Ever have a dream so powerful and intense you wake up and think it was real? The ones you know aren’t real but the feelings carry over into your waking hours, clinging on like the dog to the bumper of the Grizwold family truckster? Like the ones where your significant other cheats on you and you wake up angry, or your parents are alive again and making you a fat Saturday breakfast? You know full well that it never happened, but you can’t quite shake the feelings they churned up.

Sunday night found me collapsing early between perfect white sheets out in the country, and I had solid fanciful dreams while the rain spilled and echoed in through the open windows.

Rolling over with my eyes clenched the following morning, my thoughts lingered on one of the dreams I’d had with glaringly vivid detail and subsequent attached emotions. In my restful hours, I sold the whole of my belongings and moved to an ocean side city where I knew no one. It was, in a word, peace.

The ideas brought forward in our dreams shouldn’t be ignored. I’m not saying they should be entertained, but they’re worthy of careful and deliberate consideration.

www.dreammoods.com

I’ll type again Tuesday, have a safe holiday weekend.

You feel it too, don’t you? The cloudless sky and cold dry air are crying out for you to play hookie and dance with them. I can’t bear to listen or heed the request and it’s breaking my heart.

I failed to make my list yesterday so at lunch I’ll go hide in the park and plop down with one of my trusty yellow tablets. I’ll visit my in-town centering place, take off my collared shirt to reveal the tank hiding beneath and soak up the rays while I jot down a fraction of the thoughts I’ve been avoiding. The ones that will stain my core and sear my mind a little while I try to wrap myself around what my soul thinks “happy” looks like so I can regain focus and move forward.

It’s a liberating exercise, and it will have a price.

Living a deeply fulfilling life is a radical act. Most people are willing to settle for an OK life to avoid the adventures that come with becoming their most glorious and magnificent selves.

Be radical. The world is yearning for it.

- Jennifer Warwick, professional life coach (and my big sister)

If you didn’t catch Kung Fu Hustle in the theatre, I’m afraid you’re screwed. I can’t imagine watching this one on a small screen but it’s a gem you shouldn’t miss either way, so go ahead and throw it on your NetFlicks list now. I’ll be right here waiting, go ahead.

The Sony Pictures Classic missed its just reward of brilliant critical acclaim at the box office, but then so did Super Troopers and Office Space. Are you hearing me? Between the gay Asian barbers butt crack hanging out of his pants through the whole film to the hilariously choreographed dancing street gang to the landlady with the perpetual cigarette drooping out of her mouth, this little-flick-that-could was supreme. With an awesome collection of bad teeth, Road Runner style chase scenes, jiggly man tits and Jet Li fight moves, it was also chalk full of the physical humor I just can’t get enough of.

You know I love to see a good bitch slap.

In other news, TAKE YOUR TOP OFF! I heard your requests and I’ve done it. It’s officially summer now that I’ve taken my girl in for a thorough wash and slid her top around her waist. Baby Blue is ready and waiting for the open road, where she can allow the wind to turn what’s left of my mop into a tangled mess. Convertible weather has arrived.

Lastly, I’m really looking forward to seeing Dogtown and Z Boys when it hits the screen. I don’t imagine it’s for everybody but it strikes a nostalgic cord with me and makes me want to steal my brothers skateboard all over again to go rolling through Anchor-town with the boys. Watch the trailer here.

I’m sorry, did you just say “meow”?

I see the Zifty delivery vehicles around town and on campus, and several weeks ago decided to try them only to find out that the order I was placing at 4 on a Saturday afternoon wouldn’t be delivered until 11pm. No thanks, sorry, pass. I can get my happy ass in the car and drive the 4 blocks to Moe’s.

As for what Zifty is – think PinkDot if you live in LA or Kozmo if you lived in Atlanta during the WebVan days (a moment of silence, please). If you’re not familiar with any of that, then I offer you this:

What is Zifty?
We deliver movies, snacks, household items, and even food from select restaurants to your door in under an hour, as long as you live in the central Atlanta area.

Moving right along to a conversation yesterday with Tyler, I come to find out that his woman owns/runs Zifty.com with a business partner. Alas, as an ode to my new acquaintance I vowed to give them another try.

My order for what can loosely be refered to as “dinner” was placed at 7:29, with a confirmed delivery between 8:00 and 8:30. I puttered about, talked to Steve-O on the phone and wrote this as I waited for my delivery. I flipped channels to find I’ve seen the now showing episodes of Law & Order, West Wing and CSI. Nothing else on the air is of any interest to me. It’s now 8:22.

8:26, Mr. Delivery / Dinner Man called from outside, he’s here and verifying that he’s walking to the correct door. We’re go for launch.

8:30, Moe’s queso is still warm and gooey, my JC chicken no beans looks perfect and smells the way it’s supposed to…which is not the same thing as smelling “good”.

Mr. Man also threw a copy of Creative Loafing in a bag with an Adult Swim logo on the side. Ok, that gets ya big props even if we did pay for the placement.

Worth the mark-up? Yeah, if I was famished. Which I’m not, but it’s a test and I’m feeling lazy anyway.

They passed.

If you live in Alaska and work a job that has you traveling to rural villages like my brother, your airport shuttle ride looks like this

My commute on the other hand is full of stop lights, asphalt in varying stages of disrepair, people who can’t read the crosswalk pictures and stops to visit folks who know precisely what I want when I walk in the door all bleary eyed.

Another difference is that I live in a cube farm. Although I gave up an office with a window and a door for the likes of my new cell, I’m content with my surroundings and my one solid brown wall. There’s a window at the end of my short hall, and if I prairie dog it I can actually see through the sliver what the weather is doing.

Take the tour, see my excessive flair in it’s glory. Behold the flip flops. Please be sure to right click and save as like a good monkey.

Saturday night ended at Northside Tavern, a small joint that’s a fixture in the Atlanta blues scene. As we pulled up, my companion read the marquee saying “The Breeze Kings” outloud, my response to which was a mumbled “no shit”.

Seven or so years ago I worked with Carlos beneath the doorknob to hell, and even then he was the lead for The Breeze Kings. Since then we’ve exchanged emails on a semi-annual basis and despite my efforts to see him rock the house, our schedules haven’t allowed me to.

It was a sign then, that fate brought us back together. An oustanding front man and proud new poppa, Carlos owned and worked the room.