Dreaming of Harry Potter, Japan, and the Blues

Last night I had an epic Harry-Potter-related dream in which there was a movie promotional contest that was actually real and enabled muggles like me to help Harry and his friends defeat Voldemort.

Then my weird brain totally switched gears and I found that I was a former cop working as a bodyguard for an escort service in Japan, supposedly. I say supposedly because I didn't actually guard anybody. Instead, I spent most of the dream discussing handguns with my partner, trying to sort through Japan's complex laws and cultural rules to figure out how to sell a car, and worrying to myself that I would make a lousy bodyguard because I didn't actually have any martial arts skills (but I discovered, much to my surprise, that I was actually remarkably adept at aikido somehow).

Then I switched gears yet again. I was back in America, carrying a badass katana like the one Michonne uses on The Walking Dead. I walked to the entrance of what I thought was a new karate dojo in the neighborhood, and, in order to avoid any unpleasant misunderstandings, left my weapon at the door before going inside.

Once inside, I realized that it was not a dojo, but a sheet music store (apparently, it's easy to confuse the two). I asked the guy if they had any books about the harmonica. He said they only had one or two and pointed them out. One was a book and CD combo of classical harmonica and recorder duets. The other was actually just a religious Chick tract about a harmonica blues man who spends his life in dissipation and either dies and goes to hell or finds Jesus at the last minute and goes to heaven. I wasn't sure which because I didn't actually read the whole thing. Instead, for some reason, I had cut out all the faces from the tract and was trying to meticulously tape them back when I finally decided to just cough up the pocket change and buy the stupid thing. I looked at the price and it was $25.00. Apparently, it was some sort of rare collector's item. Oops.

A Most "Curious" Dream

I had a dream that I was traveling to the desert with Curious George. I stopped off at a convenience store to buy a bottle of booze (just like in the kids' books!). I noticed that the previous bottle of booze I had purchased at a different store was still full, but was missing a cap. I had purchased that bottle at another store in the same chain as the one I was at now, so I asked the manager for a replacement cap. He didn't have one, but told me to go back to the original store and request one. He then handed me exactly $100 in assorted bills (to go buy a replacement bottle?) and sent me on my way.

I hit the road toward the desert, but just before the freeway exit I realized that I was driving around with a big cap-less bottle of booze in the front seat of my car. I decided to pull off into a residential street and take care of things. I pulled in front of a house and opened the trunk of my car. I took a paper towel and twisted it, then folded it in half and stuck it in the mouth of the bottle. Then I positioned the bottle next to the spare tire so that it (hopefully) wouldn't fall over. I noticed that there was an old empty liquor bottle in trunk (because I apparently have a strong affinity for old John Barleycorn). I decided to pitch my empty. I looked around and saw a recycle bin in front of the house where I was currently parked. I lifted the lid of the bin and saw a stack of bottles and cans sitting in the middle of the bin, with lots of empty space surrounding it. Being careful not to disturb the precarious stack, I oh-so-gently placed my bottle on the top. As I gingerly replaced the lid, I heard a loud clink as one of the bottles was dislodged from the stack inside and fell to the bottom of the bin. Just then I saw the owner of the house open the curtains of her front picture window and glare at me suspiciously. I had a strong feeling that she was about to call the police about my suspicious car. I realized that it was time to flee the scene, but then a very dark thought flashed into my head. I had Curious George with me. Curious George was a monkey. Cute, sure, but in reality a wild, brutal beast born in the dark heart of the savage jungle. Perhaps I could turn him loose on the household and let him satisfy the "curiosity" of his primal simian blood lust on the flesh of my enemies. I imagined the horrific, gory carnage for just a moment.

I got in my car and headed for the highway.

Apocalypse No

A little over a year ago, my old man and my uncle Ivan let a couple of female transients stay over at our apartment for a couple of nights. One of them, named Katie, was a Tarot-card-reading, magic-loving schizophrenic who, as she informed my Uncle David, died twice ON THE MOON. She was cool. She knew Harry Houdini's real name and was absolutely delighted when she found out that I did too. She claimed that he was in the living room with us, and that he wanted me to buy a 1.75-liter bottle of rum and share it with her and her traveling companion (Margaret, I think her name was). As epic as a night of drunkenness with a schizoid transient and her eerily quiet friend undoubtedly would have been, I had to decline Mr. Houdini's request due to a lack of funds.

Katie informed me that she had been drawn to Las Vegas because God told her that she was supposed to meet and marry magician Criss Angel (whose magical powers, she assured me, were real). A couple of days earlier, she had managed to find his house and leave him a note in his mailbox before being chased out of the gated community by security guards. She was confident that he would read her note and find her, though.

Katie also explained to me that the end of the world was coming soon, and that my dad and my uncles were going to be "feet" in the coming kingdom. Then she totally blew my mind. She told me that, as awesome as my father and uncles were, I was greater than they. Wow, right? But yeah, really. She said that I was destined to marry Ruth, the woman from the Old Testament, and that in the coming kingdom I would be both a foot and...A HAND! Awesome! I had no idea what that meant, but she assured me that it was a VERY good thing. Also, through her, God told me directly not to "hit on" his "daughter" (Katie) like "the others" (my uncles) did. Even though she was actually an attractive young woman, I had no difficulty complying with this divine edict--it must have been a powerful gift of grace that gave me such restraint. She believed that God had led her to us because she, Margaret, my dad, my uncles, Criss Angel and I were all supposed to go to the Indian reservation in Arizona and wait for "the bombs to drop." This, she explained, would happen sometime in October of 2012. Well, I had forgotten about it until today. Obviously, the end of the world thing didn't happen as promised. I'm not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. On the one hand, the world wasn't destroyed. On the other hand, I'm not going to marry a biblical saint and become a hand and a foot in the New Kingdom. I can't seem to catch a break.