The Mall
December 28th, 2006 by Jenny Crimp; one comment
I am walking down 1st ave. with Kathryn and Anna, window shopping. I look in a small store, realizing that it has no windows but the entryways are blocked off with stacks of plastic chairs. This reminds me of a dream I had several months ago and I turn to my friends to tell them about it before I forget. As I turn I realize 1st is now a mall, and still turning, I almost run into a guy and a girl passing by. Kathryn whispers that it is Daniel from ninth grade French, and I hope he will not recognize me. I think that would be unlikely because we are both much different: he has darker skin and circles under his eyes, while I have very short hair.
He and the girl walk off, kiss, and then reappear by our side. We discuss finding a bathroom. To get to the bathroom we have to walk through a restaurant, and accidentally get seated at a round table as we pass through. Daniel sits on one side of the table, and his girlfriend on the other. I sit between them, opposite Anna and Kathryn. The waitress asks what we will have and Anna and Kathryn both reply that they don’t want to eat. I am extremely embarassed by this and immediately get up and leave for the bathroom.
In the bathroom Anna, Kathryn and I discuss the design of the restaurant and bathroom. It is sterile and white with many mirrors, high ceilings, and elaborate mouldings with vines and cherubs. For some reason I am possessed to admire it, arguing that the mirrors give a nice sense of vastness to the bathroom. We are about to leave by another door, so as to avoid Daniel and Girlfriend when a long line of middle-aged women, all wearing severe expressions, business suits, and bright red lipstick file in. They stand against the mirrored wall facing me. One adresses me by name, saying my appearance is really inexcusable. I argue that no one has ever mentioned this to me before, and I don’t believe that makeup or professional clothes are necessary for most occasions. They all frown and shake their heads, and take turns telling me how disappointed they all are, or why red lipstick would much improve my appearance. I finally grow tired of this, yell that I have to go to dance and work and I don’t have time to listen to them, and make my way to the door. The first woman says, “Well why didn’t you say so! That completely excuses your lack of shoes, and maybe even your hair.” I look at my feet and am a little disgusted to learn that I am barefoot in a public restroom, but someone has placed my pink elastic shoes by the door. I hurriedly try to brush the sand off my feet before putting my shoes on, but my feet are wet, presumably from wading in the Sound, and the sand just scrapes up my feet.
Underwater Party with Godzilla
December 28th, 2006 by Alex Walton; no comments
I am at a meeting in the Honors Office to pick a new director. I sit on a stool on the west side of the room and look across at everyone else. They are very pixelated, and the room is enormous. Probably 1000 people are at this meeting. It is like looking at a look quality jpg of a crowd. Kate Noble starts to talk about our ideas for a new director. I raise my hand, but first Ryan Andrews says something. I decline to speak.
The meeting switches location from honors office to underwater cave. We dance and hang out drinking. A large (1.5x scale) head made of tiny spiky beams of light (kind of like fiber optics) floats in the “door” (some portions of the Honors Office are still here) and Kelly Lepenske and I recognize it as looking vaguely like Bill Clinton. Some other boy I used to know puts it “on” and makes a Bill Clinton voice. Kelly laughs at this and moves closer to him. She encourages him to do it again and he does. I follow them as they move off south; really the voice is pretty amusing. When we get into a side-cave it becomes clear that they are going to make out. Kelly is being incredibly flirtatious and the boy is still doing the Bill Clinton voice. I am exasperated realizing that this is the correct way to deal with Kelly Lepenske coming on to you [make the Bill Clinton voice] and I always messed up by being too dry.
I leave the smaller cave with this exasperated feeling and go back towards the door in the west side. As I walk Kelly and the boy come out behind me holding hands, and people start to applaud. I think it’s ridiculous they’re applauding because Kelly and the boy made out, but it turns out it’s because someone new is coming through the door. This new person screams “Sorry I’m late I was watching ‘My Buttress Kissed My Mister’ on Channel 3!” (Note: “A buttress is an architectural structure … which serves to support or reinforce the wall” Wiki). Everyone laughs.
