Night Visions, August 2015

Codes: "IRL" = "in real life". "INV" = "in Night Vision", meaning untrue in real life. 

"Skip" means a sudden transition from one segment to another. "The 1250" references my childhood home, a (too) frequent setting for my visions. Josie is my daughter, and most of my life has been spent with Chicken and Alex as friends. Any other people referenced, past jobs worked at or life experiences are real unless otherwise noted. 

 

 

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Night Visions Hall Of Fame

 

 

(Dates of awakening listed)

At This, She Was Simply The Worst (August 31, 2015)

 

Vision A) I'm in a flight simulator of some sort with a dude I don't know. We zoom up a freeway and eventually go airborne, dodging heat-seeking missiles. Nothing too noteworthy there, but how do we go from that to...

 

Vision B) A group of 15 famous singers in a competition...to stand the longest on one foot. Tina Turner especially struggles maintaining her balance.

 

 

Skillz, The Gay Psychopath Celebrity Burn Victim (August 30, 2015)

 

I'd like to open by reminding you readers once again that nothing in this section is made-up. Everything you read actually unfolds in my mind as I slumber...as hard as it may be to believe.

 

Things open with me and my "buddy" Buster Posey shopping in an open-mall Target—think an outdoor food court, but with aisles of clothes and housewares in place of anything related to food. We pay in separate lines, but Buster comes to my line and leans on me like a girlfriend might...in effect cockblocking me from the cute cashier. God damnit, Posey.

 

Despite his space issues, we get separated upon exiting the mall and I wind up on an elevated park—two old pals of mine are on a hiking trail that becomes a long slide at the very top. Carrying two bags of groceries, I watch them descend...then the park morphs into a multi-story house. I continue ascending, not sure what else to do.

 

At the top, I'm ready to turn around...but can't find where the groceries were set down. The search necessitates repeated trekking up and down the stairs, and when one trip up is blocked by a slow-moving pair, I yell "MOVE, PEOPLE!!" They do; I soon find my bags and exit the premises. 

 

Outside, I overhear the dad of my bud Arnell referring to me as a "psychopath" and inventing a driveway incident to prove his point. I get his attention and diplomatically tell him to f--- off and go to hell.

 

Now, I'm walking aimlessly with the groceries...and an empty stroller. Sweaty and exhausted, I drag into an upscale area and charm myself inside a hoity-toity party. Sometime during this period I've become Kevin James and, after making a fool of myself at the party, wind up naked and ejected. 

 

Soon, the rest of the King Of Queens cast come for me; Leah Remini goes in for the groceries while I re-dress. Just as we're about to leave, some black guy squirts me with water—or so I think. It's lighter fluid, and he does indeed light a match. The vision ends with me ablaze running down the driveway re-creating the Vince Vaughn fireworks scene near the end of Be Cool.

 

 

Congratulation On A Job...Done. (August 29, 2015)

 

Initially, I'm watching some action drama on TV; two dudes are fleeing and "nearly run a car off the road", which is to say they drove by another unaffected vehicle during their escape.

 

The second car is occupied by mobsters, and they confront the two fleeing dudes—with a tire iron. Then the mobsters flee, opting to take cover in a house along their escape route.

 

I have gone from watching this show to joining the pursuit; my team and I intercept the mobsters outside the house. Two are gunned down before entry; a third makes it inside and holds a woman hostage in the doorway. One of my guys fires anyway, hitting the lady right in the gut. His first words? Not "OH MY GOD!" or "NOOOO! OH, #%*@!" but rather, "I'll never get over this."

 

Then I shoot, hitting the still-erect woman in the shoulder before finally taking out the third mobster, who is still standing there for some reason even though (allegedly) trained shooters are taking aim at him.

 

Nothing To See Here (August 28, 2015)

 

Low sleep, nothing worth mentioning. Something to do with Matthew Perry and Matt LeBlanc, and Murdock from The A-Team on loan to The Fall Guy.

 

 

Why Am I Still Here? (August 27, 2015)

 

I'm standing around somewhere, and surrounded by about a dozen young southeast Asian guys (I'm only pointing this out to emphasize how out-of-place I feel).

 

One of them and I start to chat; I quickly surmise he's not a particularly nice guy. Somehow he knows about my IRL foray into Ju-Jitsu earlier this year and inquires. I answer without trying to sound boastful, because it's clear to me the guy would challenge me if I made myself out to be anything close to learned. 

