Night Visions, December 2017

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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(Dates of awakening listed)

Don't Tell Me How To Feel, Mike (December 30, 2017)

At the 1250, Giants broadcasters Duane Kuiper and Mike Krukow are loitering in the kitchen. I decide to ask them to autograph a couple of O-Pee-Chee cards (these were real baseball cards, essentially parallel Topps cards with French translations produced during my childhood.)

 

I give Krukow a clipboard to help him autograph his card; he does so...then draws a happy face on a paper attached to the clipboard, free of charge.

 

Kuiper sits down near the table and signs his, all the while trying—and failing miserably—to translate the French text on the card's reverse side.

I'll Never Eat Pork Again (December 29, 2017)

First, I'm a cop, and I find a juvenile stashed in the yard of an IRL friend's house. As we talk, a large dog flies from the house through the air; I whack him with a shovel and continue talking to the boy...who then makes a mad dash for the house. I grab him by the hood and...

...skip to Law & Order: SVU; a new medical guy accidentally hemmorhages phlegm (phlegmmorage?) all over his pot of uncooked neckbones. Rather than immediately toss them, he simply separates them from the others he planned to cook for everyone and proceeds as normal—although, unfortunately, his seasonings are also ruined by the upchuck.

 

A patient needs a minor operation, and though Dr. Warner is supervising, he freezes up, can't do it and questions his choice in career; Warner is clearly displeased. Eventually the kid gets it together, and the episode ends with a friendly tweet exchange between the two that drags on far too long.

I flip on the new Star Wars movie, and apparently Dr. Warner is killed off early in this film, with some unnamed blonde doing (PG) lesbo stuff to her after the fact. Hope it wasn't the neckbones.

Try Throwing A Stick, Wayne! (December 25, 2017)

Initially, I'm bummed after realizing Bookman is the last surviving regular from The Jeffersons. Then it hits me Bookman was from Good Times, not The Jeffersons, Naturally, this transitions me to a (fictional) episode of Good Times; Florida has uncovered $4 and given it to James to gamble with. James, however, gives it to J.J. before leaving—he is killed at the pool hall, and a grieving J.J. vows to never spend the $4. For some reason Florida is a totally unsympathetic bitch; we know you just lost your husband but still, lady.

 

After watching this, I'm inspired to gamble, and just my luck that a horse racetrack is just around the corner. Before I can bet, the horses begin a race with one of them detouring and knocking over a stack of cans. This enrages a pro wrestler (who apparently bet on said horse) and it seems he's going to attack the horse, but instead he inflicts physical punishment on Wayne Knight for several minutes—I can't bear to watch.

When the wrestler gets tired of pummeling Knight and looks up, I run my ass out of there before becoming Victim #2. (Looking over my shoulder; turns out he just saw Julia Louis-Dreyfus and became flirtatious.)

 

Things close with me on an aunt's couch; a very fat INV friend of hers plops down next to me, leaving little breathing room. Then, after reading our fortunes, she takes silent offense because I can't remember my grandma's hospice. She died almost nine years ago, tramp.

"CAN" You Believe Your Eyes??? (December 24, 2017)

My ex has sent me a text message, insisting my mom no longer be allowed to do Josie's hair—even though she's been in Samoa for weeks IRL, apparently the hair is still feeling effects from my mom's last styling. Mom intercepts the message, gets mad, and a text war breaks out with my mom using mostly outdated put-downs from the 1980's and prior.

 

Skip to me showing up in some strip mall for a job interview. apparently I have a rep there because the receptionist snarkily says "Oh, look who's back. You gonna stay this time?" After waiting a whopping minute for my late interviewer, I book it—"Oh, there he goes AGAIN!" says Miss Snarky. I think I'll stop applying there.

