...am I able to do the following:
1.) Run across town at superhuman speeds to be with the guy I'm in love with.
2.) Have a cigarette with Elliott Smith.
I used to stop logging my dreams since I thought that the whole "reading into the subconscious mind to fulfill potential and unaddressed desires" thing was a bunch of crap. Still, these two were the most interesting I've had awhile.
1.) My friend Liz from middle/high/college and I were working backstage back at our old high school for some reason even though we were the ages we are now and nowhere near SHS. Out of nowhere, I decide to leave so I can be with :name excluded due to current relevance: who is across town at the movie theater/astronomical observatory. Liz gets a bit mad and asks me "What about all the hard work we put into this?" And I just shrug and tell her things will be fine, the show can run itself after all the setup I did.
The amazing part is the running. I was somewhere between flying and running really fast. I could feel my feet hitting pavement, grass, even the hoods of cars just to get all the way across town (which oddly seems to be more like Portland and not Springfield). I run at an incredible speed without my joints giving out, my muscles aching from lactic acid buildup, my heart pounding or my lungs gasping for air. I don't even think about traffic, but actually run over the cars regardless as to whether or not they are moving.
When I get to the theater/observatory, the "show" is over and the house lights are up, revealing a gorgeous old-style movie theater surrounding me. The ceiling is high. The walls and pillars are beige with gorgeous detailed tapestries on them. I can see that the curtains are still drawn open though, with a gorgeous night sky/universe swirling around on the stage/screen. :Name excluded due to current relevance: is standing in one of the aisles as the rest of the audience has mostly cleared out. He smiles at me as if to tell me that he wasn't expecting to see me tonight.
This is when I wake up. I was a bit disappointed that this hadn't happened...but of course, not as disappointed as when I woke up from the next dream.
2.) For some reason I'm back at TIS Bookstore and Danielle of all people is excited about winning some contest she won where she gets to hang out/go on a date with Elliott Smith (who is mysteriously still alive without anyone commenting on this fact). I mean, for one thing, as I mentioned in the parenthetical expression, Elliott Smith is dead. Another thing, Danielle is engaged. What would she be doing going on a date with Elliott Smith?
However, the even more bizarre fact of Elliott Smith even participating in such a PR gimmick is actually explained in my dream. I have a smoke outside the front of the store (which would probably cause Jon to pitch a fit since he usually wants the smoking employees nowhere near the store) and there's Elliott Smith, leaning against the large glass storefront window (that Jon hires someone to clean at least once a month) and having a cigarette. He actually looks exactly the same as he does on the cover art of the albums, although, come to think of it, it wasn't that long ago when he committed suicide.
I'm probably filling in more details than actually occurred in the dream since I remember the dream being much shorter than it probably takes to write/read this. But anyway, Elliott explains that his record company randomly thought this "win a date with..." was a good idea and he actually went along with it just for the hell of it. He thought Danielle was cool, but not really his type. I just nod and shrug, almost uncharacteristically laconic considering if I had actually met Elliott Smith (and he were still alive), I would probably be going all annoying fangirl on him. For the most part, we just lean against the window, smoking and not saying much of anything.
Right before I wake up, he finishes his cigarette, crushes it on the pavement and walks away. My first thought as my radiator rudely wakes me is, "Holy shit. I just had a smoke with Elliott Smith."
Showing posts with label Elliott Smith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Elliott Smith. Show all posts
15 January 2008
21 August 2007
Portland Part-time Post #1
Note on the title: a little bit of alliteration never killed anyone, right? Also, Portland's motto is "The City that Works," but unofficially, "The City that Works...part-time" as a reference to the fact that there's such a large music/arts community here that just have "day jobs" to pay rent while they can pursue their passion in whatever field they chose. I just hope I can create something good while I'm here. Otherwise I'll be doing the city a grave injustice.
Gargh, why am I staying up late to make a post when I should be sleeping so I can be fresh and pert and perky for tomorrow's 7 a.m. clock-in?
Perhaps it is the same answer which explains my other self-destructive behaviors: masochism.
So, today was my first day employed as a temp for the Fred Meyer corporation. The crew in accounts payable seem friendly and well-humored, perhaps even as snarky-in-the-good-way as my former co-workers at TIS. One of them even joked that one of my responsibilities (along with refilling the coffee machine) was to pick up Krispy Kremes every morning for everyone.
There was a slight mixup which I only realized once someone started calling me "Evelyn." It turned out that not only, I was in the completely wrong department, I was in the wrong building. The corporate office for several chains of grocery store, naturally, was enormous. It was like floor after floor of identical labyrinths made of cubicles. The only problem was I didn't even have an ID passcard to get through all of the security doors, let alone Ariadne's golden thread (although I did eventually get an Ident card attached to a retractable string).