 

Eventually I ditch him and another dude badgers me—he seems, well, pathetic and awkward. I want no part of him but he keeps pressing me for all this personal info—first, where I did Ju-Jitsu, on and on until he's literally asking for my home address so we can hang out. I awaken before properly dealing with the pest.

 

 

When The Dude's Too Big...And His Suit Don't Fit...Who You Gonna Call? (August 26, 2015)

 

This was a long affair, so we'll summarize. I'm in someone's wedding, and they're having a hell of a time finding a suit to fit me (isn't this supposed to be done well in advance?) The seamstress, etc. even take to laying me down on a table and building the suit around my body like shrink wrap. This is more than a little embarrassing, especially when Bill Murray shows up and takes in the bizarre scene.

 

OSHA Will Hear About This! (August 25, 2015)

 

Tonight's vision brought Good Times, Three's Company, and the San Francisco Giants together—although I don't feel the Good Times segment is worthy of elaboration.

 

It starts out with me as Giants announcer Duane Kuiper walking down some iron spiral staircase with partner J.T. Snow. At the bottom, you can't just walk off—you have to position a seat just right in order to slither out of a small opening. Me/Kuip is 65, so it takes some time.

 

When I emerge, I'm me again, as far as I can tell. I head across the street to assist Jack Tripper in his bistro; outside, a socialite I know won't speak to me. I deduce it's because I removed a sign on the building honoring her father, and once I promise to put it back, she cheerily greets me as if being activated with a switch. It was kind of creepy, actually.

 

Inside, Jack's mentor is squabbling with him, so after Jack serves the mentor and the socialite, he stomps off. The socialite loves the meal—which is essentially a tortilla with spaghetti sauce—and comments on it to me. I run to tell Jack, stopping him just in time from investing in gourmet coffee grounds priced at $250. He rewards me by sending me to clean up splayed poo off the bathroom wall. Thanks, Jack. Appreciate that.

 

Next Time...Call AAA (August 24, 2015)

 

It's a beautiful day, and I'm spending it out along a well-populated pier---other than the presence an IRL crush in a cute pair of shorts, there is zero to complain about. I head toward a general store of sorts, where a trio of loud black guys are positioned on the roof like snipers. Fortunately, all they're shooting are their mouths, harassing  ladies to "Bring me a Coke!" No one will.

 

The serenity is destroyed when a pickup truck is submerged in the waters. I'm asked to assist, and as I do, a former IRL co-worker in his 70's named Joe—who I've thought of about three times since last seeing him 13 years ago—decides to take the initiative once I tell him what's up.

 

He heads to the truck and positions himself on one of those creepers mechanics use to roll under cars. Just as he hooks up some tow device to the truck, it somehow snaps off and launches Joe down the pier on his creeper at about 50 mph. It crashes into/under a parked boat, smashing Joe's head against the bumper pretty damn hard, as you might imagine.

 

I can still hear the terrifying screams of Joe's adult daughter, who's essentially watched him die. I immediately woke up with a racing heart.

 

Chick In A Box (August 23, 2015)

 

I'm watching a documentary about myself; apparently some time back I rescued a captured young woman from the hidden compartment of a crate in a dark room. I had no known connection to this chick, no law enforcement power, but the captor just let me remove her with zero resistance at all.

 

Actress Nicole Parker of MAD TV is interviewing me. When attempting to describe the layout of the rescue zone, Parker takes my hand and runs it up her bare thigh to use as a "guide". Nicole is an attractive gal, so trust me, there were no complaints.

 

 

This Is Why I'm Not A Cop (August 20, 2015)

 

Free tickets to a play...but Josie and I are only allowed to sit backstage while the actors rehearse in a huge circle. They don't enjoy it. Neither do we.

 

Skip to the replay of some dunk contest I entered. I've actually leaped through the air, gone between my legs, and started to throw down before fumbling the ball away. Friends and I lament my lost chance at glory. (Note: I could not do this IRL even with a trampoline.)

 

Skip to Law & Order: SVU. Benson and friends catch a 71-year-old woman having underwater sex with a 40ish captive against his will. "He's raping me!" she hollers. "No, he isn't." Benson coldly replies as she arrests granny. At the precinct, I try to prevent the victim from banging his head on the wall in a suicide attempt...which I could have easily done by, I don't know, moving him away from the wall. Instead, I unsuccessfully try reason. Fail.