Then, strangely, Godzilla drifts in through the opening to the cave. He is swimming. People are happy to see him. I recognize this as a seen from the second of three Godzilla movies. At this point the dream diverged and imagined those movies in their entire respective plots (they escape me now). Partially: The first one was in color, and was a fight between Godzilla and these colorful geometric shapes, with black outlines, that constantly rearranged themselves. Godzilla won by ascending a hill very quickly. The second was Godzilla versus essentially Mothra, in which G. is eventually victorious by swimming sideways underwater with the help of a farmer. Then the two of them fire torpedoes at Mothra. The third I have no recollection of now. So anyway Godzilla came, the farmer too, and fought Mothra amid much applause from the assembled people. I was bored and walked through a door on the north side.
There was some sort of a contest involving bicycles. I was helping one team with an elaborate plan to dress two boys as girls for the contest. We had just finished one leg, and were undressing one of the girls. He was acting extremely feminine, which made me uncomfortable. I thought he might be confused about who he was. Someone burst in through the door– a judge! We had to make sure he didn’t realize who anyone actually was. I pretended to be a detective and this solved the problem. Then we had to fix a flat tire on the bicycle. When we took the tire off, there was no tube, just black socks knotted in a circle to fill the tire. “Macaiah! You cheap bastard!” I shout. He is not around, but is, clearly, a cheap bastard.
This fish is dead
December 25th, 2006 by Jenny Crimp; no comments
I need to get into the print lab to finish my prints late at night. The door is locked, but I crawl through the bamboo fence surrounding a small garden in the hallway and crawl though a sliding door normally used for four and-a-half mat tearooms or smaller. Instead of leading to the print lab, however, it leads to Alex’s bedroom where a few people sit around on the floor or couch. They are all familiar faces, but I can’t place any of them. Everyone has the air of having put off a task that needs to be finished, and I gradually adopt it. I make a comment about the architecture of the music building compared to the art building that no one hears. The room we are in is partially open to the outside, with arches of white stone. The sky is blanketed with blinding clouds.
I eventually leave; the previous task doesn’t seem to exist anymore or never did. Now I must get my portrait taken for my mother. I squeeze though groups of holiday shoppers crowing Stevens Way. One group, I belatedly realize, includes some people from MRHS. I say hey and pass, but then do a double take when I recognize the guy with interesting facial hair as Max Ferguson. He says he’ll call me and I shake my head.
I enter the front office of the portrait studio, which is in Hall Health. It is crowded with cranky children and agitated parents. I am finally ushered into the back room, which is my deck. The photographer distractedly asks how I want to express myself in the photograph and then pulls out a fishbowl with a few goldfish in it, remarking how cute and meaningful posing with it will be. He sets it on the edge of the grill and indicates that I should lean over the grill from the other side, holding the bowl in both hands and balancing my feet on the base.
I can’t balance like this and begin to say so, but the grill rolls forward with me on it. The fishbowl flies off in a comically slow arc. Before it hits the ground below I am running down the stairs. I reach the bottom and see the goldfish motionless on the rim of the overturned bowl. Even though I know it must be dead I place it in the bottom of the bowl like I am handling a pastry, either with small sheets of waxed paper or an awkward spatula. There is no water in the bowl, and frenziedly I run over to the sprinkler in the yard, holding the bowl under the shower of water. It fills so slowly!
With an inch of water in the bowl I swirl the fish around. It is most certainly dead. Desperate to save something I make a small octopus appear on the patio. It looks rather squashed, but I awkwardly remove the goldfish and replace it with the octopus. Painfully optimistic, I imagine that it moves several times but finally stop swirling the bowl.
At least there were plates
December 25th, 2006 by Ariana Rose Taylor-Stanley; no comments
I had returned, at the beginning of the quarter, to Bainbridge High School instead of the University of Washington.
Having finished my classes at 10:20 (true of my actual class schedule for next quarter twice a week), I went to investigate what else was going on in the school. There was a talent show being rehearsed in a gymnasium down my Commodore that was much larger than BHS’s real gym. I knew Alex Walton’s roommate Ari was going to be singing in it, and there were many, many large and well-rehearsed musical groups entering from all angles in uniform.
