The Right Coast
July 30, 2004
By Tom Smith
People post dreams on blogs, and I agree it's generally a bad idea.
But what the heck. Unfortunately, my dreams are the sort that hardly require interpretation.
Last night I dreamed I was in some fancy hair salon and the stylist was saying adamantly that I need more hair. Well, duh. I'm not crazy about the fact that my hair isn't growing right. I can't even seem to get male pattern baldness right. It's sort of asymmetrical. Sprouty. Uneven. But I figure if Donald Trump has to do that egregious thing with his hair, then there's little to be done. OTOH a friend of mine actually got plastic surgery of some sort on his head to put in more hair. It looks good. But I could never do that. Too expensive and violates my religion of manliness, the first commandment of which is 'deal with it.'
Dream 2: I am at some sort of jujitsu practice and at the end of the practice are going to be challenge matches. I am getting more and more psyched up for it -- afraid, but also looking forward to it. Somehow this gradually evolves into my being in some kind of minor tournament being held in a decayed arena in TJ. It is a UFC style tournament, with both striking and grappling allowed. I'm a pretty lousy boxer, but I have confidence in my grappling skills. It turns out I am to fight some guy reputed to be a good striker. I keep asking different people how my opponent fared against this or that fighter. I keep getting the same answer: "he took him apart." I get really tired of hearing this. It implies a scientific dissection I find unnerving. I ask my crowd (I seem to have some informal coaches -- they are a very rum looking lot) how to handle it, and I am advised "you'll just have to take it." I get tired of hearing this too. Finally, my opponent shows up, really late. That pisses me off. He looks like Daniel Day Lewis and has an entourage of hip-looking, black leather clad groupies. They're all dressed in black and looking very hip and gothic. Now I am really mad and can't wait to get into the ring. He walks past me and gives me this look that infuriates me, like I don't worry him. Now I am really, really mad, and really, really ready to fight. Then I wake up. I wonder when I stopped being mysterious.