 

Finally, I find myself in a grocery store doing a "magic trick"—stacking up 12-pack Pepsi boxes in a way that will catapult 24-pack Pepsi boxes on top of them with the pull of a broken pallet. Employees pass and want me to do the "trick", but when I briefly turn my head, the small boxes have been replaced with glass alcohol bottles. Guys—hard to enjoy a magic trick if we're pulling shards from our persons.

Skillz Gets CREAMED...And Fumbles! (December 23, 2017)

After watching an extremely bastardized version of Wheel Of Fortune (SPRING is misspelled SPR IGN, blank spots on the wheel), I head over to do a sports talk show with ex-NFL exec and current media member Mike Lombardi. (Before my headphones are applied, I have to run to the restroom and wipe a heap of mystery yogurt off my face, however.)

 

Returning to the set, I find a buffet and table occupied by about 10 Asian-American dudes; as I'm introduced, still on-air, I identify one of their Spamburgers as "egg foo yong" and express interest in tasting. When a small piece of my sample breaks off and hits the floor, one diner panics as if major irreversible sacrilege has been committed. My bad...next time don't give me any!

It's A Tabby-Nacle (December 21, 2017)

I am looking for work, and an INV acquaintance appears to have something in mind. Meeting at her house, I'm told the job is "challenging" and "requires commitment", but aside from that details are scarce.

 

She leads me outback and points to the job—apparently, stray cats have a nasty habit of climbing onto the roof of her shed and meeting Jesus; there's at least half-a-dozen needing removal as we speak, with more expected to arrive.

 

Needless to say, continued unemployment won out.

We Fix Cars, NOT Problems (December 20, 2017)

 

I'm an actor inside a clunky-looking studio. I accidentally, and indirectly, cause an older co-star's toddler to fall from a table. Even though he's unhurt, said co-star demands to fight me later on. He's at least 55, but he's capable...uh-oh.

 

On the recommendation of another co-star, I visit two grungy mechanics down the block, seeking advice. They half-assedly listen to my predicament, then go on about their business with an arriving vendor. When I try to pick up our discussion, one mechanic simply lifts my 300+-lb. person with one arm and carries me out. "You are one strong dude," I tell him. He calls me a pussy.

 

Fight time arrives and I look for my foe. He comes from his dressing room 10 feet tall, encased chest-to-knees in a red foam cylinder—he's basically a giant Push Pop. I simply tip him over and rain down punches until he stops moving.

Things close with a skip; I'm on a beach with some huge peg board with game pieces of a man and his dying elderly father attached to it. Based on zero evidence other than their Jewish appearance, I determine them to be Krusty The Clown and his papa. so over to Krusty's three-story house I go to look for the father's property. All I find is a clock radio...end vision.

Below Standard (December 19, 2017)

 

I tried to make something out of this vision: being Stabler from Law & Order: SVU and—with a $50K raise hanging in the balance—being dispatched to half a dozen Bay Area cities to solve a crime that, as it turns out, could have been solved by looking at a church flier near the microwave at my precinct. But there just wasn't quite enough.

Hit The Showers, Kid. I'll Be There Soon (December 15, 2017)

 

Tonight may have set an unofficial record for most skips in one night—no fewer than eight times did my dreams transition from one setting to another. (Not all were mention-worthy.)

 

At the outset, I'm watching my daughter play soccer with friends. After a while, as one might expect, it gets too boring to take so I join in and score a goal to put everyone out of their misery (although it took five tries from point-blank range). I attempt my best Brandi Chastain after the score, but my shirt gets stuck around my head.

With the game over, the adults take the kids to a small theme park. Everything is fine until we learn the only way out of the park is sliding down a tube filled (and I mean FILLED) with liquid soap. Everyone makes the slide...and spits a whole lot after hitting the ground.

 

I next find myself with the cast of the original Full House in that grassy park from their opening credits; everybody's throwing golf balls down and clubbing them at random, including me. At one point John Stamos picks up his ball and throws it at Dave Coulier but hits me in the stomach instead. No apology, either.