Someone asked me about the homunculus and I told them where it was in the brain. They were impressed with my knowledge. Joe Reynolds appeared and told me the plural of homunculus was actually homunculi. He had no shirt on. A large, familiar topless girl embraced him, facing away from me. We looked together into an art room where an art teacher stood behind two naked models, holding them together by the butt cheeks.
I stood at the entrance to the gym stage as Koura Mackey’s play, which began with someone important dying and her character needing to take his place took the stage with much encouragement from Brent Peterson. She had lost part of her very elaborate costume and ad-libbed lines to explain its absence, although I couldn’t detect anything missing.
I realized that most people were watching the rehearsal from outside and that I should probably not be where I was, so I left for the main part of the school to eat lunch.
On the way, Rose asked me if I thought the crew would be there that summer. I was confused, and she clarified that she had actually said “crow”, referring to a crow Joe and I had rescued years ago. She told me that she had done the first half of the rescuing job. I told her I hoped no more crows would need rescuing.
Then I saw Ben Amy, in an ROTC jacket, and stroked his arm to get his attention, but ended up mostly stroking the arm of someone in a brighter green jacket that I did not know. Jeff Pritchard noticed this, and laughed to Ben about how I had fucked up.
I started to get food, but realized I had left my Husky card, which is used to purchase food at UW, in my locker, the location of which I didn’t even know. I also needed someone to sit with besides Ben, who was sitting with Jeff apparently.
As I went outside to look for my Husky card, I saw Sean Fraga and went over to greet him. As I approached, Katie Allen ran away in fear. She explained that on an assignment we had done together, she had gotten credit for the one problem we had disagreed on, indicating that I didn’t know anything. When she calmed down I said sarcastically that yes, I always got every problem wrong on everything and it had been a welcome relief to get that one assignment mostly right.
Sean talked about really liking Yale a little. Someone came out of the cafeteria and gave him something with apples and raisins in it that he had ordered. He also had a plate with hash-browns. I started to realize that all the food was on real, reusable plates. Somehow, Bainbridge had finally switched to reusable plates, and earlier than expected.
I went back inside to get my meal, requesting hash-browns, which the server gave me two of and told me would cost five dollars, and apple sauce in lieu of Sean’s apple dish that had looked so good. But when I looked at my plate, it had many different egg-dishes on it. I tried to refuse them but it was too late. They also put my apple sauce on a small paper plate on top of the rest of the food, as the UW dining halls sometimes do, which I refused too late.
I realized that I still didn’t have my Husky card, and would not be able to pay.
No Sock (Depressing Foot)
December 25th, 2006 by Alex Walton; no comments
I am in the alley by the University Bookstore. By Orange King there is a large (3 feet long?) broken down stone foot (cracked and shattered) and a sign that says “NO SOCK ON ACCOUNT OF DEPRESSING FOOT”. The owner shakes his fist when I walk by.
In front of the bookstore a little Asian child is chasing a professor with two things that roll: an enormous stone head (matches the foot?) and poles which have been constructed to make a sort of steel sawhorse. The professor cries out “but i can’t take them both with me! Aiee! I ‘ll have to chase them down 15th!” He rounds the corner out of sight.
More poles are out front of the bookstore, and Alex Chen is using them to teach history to his students. I take one of the poles (~40 feet long) and clang it against another. It is exactly what I want for my next symphony. An eagle falls out of a cloud and hits the ground with a flop (or something), and the depressing foot and enormous head go rolling by again. How the hell am I going to move this pole. And what is even the deal with that eagle.
First day pattern
December 23rd, 2006 by Jenny Crimp; 2 comments
Odegaard is a giant department store, and I try on formal gowns while some of my companions wait for me outside.
I go to work, where my task is to solve giant word searches. I cause someone to become mummified and have to carry them back to the bakery. This exhausts me more than is reasonable, but it is the first day of winter classes and I am late. I stop by the hub to pick up an energy drink, and spend an absurd amount of time examining the propel water flavors, which include “Oregon Peach and Cinnamon Pie”. I finally move on and see a kombucha mushroom drink that is green and chunky, like olive spread and pond scum suspended in muddy water. This seems like a really good choice, but the instructions read, “dab a small amount in the bottom of your mug and also on the lip of the glass, then dilute with the beverage of your choice.” So I pick one up and go back to the water for a few minutes. Finally I decide against this whole beverage combination and buy a loaf of sourdough.