 

Skip to a news article with a dumped woman setting a Rottweiler loose in the apartment of the ex's new lady. No word how she snuck a whole dog into an apartment.

 

Lastly, skip to a baseball game with me and former IRL softball teammates. For some reason I'm using Chicken's glove, and drop two easy throws with it. Switching to my own glove, I make the next two plays and we win! Chicken rewards me by taking me to watch the 1989 World Series. How nice of him.

 

 

We Have To Protect The Dream (August 19, 2015)

 

At Target, I browse the book section and come across this title: "Is Hakeem Olajuwon's Apartment Safe?"

 

Following a weird sequence where the steps for a black guy to buy a hot dog from an Asian lady are ridiculously complicated, we skip to Oracle Arena—more specifically, a video of it. I'm searching for myself and a buddy chillin' with Stephen Curry pregame...but the camera didn't catch it. Back live at the arena, said buddy and I are with Curry...except he's actually a chunky 45-year-old coiffed chick who I saw on Judge Judy that day IRL. 

 

But she's got a Curry jersey on, so we just go with it and take pics.

 

What A Cow-ard (August 18, 2015)

 

I've got a townhouse. The bedroom is mine; the garage area is rented out to a family of three. Whenever the garage door button is pressed and the door activates, a belt lying on the floor freaks out and runs away in fear. (Yet somehow makes its way back to the original spot.)

 

I'm watching a war movie with some guy who refuses to explain deaths to his young kids, for obvious reasons. Some snooty counselor materializes and gives him grief for not doing so. ???

 

Lastly, I'm adopting "Homer Easterling's" kids.

 

She's Multiplying! (August 17, 2015)

 

I'm back in high school—wtf with all the high school visions lately—in class, staying true to high school character working hard to ignore a girl I'm into. Class lets out, for the summer apparently, and rather than mill about saying goodbyes to all my fellow students, I do as I did IRL and all but run home. (I had serious social issues back then, risking discipline by going out of my way to avoid rallies and even being photographed for the school yearbooks.)

 

There, my uncle is waiting for me, and orders me to store some tubes of gunk in the garage, freezer and refrigerator. When your uncle tells you to store gunk...you just shut up and do it.

 

Finally, I'm at some grocery/drug store, searching for ingredients for some meal I'm making. Each aisle I go down is populated by the same girl from high school I was trying to avoid—no more ingredients! But I don't want to walk out empty-handed lest they think I'm stealing, so I buy grocery bags. I also make a complete fool of myself to the cashier.

 

Judge Vs. Judge (August 16, 2015)

 

Remember The Practice? Sure you do. Remember how Eugene (Steve Harris) became a judge in the final episode? Of course you do—who doesn't? 

 

In tonight's vision, Eugene has been up to no good and is brought to trial. "I have been an upstanding member of the court for 20 years!!!" he argues. "So that gives you the right to start killing people?!" the presiding judge responds. Before the trial ends, some bad guys come after Eugene on the streets—not unlike what happened to the character Steve Harris played on New York Undercover.

 

Additionally, my cousin allows one of his dogs to maul the other one to death for no reason.

 

No, My Name Is...Uh..."Skullz" (August 14, 2015)

 

Chicken and his fiance have downgraded to a cozy (cramped) space with an open garage area between the parking lot and their door. One night I arrive to visit and park my Golf (?) in what I believe to be a parking space. Hours later I find it "relocated" because it turned out I parked on a walkway. A walkway that leads to nowhere wide enough to fit a car. Whatever.

 

The garage area comes into play when I use it as a hiding spot to avoid a couple I know who I have no interest in seeing. When that doesn't work, I simply pretend they've mistaken me for someone else. Things end with somebody body-slamming Mr. T in a wrestling ring.

 

Brandon Must Die (August 13, 2015)

 

Warning: nothing here makes any sense.

 

I'm in the crowd of a baseball game, and by crowd I mean a few dozen people seated indoors in auditorium chairs. Suddenly I decide to give a little girl a few seats down a "souvenir". The souvenir is a hand-strengthing grip—not a baseball—and I underhand three of them to her; she's elated. Skip to the 1250, where the souvenir is now stored...and now a wooden plaque of some sort. I autograph it "Miguel Jimenez" with some silly motivational message I can't remember now.

