Dead Rats Behind My Eyes (or Sorry, I Need You in the Butt)

Last night I had a dream that E. Elz and I were going to a concert featuring U2, Ozzie Smith, and ZZ Top. I think that Ozzie Smith was really supposed to be Ozzie Osbourne, but my dream-mind must have been confused because I kept saying "Ozzie Smith" in the dream.



The other night I had a dream that Ian was calling my references, and was talking to people at the B&N about me, and kept asking them, "Do you ever feel like he has dead rats behind his eyes?" And everybody kept saying yes.



And also last night in bed, Jeannie kneed me in the butt and said, "Sorry I kneed you in the butt," but what I heard was "Sorry, I need you in the butt." Hijinks ensued.

Also, I cannot find any good pictures for "kneed in the butt."

"Every second of the night, I live another life..."

I had some strange dreams last night. In one, I got shot and killed because I was hanging out with Leonard from the book, "My friend Leonard." I die in my dreams every now and again, and it's usually not too bad, everything just goes white and it gets very hard to breathe and then I wake up.

In another dream (and I don't remember any other specifics about this dream other than what I'm about to write), Joey from 'Friends' was being catheterized and I had to hold some sort of strange bag that the catheter was attached to. I think this dream occurred because I was watching an old 'Friends' episode where Joey has kidney stones and when he's in the hospital they tell him they might have to give him a catheter. I hope that's why I had this dream. Let's assume that that's why I had this dream.

Have Jeannie and I been watching American Idol?

Yes. (shamefully)

That's about it. The new MP3 player should be coming soon. I am pumped about this.

Morning Constitutional

Sam's morning routine seems to have settled into this:  from about 4:30 until 7am he rolls around, half asleep, grunting and huffing, and then takes 3 shits spaced out about 15 minutes from each other.  DO NOT change his diaper after the first shit; you will regret it.  Anyway, on mornings where I am off work, I usually bring him into the living room in his little rolly bassinett so's the Jeanners can get a few hours of uninterrupted snoozles.

Not much to write about today.  I'm off work and I have a list of things to do - little things, mostly, because the Jeanners will be gone most of the day and I'm gonna be watching the Gasman.  Oh, I'm trying out Gasman as my nickname for Samuel.  I haven't really liked any of the nicknames that start with S, but I do like the way Gasman sounds. 

Had a dream the other night that Widitz had died and nobody had told me about it.

Had a dream last night that I'm not sure what the overall plot was about, but one scene involved sitting in a college lecture hall listening to some sort of wizard-type dude sing a song.  While some other dude was trying to get us or prevent us from hearing the song or something.  Oh, and I have no idea who the "us" was, I just know there was an "us."

Dreams are crazy.  The other night after I got home from work I wasn't ready to go to bed yet, and I exhausted all of my usual Internet reading options, so I came here to the blog, did a search for the word DREAM, and read all of my posts over the years where I describe some of my whack dreams.  It was pretty fun.  I think my favorites were this one, where Pat gets beheaded onstage, this one, with Ava Gabor's bush, and this one, where nobody likes Schlueter.  Although I think the best one for general wackiness is this one.

Work has been giving me little headaches lately.  Nothing major, but just enough to be annoying.

My Dream Last Night

So here's my dream last night:

CSC was performing Romeo and Juliet at the St. Louis Municipal Opera, known to those in the know as The Muny. For those not in the know, The Muny is a huge, 10,000 seat outdoor theatre in St. Louis, which performs mostly musicals of the Oklahoma! and South Pacific variety. And in true Muny fashion, CSC's Romeo and Juliet had a 200 member children's chorus, a huge balloon release, and 10 minute scene changes. BJ was there, and during the long scene changes, members of the cast would come out into the audience and we would all hang out. Some folks from grade school and high school were in the audience. Pat played the role of Balthasar, although in his final scene he was beheaded, which I don't exactly remember happening in the real play. Anyway, Pat's final scene, in my dream, was a filmed version of his beheading, and then his beheaded head saying his final lines. I remember thinking to myself that Pat's final, beheaded lines were the best performance that I had ever seen. By anyone. Ever. Unfortunately, because of the long scene changes, most of the audience had left by the time Pat's final scene rolled around.

