arms, and several people urged the driver to stop and pick him up, because he clearly needed a ride somewhere.

The driver was not excited at all about picking up Mr. Bourdain, and I was a little puzzled (although, to be fair, the car was pretty full). Then I saw his face and realized why he was reluctant--our driver was a second Anthony Bourdain. No one seemed to think this was strange, though, so I just chalked up his distaste for Bourdain No. 1 to a conflicted sense of self-loathing.