Time for a Change

Dreamed that I was both a Frankenstinian type monster and the mad scientist's assistant charged with dispatching me – the horror. Neat trick being both sides, eh?

Monster-me had been captured and put into a coffin like crate. Yeah, that was a total thrill.

Mad-scientist-assistant-me, was transporting monster-me by donkey cart to…dunno. We ascended a mountain on perilous, skinny-ass, cliff hugging trails.

Somehow – accidentally? – my crate took a dive over the side. Was this an escape effort or had I been jettisoned? Did she jump or was she pushed?

The descent was endless. That cliff top had to have been light years above the ravine’s bottom. I wasn’t afraid – more, I was curious. ‘the hell’s taking so long here? Did I falloff the bloody planet or what? Too bad I don’t have a deck ‘o’ cards, I could play a bit of solitaire. And I woke – not because I'd finally hit bottom and was jolted into consciousness. Nope, I think the no-end-in-sight dive had gotten boring. No windows in that crate, don'cha know.

Can't blame the dream on the day – Christmas was fine and shit. I had a wonderful breakfast and prezzie exchange with Jen and Oni as uszh. The Amazing Bob’s absence was palpable though – he should’ve been there. Later, after the snowstorm passed and the roads were plowed, I went out to pick up my food. The dive bar at the Chinese joint was full of happy people toasting the day. Nice but I was eager to get home, plug in Scrooged and scarf down my veggie tempura. Which I did.

Couple things:

1. Either the tempura wasn’t as wonderfully done up this time around OR I ate too much, too fast. Prolly a little of each. I think I'm over veggie tempura.
   
   
2. Scrooged – not as much fun. In the past I’ve thrilled to Carol Kane’s glitteringly abusive fairy, David Johansen’s maniac cabbie, the Solid Gold Dancers and Robert fucking Mitchum! This time I kept zooming in on:

• Eliot, the poor bastard (oh so understatedly played by the normally incandescent Bobcat Goldthwait) who got axed on Christmas Eve,
• Frank's poor secretary Grace (WHY does she put up with his abuse?! Respect yourself!)
• his past love, Claire, who clearly wants him back (WHAT does she see in him?! Care about yourself!)
• the doomed shelter folk 
• ETC.!!! 

Yes, it’s still a fun flick but I believe I’m done with it. The ending’s too pat. Frank’s ALL forgiven by Grace, Claire, Eliot and everyone else. Why any of ‘em still wanna know his callous motherfucking self is mind blowing. Yes, I know, I know – it’s a broad comedy. I just can’t get there this year.

I believe it’s time for a tradition change. Next year, instead of Chinese food and Scrooged, I could travel. Maybe I’ll zoom off to float in my silica infused patch of heaven? Or I could head to P-town – start the day with a beach walk followed by a good long soak in a brill hot tub? Amnesia in Amsterdam seems like a fine place for a morning toke and smoothie. Afterward I can meander over to Tuschinski’s for a matinee and then on to Café Alto for a nightcap and primo people watching. 

Ah geez, loving these ideas!