Well, anyway, it was good to see the Beej and the folks from St. Louis. I wish I got to see more of my friends in places other than dreams.

Not too much else going on. The J-Dog is finishing up 4 days off work, the lucky duckling. On Thursday I had the day off as well, and it was a beautiful fall day, so we decided to drive around looking for some adventure and autumn color, and ended up at Catoctin Mountain Park out near Frederick, MD. Walked around a little bit in the woods, saw a little waterfall that probably would've been more impresssive in the Spring.

Got a CSC company meeting tomorrow night, at which I will be presenting new and exciting information. Lookout!

Enoch Muthafuckin' Pratt

My damned wife is out of town for the week, and she took our goddamn wireless card with her, and I am unable to connect to the blessed Internet at home. Thus, I am sitting here at the Hamilton Branch of Baltimore City's Enoch Prattt free library. This is a damned shitty branch.

I have a splinter in my pointer.

The other night in my car I heard the song "I'm a Cuckoo" by Belle and Sebastian for the first time. I sat outside our place and listened until it was over. If I had Internet access I would download it. Unfortunately, the store where I work charges $17.99 for the CD, and even with my discount that's too expensive.

Julius Ceasar has closed outdoors, and on Tuesday we loaded up everything into a moving truck, took it to Goucher College, set everything up, focused lights, did the show, packed everything up, and took it all to McDonogh School, where we unloaded it, set everything up, and have been rehearsing for the past few nights with high school students added into the show. Performances this weekend. It's been a busy week, but everything has been unbelievably and surprisingly smooth.

Can't wait to get crackin' on the new house once Jeannie gets back in town. We need to get a dumpster outside so we can tear a bunch of moldy, nasty shit out of the basement. We also need to start tearing up the "bathroom." Today I took our stereo over and set it up because even shithole houses need stereos. The folks who cleaned out the house left behind a couple of pairs of speakers, one of which is pretty massive. I'm looking forward to trying them out.

The other night I had a dream that Jeannie left me for some other dude and I woke up in the middle of the night crying.

Last night I had a dream that some guy was arrested for drawing up plans for a device that would simultaneously kill himself and Michael Jackson. No lie!

Ianic Pentameter

I had a dream last night that my friend Ian (who pronounces his name EYE-uhn, by the way) invented his own verse meter, and he called it Ianic Pentameter.  Normal Iambic Pentameter goes like this:  da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM.  But in my dream, Ianic Pentameter went like this:  da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM....(pause)....ta da!

For real.  That's what my dream was about last night.  Does anybody else out there dream about verse? 

Today I realized that I would totally watch a TV show that starred Scott Bakula and Richard Dean Anderson as cowboys.  If only such a show existed.

Little dude's doing fine.

We've made plans to come to St. Louis for a week starting June 20th.  Lookout, St. Louis, yer about to get shat on by my boy!

Been listening to a lot of Lionel Richie lately.  Can you believe he's 62?  Doesn't look a day over 50.

Broken air gaps

Had a strange dream last night about going to visit Sean in Alaska. I don't think that the dream was factually correct, though, because in the dream going to Alaska meant lots of white water rafting (ok, that might be correct) and also swimming at a huge, sunny beach. And while swimming there (with Sean and my brother) there was a huge wave that was, for lack of a better word, HUGE. It was so big that it had crested and fallen over but then stayed there like that, so it was like a huge roof over the entire beach area where we were swimming, blocking out the sun.

Anyway, in the dream I had lots of adventures with Sean and that was fun.

Last night we went over to Aimee's and saw her new place. It's real nice, seems to be just the right size and it's fresh and cute. She seems very happy there, and of course Jeannie and I are happy for her. We had some pizza and then went for a nice walk to a Baskin-Robbins for some ice-cream. At the Baskin-Robbins, Jeannie and I made a bet about something, and 10 minutes later nobody could remember what we had bet about. We still haven't remembered.