It turns out that I'm replacing another temp whose contract is being bought out by the company from the agency. For some reason, I'm thinking of "Memoirs of a Geisha," but without the vague sexual things, the sometimes-purple prose and the ridiculously pretty outfits and ornate ceremonies. Maybe because the woman training me was very personable, but also deliberate about it. I don't mean "deliberately nice" in the fake way, but in the way that nice people want you to know that they really do want to be nice. Either that, or I secretly have the hope of getting my contract "bought out" at some point despite my itchy-feet syndrome (my proclivity towards wandering).
An email from an acquaintance/former co-worker mentioning his own personal journey in finding himself (although over a greater distance and longer period of time with more drastic and dramatic turning points) only confirmed my knowing that I'm probably not going to stay in Portland too long no matter how much I adore it here. As Honk once said to me, "You've still got a lot of wandering to do."
At any rate, the work was like a twilight-zone version of what I used to do with Session A, but was now called Session F. Instead of ISBNs, I had to work with Employee IDs and SSNs. Instead of sorting and cateloguing books, I filed away people under convenient numbers. I'm basically being paid $10.50 an hour to reduce human beings into numbers for the sake of convenience.
Still, at least the people I work with are amicable. My trainer (I was almost tempted to refer to her as Mameha and myself as Chiyo/Sayuri to continue the "Memoirs of a Geisha" comparison, but thought better of it) seemed genuinely interested in even the most boring details of my former life in the Midwest, sometimes wide-eyed and saying "wow, really?" at my details of flat land, corn and soybean fields, the time they shut down the university for two days due to the crazy amount of snow last February.
I guess I'm the same way about the fact that it is possible for me to walk uphill and then downhill on the same street, the fact I can see Mt. Tabor as I walk to Safeway and that it rains here much more than it snows. Then again, perhaps I should have known I wasn't quite in Kansas (or rather, Illinois) anymore when my trainer said "Really? You're from Illinoise?" Then again, my former roommate did get ragged on for saying "Oregone" at her internship.
I was even more amazed that people here actually take their 15 minute breaks unlike at the bookstore. I just felt unproductive and kept staring at the clock in between half-heartedly reading the newspaper/recipe magazines and chewing on my peanut butter sandwich in the break room. Downstairs is a cafeteria where I should avoid taking lunch (even though the guys who work there are generous, one of them ended up giving me enough meatloaf servings for two meals...although I would have rather had a surplus of steamed broccoli, which was slightly soggy, but still good and way above the canned green beans they had offered as an alternative vegetable) despite my rather bad habit of not cooking and eating out resurfacing...I guess some things don't change.
I probably should have mentioned earlier that I ended up getting off the bus at the wrong stop and walking around in the rain, getting lost before I was even able to get lost in the corporate headquarters and assigned to the wrong department. I don't know why it didn't occur to me considering how upset I was by it while it was actually happening. Oh well, maybe I am growing up a bit after all if I don't let little things like that bother me for long.
Speaking of the rain and the gray and cold, the weather I came here for is finally here. I thought it was funny that one of my new co-workers once said to my trainer that she was disappointed that her vacation was always sunny but with no rain. Maybe I will fit in here after all.
Still, I feel the occasional melancholy once I realize how alone I really am. Then again, staying inside out of the rain while listening to Elliott Smith probably doesn't help. Or, when I actually do go outside, having "Alameda" (which also happens to be a street in Portland) stuck in my head probably doesn't help either. The funny thing is, I live on Hawthorne and walk up and down it quite often, so having a song about another stretch of Portland road playing in my mind is sort of like cheating.
Gaah...it's almost 1 a.m. and I'm still not that sleepy. I'll probably crash hard tomorrow. Maybe instead of staying in and watching sappy romantic movies while eating fresh baked bread from the Safeway (because I can't always afford the artisan breads at the "good" bakeries on my street, that and I have a penchant for irony) and pre-made soup (I told you, I don't cook...it's better that way otherwise if I get food poisoning, no one will really notice until it's too late), I should take up knitting, or better yet, running.
Ok, now I'm just delirious...time for sleep.
Gargh, why am I staying up late to make a post when I should be sleeping so I can be fresh and pert and perky for tomorrow's 7 a.m. clock-in?
Perhaps it is the same answer which explains my other self-destructive behaviors: masochism.
So, today was my first day employed as a temp for the Fred Meyer corporation. The crew in accounts payable seem friendly and well-humored, perhaps even as snarky-in-the-good-way as my former co-workers at TIS. One of them even joked that one of my responsibilities (along with refilling the coffee machine) was to pick up Krispy Kremes every morning for everyone.
