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.