Today I had thought about driving down to the beach for the day, but I checked the weather yesterday and it's supposed to be raining there. So instead I'm meeting the BJ for a lunch at the Rec Room. And we all know what the Rec Room means...tasty burgers! Indeed. I'm going to take a deck of cards and maybe we can play some spades while we eat.

Got some good work done on some songs for the play yesterday. I feel like somethings are beginning to take a little bit better shape...might get some time today to tinker some more...

Sleepy Tears

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night and I was crying. Weird. Never had that happen before. I had been having a sad/weird dream about my mom dying [at the old power plant where I worked.] [holding 2 Marlon Brando DVD's.][Those are the weird parts]. What's also weird is that just the other night, Jeannie was laughing in her sleep, and I thought about what a strange thing it was that your brain is creating images vivid enough to make your unconscious body start laughing.

Last night before we went to sleep, Jeannie and I were laying in bed, cracking each other up. We decided that it's a good thing we're married, because neither of us could ever find anyone else who thinks we're that funny. She did tell me though, that I have the tendency to use the same jokes over and over again. Duh.

It feels like autumn has lasted an exceptionally long time this year. At least, it seems like the trees have been colorful and beautiful for a long time. I feel like usually by November it's gray and glassy and cold and the trees are black sticks. Not so this year.

Busy day tomorrow at work. All the Christmas stuff gets set up. 'Tis the muthaf*****' season.

Catch That Beet, Crazy Motherf*$#er!

Well, I finished my 7 day work stretch, and I'm looking at 4 sweet days off, spent frolicking in the (hopefully) sun and spending some quality time with my folks and with the J-Dog. My parents should be arriving tomorrow afternoon, so I'm spending tonight doing some straightening and cleaning. Well, actually, right now I'm eating a turkey sandwich and drinking a beer, but later on I'm gonna do some cleaning and straightening. Tomorrow morning: laundry and deep-clean of the bathroom.

Haven't been doing a whole lot lately. Working a bunch, and going through old pictures and videos to see if there's anything fun to put up on the ol' facebook site. Found some old videos of the Beej from one night back at the house on 37th Street when he and Aimee and I were sitting around playing with the video camera. He make-ah dah funny faces.

Had a dream last night that I got shot by a shoplifter. He shot me four times in my booby.

That's about it. I was feeling kinda sicky today at work, but I think mostly I just need a good night's rest and a morning when I can sleep in as late as I want. Tomorrow!

TV Star

 I didn't sleep well last night.  Woke up around 2am after having a weird dream in which I was driving cross-country, solo, and stopping at every river I crossed to float down the river a little bit in a little inflatable boat that I had with me.  Anyway, woke up in the middle of the night and it seemed like every thought I could possibly ever think decided to flow my brain during the next 3 hours or so.  I am trying to figure out why my brain decides to do this.  :Last night I decided it was because I ate rice for dinner.  Remind me to remember to test that hypothesis the next time I eat rice.  

There are leaks at work that are making me absolutely bonkers.  

I've been working on music, somewhat steadily, for the last few months.  Things could possibly turn into something short-album-length.  I've got about 6 or so songs right now.  There's one song that I did as a collaboration with a woman that I met on the interwebs who liked some of my instrumentals, and she apparently has binders of lyrics sitting around and asked if she could send me some of the lyrics.  So I said what the hell and she sent me the lyrics and I worked up a song for some of them and the song turned out pretty good.  Probably some of the best recording I've done, anyway.  Good vocals, clean guitars, bass-y bass, simple melody, backing vox, decent ambient-y sounds.  All the hallmarks of a quality Dan O'Brien jam.  

I've been doing live streams of random moments in my life on Instagram.  It's fun.  It feels like an extension of my solo-performance piece in college, but in reality it's probably more closely related to stuff I've written in here in the past.  Basically, I'm trying to recapture the notion that I have something worthwhile to say, or at least that the fact that I don't have anything worthwhile to say should not serve as a command to not speak.  Basically, I feel myself feeling less and less inclined to speak, and I worry that one day soon I will literally blow away and disappear forever.  So I am attempting to not let myself blow away by making videos of boiling hotdogs and telling people my thoughts.  