There was a slight mixup which I only realized once someone started calling me "Evelyn." It turned out that not only, I was in the completely wrong department, I was in the wrong building. The corporate office for several chains of grocery store, naturally, was enormous. It was like floor after floor of identical labyrinths made of cubicles. The only problem was I didn't even have an ID passcard to get through all of the security doors, let alone Ariadne's golden thread (although I did eventually get an Ident card attached to a retractable string).
It turns out that I'm replacing another temp whose contract is being bought out by the company from the agency. For some reason, I'm thinking of "Memoirs of a Geisha," but without the vague sexual things, the sometimes-purple prose and the ridiculously pretty outfits and ornate ceremonies. Maybe because the woman training me was very personable, but also deliberate about it. I don't mean "deliberately nice" in the fake way, but in the way that nice people want you to know that they really do want to be nice. Either that, or I secretly have the hope of getting my contract "bought out" at some point despite my itchy-feet syndrome (my proclivity towards wandering).
An email from an acquaintance/former co-worker mentioning his own personal journey in finding himself (although over a greater distance and longer period of time with more drastic and dramatic turning points) only confirmed my knowing that I'm probably not going to stay in Portland too long no matter how much I adore it here. As Honk once said to me, "You've still got a lot of wandering to do."
At any rate, the work was like a twilight-zone version of what I used to do with Session A, but was now called Session F. Instead of ISBNs, I had to work with Employee IDs and SSNs. Instead of sorting and cateloguing books, I filed away people under convenient numbers. I'm basically being paid $10.50 an hour to reduce human beings into numbers for the sake of convenience.
Still, at least the people I work with are amicable. My trainer (I was almost tempted to refer to her as Mameha and myself as Chiyo/Sayuri to continue the "Memoirs of a Geisha" comparison, but thought better of it) seemed genuinely interested in even the most boring details of my former life in the Midwest, sometimes wide-eyed and saying "wow, really?" at my details of flat land, corn and soybean fields, the time they shut down the university for two days due to the crazy amount of snow last February.
I guess I'm the same way about the fact that it is possible for me to walk uphill and then downhill on the same street, the fact I can see Mt. Tabor as I walk to Safeway and that it rains here much more than it snows. Then again, perhaps I should have known I wasn't quite in Kansas (or rather, Illinois) anymore when my trainer said "Really? You're from Illinoise?" Then again, my former roommate did get ragged on for saying "Oregone" at her internship.
I was even more amazed that people here actually take their 15 minute breaks unlike at the bookstore. I just felt unproductive and kept staring at the clock in between half-heartedly reading the newspaper/recipe magazines and chewing on my peanut butter sandwich in the break room. Downstairs is a cafeteria where I should avoid taking lunch (even though the guys who work there are generous, one of them ended up giving me enough meatloaf servings for two meals...although I would have rather had a surplus of steamed broccoli, which was slightly soggy, but still good and way above the canned green beans they had offered as an alternative vegetable) despite my rather bad habit of not cooking and eating out resurfacing...I guess some things don't change.
I probably should have mentioned earlier that I ended up getting off the bus at the wrong stop and walking around in the rain, getting lost before I was even able to get lost in the corporate headquarters and assigned to the wrong department. I don't know why it didn't occur to me considering how upset I was by it while it was actually happening. Oh well, maybe I am growing up a bit after all if I don't let little things like that bother me for long.
Speaking of the rain and the gray and cold, the weather I came here for is finally here. I thought it was funny that one of my new co-workers once said to my trainer that she was disappointed that her vacation was always sunny but with no rain. Maybe I will fit in here after all.
Still, I feel the occasional melancholy once I realize how alone I really am. Then again, staying inside out of the rain while listening to Elliott Smith probably doesn't help. Or, when I actually do go outside, having "Alameda" (which also happens to be a street in Portland) stuck in my head probably doesn't help either. The funny thing is, I live on Hawthorne and walk up and down it quite often, so having a song about another stretch of Portland road playing in my mind is sort of like cheating.
Gaah...it's almost 1 a.m. and I'm still not that sleepy. I'll probably crash hard tomorrow. Maybe instead of staying in and watching sappy romantic movies while eating fresh baked bread from the Safeway (because I can't always afford the artisan breads at the "good" bakeries on my street, that and I have a penchant for irony) and pre-made soup (I told you, I don't cook...it's better that way otherwise if I get food poisoning, no one will really notice until it's too late), I should take up knitting, or better yet, running.
Ok, now I'm just delirious...time for sleep.
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