 

Then I get the idea to kill Giants SS Brandon Crawford for no reason. I position myself on the dark stairs and wait for him. When I hear who I believe to be him, I shoot four times. Downstairs, I discover Crawford is...a bug, now trapped in some sticky goo on the floor trying desperately to escape as other bugs close in on him. This makes me feel bad. So apparently it's possible to murder innocent men and still have a conscience.

 

Finally, I'm about to go jogging with some woman wearing nylons as pants (?). We start to head down a staircase but on the first step is an obese sleeping cat. I yelp to arouse it, and it half-runs, half-falls under the stairs in a panic. I couldn't make this stuff up.

 

 

My Mom Can Fly! (August 12, 2015)

 

My mom and I are headed to my ex's (fictional) five-story apartment building to pick up Josie. While mom waits in the car, I go in, sign in (?) and buzz...and buzz...and buzz, to no avail. So I just walk in the unlocked door. That was easy.

 

Walking up to the fourth floor, my mom has somehow beaten me there and is waiting—with my estranged father, whom I've voluntarily had no contact with for over 13 years. I basically ignore him and head to the ex's apartment...still no answer. Apparently, tenants here have to use a community shower stationed in the 4th floor lobby area—my apologetic ex hustles out of the shower in a towel, dripping and sexy. I can't help but pounce on her. She doesn't resist. 

 

Eventually I gather Josie and we head to CVS; mom needs to grab something real quick so I stop caddy-corner to drop her by the door, intending to park normally afterward. But out of nowhere, a deluge of entering/exiting customers block me from moving until I lose patience and start bulldozing through them. Well okay, then.

 

 

C'mon, Skillz. Pick A Side! (August 11, 2015)

 

I'm facing ex-Giants closer Brian "The Beard" Wilson in a close game, and I don't have a prayer of hitting him—especially since I'm batting lefty, my unnatural side. Luckily, he hits me with his first pitch. I eventually make my way to third base—even sliding headfirst which I've done once in my whole life—where I glimpse Mark McGwire standing in the middle of the dugout as if he's trying to summon a god or something.

Next thing I know I am McGwire and I'm the opposing third baseman rather than a runner; the batter pops up to me and I secure it for the last out. See folks? Identity theft is rampant.

 

 

Mike...Go Home. (August 10, 2015)

 

Strange beginning when the Bundy family from Married With Children are honored on the Wall Of Fame...of my childhood home. Not surprisingly, none of the actors lend their presence to the "ceremony".

 

Skip to some pool, where I'm trying to live out my fantasy of hitting a baseball into the water a la McCovey Cove at AT&T Park in San Francisco. Giants announcer Mike Krukow has nothing better to do than stand there and object to me doing so, but I ignore him. I also miss the pool, and the errant baseball rolls away. Back to that in a minute.

 

Across the way Chicken—newly engaged IRL and also in this vision—seems to be trying to hook up with some bikini-clad, mocha-skinned witch with multi-colored hair. I say witch because she's dogging him out pretty good. My errant baseball gently collides with the back of her heel. She ditches Chicken and heads inside the cabana.

 

I decide to apologize for the ball, just to see how rotten she acts. She surprisingly takes it well, and I'm smitten with her for exactly two seconds until catching another glimpse of her Google-logo hair. As I walk away, some brotha approaches me and sternly asks "What did you apologize for?" I grin and tell him. He seems disapponted that it wasn't something worth beating me over. I can't do anything right on this day...

 

My Boy Was Crushed, Too (August 9, 2015)

 

I've no memory of tonight's actual vision, so in its stead is one incurred during a midday doze-off. Chicken—newly-engaged IRL—is proposing to his lady, but when he kneels down to do so he crushes a snail and his proposal is rejected.

 

So THAT'S Where The Truth Was... (August 8, 2015)

 

In the mood to act like idiots, two buds and myself set out to the woods on an animal hunt. We find...an oversized amoeba. Continuing on, we follow the horseshoe path back to the main road and, perfectly in sync somehow, spontaneously dance the final 100 feet or so. It was not unlike the kids in the opening credits of The Nanny

 

Next, I'm viewing a Marquis Grissom baseball card; the blurb on back discusses Grissom's (fictional) battle with mental illness, fans posting his restaurant visits on the Internet, and those same people wondering why his manager is never at that restaurant. (?)