Edwin Ignatius Elliot Icabod O'Brien (E.I.E.I.O.)

Last night I had a dream about a deli where I used to go eat lunch during college. They had delicious 1/2 pound burgers for a dollar ninety-nine. I believe that included fries. Then, after enjoying one of said tasty burgers, I would sit back and enjoy (indoors) several STOCKTON cigarettes, which cost $1.16 a pack. The good ol' days. I think it was one of those good dreams that's gonna make me feel sad and ill-at-ease for the rest of the day.

I am working an unusual (for me) Friday night shift today, which is why I have the morning off. I have been busting my ass all week, so I don't feel guilty about having a nice, leisurely morning. I also just realized that because I have the morning off, I can make a nice, tasty breakfast. Unfortunately, I did not plan ahead and I have no biscuits in the house. I think, then, that I shall make some fried potatoes to go with the eggs and fauxsage. Fry up the potatoes and fauxsage, throw in some scrambled egg juice and mix 'em all up in a down home skillet.

In world news, Osama Bin Laden has been killed. But world news seems very far away these days, so I have no thoughts on the matter.

My feet have really been bothering me lately. I (perhaps unwisely) went for a pretty long run the other day (down to lake montebello and around the lake and then back home, and I'd never been able to make it all the way home before because there's this killer fucking hill that's on the way back that gets me every time--but the other day I made it), and it actually feels like running helps sometimes, but not long runs like I made the other day. Or maybe I just need to do some stretches before running or something. And, of course, standin g at work all day isn't helping. I now wear two different insoles in my shoes, which seems to help a bit, but my heels still hurt a bit. Anyway, boring stuff.

The Jeanners and I went to karaoke last Saturday night. We were supposed to meet some folks there, but they stood us up. But it was fun, anyway, although I only got to sing one song and it was Bon Jovi and unexciting. But it was some good people watching. We debated the beauty/patheticness of someone who goes to karaoke every week and drinks several pitchers of beer and wears lots of tough-guy biker gear (plus a very incongruous bluetooth ear thingie) and sings Guns n' Roses songs. There really is a great mix of people at this particular bar, though. And relatively cheap beer.

J-Dog leaves town on Sunday for a week. D-Bone flying solo. I have plans to lock myself in the basement and get some work done (not meant as a double-entendre) and come up only to shit and go to work.

Breakfastime soon.

Into the Bush

Tomorrow morning J-Dog and I are leaving for our little end-of-the-summer mini-vacation, which will consist of us camping on a farm in Massachusetts. Please water our plants while we are gone.

While I was writing the title of this post, I was reminded of a dream I had the other night: In the dream, I was looking through a stack of old photos that my parents had from the 70's. It looked like my parents owned and operated a swanky nightclub in the 70's, because everybody was decked out in leisure suits and had big swanky collars and looked generally coked to the gills. And then as I was flipping through the stack of photos, I came across a picture of Ava Gabor's bush, and my mom said, "Oh, we'd better get rid of that one." That was my dream.

Over this past weekend, I must have been attacked by a swarm of some sort of industrial strength, mutant swamp mosquitoes, as I have about a hundred bites on my legs that have been itching fer days.

Hey now, I'm an all-star.

During the past week, I've had three dreams where I was hanging out with rockstars. It's probably the recurring dream I've had the most, ever since I was a little kid. Back in the day, I would dream about hanging out pretty much exclusively with U2, but as I've gotten older and my musical tastes have broadened, so have my dream tastes. This week, I hung out with Tom Waits (he was sitting on a couch and he said I was a "pretty alright guy."), U2 (I think I was at a concert, but one where the band and I could converse back and forth), and Black Dub (again, I was at a show, one where the band and I could converse back and forth, and Brian Blade remembered who I was [from our real-life encounter at the 9:30 Club alley a few weeks ago]). So anyway, I think hanging out with rockstars is some very-deep-seated need that I have down in the core of my being, and I'm not sure what that need means or why it's there.

Also this week: battling ant infestation and figuring out how to build a walkway.