In class, I find myself next to the Republican in my French class, who is friends with Kathryn. The teacher stresses that they must pick up their screens from the basement so they can get started on their first project for screenprinting. I figure out that they are in a FIG, which really pisses me for the reason that FIGs cheated me out of my ideal classes. I am registered for this FIG and part of another set of classes, all of which I must attend simultaneously. I wonder if I should be in screenprinting and ask when that class ends. Kathryn tells me it is 11:25, and the schedule tells me ART150 ends at 11:20.
“SHIT,” I proclaim unnecessarily loudly. Then quickly discover I do not have to take ART150, beginning screenprinting, and I just have to get to drawing in 5 minutes. Kathryn says not to worry, Brownie will show me where to go. She calls out into the hallway for “Brownie” and I intuitively start calling out for “Mr. Le” and then discover I’m really talking to Brian Le, from fourth grade. I take his arm and we descend several flights of stairs in Loew Hall. The elevator shaft is a cage and all on the screens are piled where the elevator will crush them.
Brian and I rush up the Ave to the church tower/art class. All of the chairs are packed into the corner, arranged in a semicircle around a podium. When we sit, Brian starts drawing an elaborately shaded skull. I take it from him and, with some difficulty begin drawing a spiderweb across an eye socket. As I draw the prof enters and addresses the class. Also, I balance on the web I have drawn and try to make the lines intersect in a more cohesive manner.
The prof says, “Shirley really wants me to introduce you to the neighborhood before we get started, but you won’t tell her if we start right in to our first assignment, will you?”
As he says this he plants flowers in the sections of my spiderweb and when he finishes the question the flowers bloom in patterns that were incomprehensible moments before.
One student says, “Well now we don’t need a tour. We see all we could have needed to know.”
He Is Precarious
December 21st, 2006 by Alex Walton; no comments
On the grey level top of a skyscraper, I am balancing the old wooden chair I sit in on its back two legs. The wind blows hard, and I wobble back and forth with my arms out for balance. Between my teeth I clench a paper cup which I am also spitting in to.
I hide in a white room. When Gabriella walks in I am surprised, and hit the tile floor with a pick, trying to escape. She turns to see me and I take two of something from my mouth and hide them in my pocket; then I crouch behind a stack of firewood.
Hail falls; Picasso instructs
December 20th, 2006 by Alex Walton; no comments
Hail, or something like it, is falling, but doesn’t collect on the ground. There are a number of black trees with no limbs (just gnarled, pointed trunks). Picasso speaks to me about automobiles and their futility. Briefly I see my Sanskrit book is falling apart in my hands. I am aware that Picasso is a school teacher with a rotating blackboard. This is amusing but troubling.
Dragons and Fireballs
December 17th, 2006 by Kris Skotheim; no comments
I am walking down a hall in a very tall building on the 100th floor with Evan. For some reason, I realize that I might be dreaming, so I test the lightswitch near me to find out (from the movie The Waking Life). I switch it with my mind, but I can’t turn it off, only wiggle it, so I realize that I must be dreaming. I try, then, to make it snow in the hallway because I thought that controlling weather would be cool. It doesn’t work, though, so instead I start running through walls, ultimately hoping to fly.
I come to the end of the building and burst out into the open air. I start falling, so I create a dragon I can fly on. The dragon is much larger than I, red, and spikey. I fly around for a while shooting fireballs and lightning bolts out of my fingers.
Soon, my brother shows up on a dragon. It becomes clear that we’re dueling, so I start shooting fireballs and lightning bolts at him. He starts firing missiles at me which explode around me and nearly knock me off my dragon. I call out, “Jerk – I fire a million missiles at you!” Sure enough, a million missiles fly at him.
Before they hit his dragon, he replies, “Oh yeah – I fire a trillion missiles at you!”
“Fine – I fire infinity missiles at you!”
The trillion missiles fired at me and the infinity missiles fired at him all explode at once, which destroys everything.