 

There was also a segment with Mulder and Scully from The X-Files tied in with the terrier of an ex-neighbor whose property I was loitering on...but there's too many gaps in my memory to detail it. My bad.

 

It Even Rhymed And Everything! (August 7, 2015)

 

The (fictional) toddler son of my bud Rob is having a crying meltdown on a public restroom floor. I'm able to get him to fall right asleep somehow. YES, I pick him off the floor first.

 

My uncle introduces me to his "mom", who is actually some Caucasian chick who's younger than him. The topic of caring for Josie if I ever can't comes up, and I get strangely emotional when asking this uncle to help look after her. He stares at me as if to say "maybe I should take her now, you big baby."

 

Finally, I re-graduate high school at my current age of 35. A bunch of old classmates are apparently re-graduating along with me, and exactly zero of them are interested in my (attempted) humorous comments. Afterward, I walk home with Josie; we improvise a really cool song about motorcycles, neighbors and our eyes but can't remember the lyrics moment later. 

 

Um...Class Dismissed? (August 6, 2015)

 

Of all people, Mama June—who disgusts me in every way IRL—sits near me watching TV. She surprisingly smells kind of nice, I'm ashamed to admit.

 

Next, it's the final day of middle school. In two of my classes, the teachers ramble on for so long that I simply get up and leave...even with my mom present.

 

In my last class, my uncle is the instructor. He seems confident and poised despite never having done this before, but things soon deteriorate when the lesson detours into stories of drug use and extensive adult language. Finally, he basically short-circuits and can't form a proper sentence. Oh, well.

 

Feeding Communism (August 5, 2015)

 

Tonight begins with me having a very tough time preparing chicken for some random Russians kickin' it at the 1250. One of them seems prepared to get physical until the skip...

 

....to some unfamiliar neighborhood I'm walking through. A woman starts shouting out my name—she's my mom's (fictional) friend Heather, though they've had zero contact since 1965. Which means she shouldn't know I exist, let alone know my name. Still, I try to be nice. Our meeting suddenly becomes a phone call, during which Heather can't get off the phone fast enough. Well, excuuuse me for not being interesting enough!

 

Finally, I'm attending high school again until I remember I'm grown and don't have to. See ya!

 

 

Keepin' It In The CBS Family (August 4, 2015)

 

Random—Koothrapali from The Big Bang Theory has knocked up one of the characters from The Bold & The Beautiful. I'm gonna assume he was trashed. 

I am also Kooth's enforcer (nerds need enforcers?) and I grab his disapproving father (not the one from the show...some random Indian guy).

 

Dad doesn't believe I'm an enforcer so to convince him I...name a bunch of cities and...make up descriptions of them. It is not clear if Mr. Kooth is swayed. If so, he's an idiot.

 

Next, my entire 707 crew and myself are in suits, chillin' in my crib. One of them will not speak to me because I missed the engagement party of another...even though the engaged guy is speaking to me and not mad at all. This takes a backseat when we stumble upon MLB pitcher Dan Haren raping his former teammate Mike Morse.

 

My notes are barely legible from this point, but apparently Barry Bonds hit a home run that no one could find, and I punched someone in the nose for not "ungripping" me.

 

"And The Pass Is Caught By...Some Guy!" (August 3, 2015)

 

I'm shuttling Alex' daughter Jade to the beach, but just before we get there she changes her mind and wants to make art with her granddad's fancy color pencils instead. Coincidentally, when we reach Granddad's, his pencils just happen to be on a bench in the middle of their cul-de-sac. Lucky kid.

 

At the 1250 is some baby that the former star MLB pitching brothers Ramon and Pedro Martinez are helping my family take care of. How nice of them—when life throws you a curve, it also throws you some fastballs and changeups, apparently.

 

Sudden skip to the broadcast booth; I'm doing a Blue Jays/Braves (?) playoff game with Mike Breen and Jon Gruden. Michael Kay is doing radio in an adjacent booth until knocked out by a foul ball. Instead of sending one of us to take over his duties, we're instead told to stop broadcasting that game entirely and do a college football game instead....that we are not at...that is already on TV...about a sport we know zero about.

 

 

Who's Hungry? (August 2, 2015)

 

All I can remember is discovering an old moldy watermelon slice crammed between the wall and a painting.