Went to a pretty great 4th of July party last night at Lesley and Scott's. I worked a long day yesterday and didn't really feel like going after work (actually I kinda forgot that there was a party), but Jeannie lured me in with tales of free food and drink, and socializing. All of which turned out to be true. Plus some pretty decent fireworks that we were able to sit close enough to to feel in our chests. Or at least my chest. I'm not sure if Jeannie was able to feel it in her chest, but she was sitting right next to me so I'm assuming she was. Anyway. Whatevs.

Tomorrow: gravel and sand and paver acquisition and babysitting at Chez Kilpatrick!

Toast

Yesterday I was thinking that when I toast my toast, maybe I've been toasting my toast for too long. So this morning, I'm toasting my toast for not quite so long. I just want softer toast, that's all.

Jeannie's brother (Jake) and his wife (Missy) were in town last night, stopping in on their quick tour of some of the Mid-Atlantic region. They are on their way up to NYC this morning, though I was still asleep when they left. Big D had a few beers last night, and slept soundly. It was good to see Jake and Missy, and I hope they enjoyed their brief stay.

I had a dream last night that I was at a CSC party and got super drunk did lots of things that I didn't remember later, such as shaving off my beard. I was glad when I woke up this morning with my nasty, scraggly beard still intact.

Work this evening, which I'm not really looking forward to (but it should be relatively painless to get through), and then off to Philly tomorrow for Pat's wedding. I bought a couple of rolls of black and white film for our non-digital old-school camera, so maybe I'll get some fun photos of folks while we're there. 'Twill be good to see the Beej and MAW, as well as discuss some CSC stuff with CSC peeps. And maybe do some dancin' with my girlfriend. And, of course, to witness 2 fleshes becoming one flesh.

Hmmm. I believe that's all to report. Got Alaska on my brain...

Stones and Gas

The title of this blog is going to be the name of the new cereal that J-Dog and I are gonna sell.  If you'd like to invest, PM me.  (PM means "private message.)

I have been having some very whack-ass dreams lately.  Like, every night.  One dream I had the other night featured the line, "The biggest turds come from the littlest buttholes."  In another one I was given a George Foreman Grill as an end-of-the-year PSR class gift.  (PSR stands for Parish School of Religion and was a class that I had to go to as a kid every Monday night to learn about the Jesus.  It was because I went to a public grade school that I had to go to PSR.  Actually, it was because my parents made me.)

The Jeanners' super crazy busy time at work is over, thank god. 

Sam continues to transform from a baby to a little boy.  He's running around and falling and jabbering and seems to be doing OK. 

We've been trying to get little things done around the house during the summer (we've made a list of things we want to get done by the time I have to go back to work in September) and I am amazed at how long each little job takes.  For example, in order to put the trim up around one doorway, these are the steps (and when paired with the hurdles of watching Sam and only working around Sam's sleeping schedule, each step takes about a day or two):

1.  Strip the door jambs.
2.  Put jamb extensions on the door jambs.
3.  Clean up and sand the door jambs.
4.  Strip the trim.
5.  Sand the trim.  
6.  Prime the trim.
7.  Paint the trim. 
8   Install the trim.

So that's about 8-10 days of work for 1 doorway.  And really, it's still not done then because you have to go back and fill all the holes and caulk and then repaint everything with another coat.  So anyway, it's kinda sucky.  And the work isn't bad, it just takes a long time.

Sam seems to be taking craps about every 3 hours.  I'm getting very tired of cleaning up poopy butts, including my own.   I'm putting the boy on an all-cheese-and-bread diet.  

US-6 Mice-0

We caught another mouse last night. I think that puts the total at 6 since we moved in at the beginning of July. That's more than 1 a month. The mice still seem to prefer the death trap to the happy trap. Maybe we should just buy a fox...

Right now Jay Farrar is playing on the Itunes radio station we enjoy so much.

Last night I (finally) did not wake up in the middle of the night due to dreams of shoplifters. I did, however, have a dream that I was an usher on Letterman.

I like to think that, in most areas of my life, I employ a healthy mix of cynicism and hope. But when it comes to politics, the cynicism really rears its ugly head. I hope that in the coming years my inner thoughts are proven wrong and that somehow the U.S. government becomes a lot less interested in killing people and more interested in subsidizing the sagging compact-disc industry.