Mourir
December 10th, 2006 by Alex Walton; no comments
I am standing in a field with my parents and brother. We are some sort of hostages or are trapped by some kind of alien’s/strange beings. It’s cold. We are trying to figure out how to escape. We see a small, white, 1980’s-ish sedan driving in the field. I have an idea and run to the middle of the field, in front of the car. Naturally, when it sees me, the car turns towards me like a heat-guided missile. I begin to move to my right and the car begins to turn. It is dead-set on striking me. Then I move more quickly in an arc, so it tries to turn but skids out on the ice. Now I am sure that my plan will work. It skids for a while then turns around and comes back towards me. This time I wait longer and make the movement more dramatic and sudden. The car tries to turn too fast when it is very close to me. I cover my head with my hands and the car flips, and there is a very loud sound. I understand that I have killed the two passengers.
I have in my hands a package of photos as if they had just been picked up from 1-hour developing. They are from the people driving the car. With a lot of effort I decided to open the package. The first photo is a blurry, color-distorted photograph of a man’s face. This is the driver of the car, and seeing his face, I feel a wave of intense regret. I knew when I forced his crash that he was just a normal person (a pawn in the larger scheme) but seeing the photo makes this more poignant. I flip to the middle of the stack, and there is a picture of a woman lying in bed, mostly clothed but asleep. More regret: the woman was the passenger, and I understand that they were engaged. Somehow this car will help me escape. I feel sick. Some wolves are walking around when I drop the photos on the ground. A school bus idles near by.
Joel and Lizzy and I are talking about politics in a kitchen. Politics and masks, and maybe food of some sort. We are laughing and having a good time. Ariana walks in and joins the conversation. Joel leaves and Lizzy goes into the bathroom. There is some implication of circus or party games. Maybe Joel is going to ride a pogo stick. Ariana slumps over into me and then makes a noise. Lizzie emerges from the bathroom and tells her that it was totally inappropriate.
I call Alexis and ask her if she wants to go the lunch buffet with me in Montlake. She says yes, and then I hear many other voices (her drama friends) on the other end all agree to go. It must be a party, I reason. that is alright with me, because Maya will be there, and Jay as well. Eventually I walk along a trail with a horse. We are going to the buffet.
Ariana and I are lying on the top bunk of a bed in a cabin. Many people I know are there, including some professors. It is the same place as I made the telephone call from. First we talk about exams while I look out the window. She tells me I have done really well on French, and I ask her how she knows. She indicates a diagram on the wall which has our grades posted in little boxes, with a flag denoting each subject. I tell her she has done exceptionally well in environmental studies. I ask how she could possibly have gotten 77/50 on the test. Then we are kiss, though her lips are very sharp and this makes me uncomfortable. After a while, Linda Bierds says “Could you please be considerate of how long that has been going on?” I am embarrassed, realizing that other people have heard us kissing. It seems to early in the morning to make a loud apology to the room so I decide to wait. Ariana says its 2:15, and indeed it is. People get up. We get up. I stand on the floor and Kevin Craft questions my knowledge of birth control and how it relates to school policy. Apparently we are implicated in this knowledge. I mess up and sound irresponsible. Jennifer Beebe says “so are you dressing like a nine year old these days or what?” at which I am angry. She draws a huge butcher’s knife and threatens me with it, screaming. The room reacts and people scatter; Rick Kenney remains silent, takes his baby daughter, and moves a vending machine in order to be able to hide behind it. Ariana runs into the bathroom to hide. Jennifer is still screaming and I realize I have really messed things up. Jennifer waves the knife at me again and cuts into one of the bunk beds. I run to the bathroom and try to apologize to Ariana. She is smiling when I get there which is a huge relief, and then I extend my hand. We walk back into the main room. Rick has come out and calmed Jennifer down. I feel intense regret for having killed the man and woman in the car and consider telling everyone in the room what happened.
Last: I am bicycling down to Des Moines via the road on the water. When I arrive I walk west up the hill, and see a few men of very different heights walking the other direction. This seems important, and it may have to do with the masks that I discussed with Joel. I continue walking.