She still just wants to Party All the Time, Party All the Time.

Thank you, Eric Elz, for putting Party All the Time back into my head. I mentioned to my boss that I had Party All the Time stuck in my head, and he said, "Yeah, that song's not bad, but the album is terrible." The dude owns the damned album. There are many moments when my boss is completely and utterly frustrating, and then there are moments like that when I love him.

Jeannie is upstairs babysitting Samuel, and I just got home from work, and I'm a bit hungry. It's pretty dim in this room, there's just one lamp on over there by the wall, and there's a tiny little $1.00 clock from IKEA sitting on our bookshelf, and it ticks remarkably loudly for just costing $1.00. I'm wearing a horrible shirt that reminds of something that Pat Robertson might wear on Easter. Every now and again, this laptop makes a sound like there's a little bird trapped inside of it.

There are several things today that I wanted to write about, but I've forgotten them, so they must have been, in the long run, stupid. I think important things generally stay in our heads, and stupid things go away. It's always been a big part of my lyric writing, and why I tend not to write things down.

Does anyone think I use too many commas? I've always been very pro-comma, but sometimes I think I might over-use them.

I remember one of the things I wanted to write about: dream last night where I, maybe Jeannie and I, were visiting the Schlueter-Steinmetz' and although Henry was only supposed to be about 5 or six in this dream, he looked like he was about 13 and looked nothing like the cute little Henry we all know and love. His teeth were all messed up and he looked very....dumb. There's not really any other way to say it. He looked like your stereotypical midwestern farmboy. It was a vaguely terrifying dream.

I hear Jeannie walking across the floor upstairs. Samuel must be asleep and she's coming downstairs to our place.

On the Pot

I have been remiss. Been too busy to write, which is odd. When it rains it pours. Working on MIDSUMMER set, and it's going well.

Some thoughts from the last couple of days:

1. Working Friday night with Jeannie on the set, both of us in work clothes, it's getting late and we're cutting wood, drawing things out with no music on or anything, and it's quiet and fun and peaceful. Joking, yelling back and forth between the buzzing of the saws. And after awhile Wayne Willinger comes in, for some reason, and he's giggly and confesses to us, "I'm an occasional pot smoker..." and he's high and funny and sweet. He's so nice, there to pick up "wigs and ladies' dresses" for a show that the autisitc kids he works with are putting on. He cranks up the radio, because the station is going to be playing a black sabbath album all the way through-- he's been waiting for it all day...it was an odd night, sweet, fun.

2. Not much else. Strange dream last night involving Rich. Haven't been eating too well.

Sweep the Leg

Last night the J-Dog and I practiced a little dancing, then we practiced a little karate (jump kicks), and then we went for a walk. I learned that even though 5 years have passed since I quit smoking, I am unable to walk by a cigarette pack on the ground without stopping to see if it has any cigarettes in it.

I am sad that even though Jeannie and I were practicing our karate moves, I was still unable to entice her to watch the Karate Kid.

Had a dream last night that Sean, Schlueter and I were in rehab. Jeannie was also there, but just because she was visiting. Everybody at rehab liked Sean because he played guitar and sang. Everybody there didn't like Schlueter because she was trying to get everybody to smoke cigarettes, even though we had all quit. And Sean had an affair with our rehab counselor. That was my dream.

I'm gonna buy a chop saw this week for CSC.

Hot Like Oven

I had a crazy dream last night involving Eric Elz and a couple of people I haven't thought about in a decade or more, including Tim Bantle (from high school) and James Dutt (from middle school). Eric had a terrible haircut and was very strange in my dream. When I woke up, Jeannie asked me if I remembered being on my hands and knees on the bed during the night, which I didn't, and I don't even want to know what I was dreaming about while that was going on. She said she tried to talk to me but I wasn't making any sense, but eventually she was able to talk me into lying back down.

It's been hot here, as I guess it's been hot all over the damned country. If it isn't hot where you are, consider yourself lucky.

Been busy at work. Loving the new apartment. Blah, blah, blah. Same ol' b-crap.