 

The vision continues with me groggily calling a friend in the middle of the night; she answers and I apologize, blaming it on me rolling over my phone in bed. Moments later her kid calls me back and goes on and on and on about absolutely nothing and I'm left to either fall asleep on him or hang up on him. I choose the latter.

Lastly, my IRL third-grade teacher is now teaching a high school driving course. A classmate, Zante, keeps calling me by my real name instead of Skillz. When he refuses to stop, I resort to "Just be a pal, Zante!" All the "cool" kids in class fall over laughing at my lameness.

Hit The Showers, Kid. I'll Be There Soon (December 10, 2017)

 

I'm listening to a special version of Sergio Mendes' hit song "Never Gonna Let You Go"; this one includes anti-domestic violence lyrics "Hold your body close to mine, from this day on I'll never, ever beat you" which is a good thing, of course...just a tad awkward, however. After briefly laughing at fictional Jennifer Aniston scenes from Friends, I go to take a shower. At this time, 90-year-old Hall-of-Fame MLB manager Tommy Lasorda—clearly not of sound mind—strips nude and joins me without invitation, until I finally come up with a trick to drive him out without offending or upsetting him.

I'll Be There For You...Unless I'm Dumped, In Which Case I'll Be Somewhere Else With Your Child (December 5, 2017 naps)

 

 

NAP 1: Not much. My Alzheimer's-stricken grandma "rearranges" my childhood bedroom by simply flipping everything upside-down...I'm obviously displeased.

Also, an IRL-deceased uncle visits, confusing the crap out of Josie since he's supposedly not alive. Oooh! And then for good measure, while driving somewhere my heart begins expanding in my chest as if about to burst, and all my passenger does is offer me water. (There was also Sarah Michelle Gellar in a sci-fi film that contains very hot girl-on-girl action, but other than SMG being launched into the outer realm after tormenting the film's protagonist throughout, details escaped me upon awakening.)

 ​

NAP 2: My mom has retired, and been awarded with a huge three-bedroom apartment up north. Josie and I are invited to move in, and we do. Not long after, the cast of Friends is on the premises as well, and after a strange concealed-nudity scene between me, Chandler and Rachel from dual bathrooms, Ross's girlfriend Julie takes Josie out for a bit with my permission. I then nap within the nap....#Inception.

 

Upon awakening, Joz still isn't back—I demand answers from the Friends, who can't believe I don't already know what happened. Apparently, Ross, in love with Rachel, broke up with Julie over the phone, and she was too humiliated to return. Someone went to get Josie but ran into bridge toll trouble, hence the delay, but fortunately my kid IS en route. Phoebe's still mad I wasn't already somehow aware of this.

I then grab a letter addressed to my IRL friend Tammy, reporting the death of her friend. I initially misread it as Tammy dying and am immediately in tears, which earns me sympathy from the girls who think I'm crying about Julie being dumped. I'll take it.

 

I return "home" to the 1250 to gather more possessions, just in time for our family car to roll from a parked position and nearly pin me against the wall (why I try to stop it instead of avoiding it is unknown). Then my uncle emerges, working to convince me he's only 34 instead of 56. Lastly, a former IRL friend shows up with a big dog—I'm waiting for an attack but it's tame, and ex-friend and I bury the hatchet with a hug and smooch. Awwww.

I'll Give You Tide With Bleach, Honey That's No Lie (December 5, 2017 overnight)

 

We open with "Jay From Modern Family" smooching "Gemma From Sons Of Anarchy" (the connection should be clear but if not, oh well) with David Faustino and Christina Applegate looking on approvingly. Someone comments on "the rest of the cast" not being there, leading to confusion—I chime in with "Marcy and Jefferson" info, including shouting down some stairs "HE WAS PLAYED BY TED MCGINLEY!"

 

Skip to a Big 5 Sporting Goods; I'm making a purchase with my hands in my sweatshirt pockets. S.F. radio legend Gary Radnich is the cashier, and he's visibly jumpy when I remove my hands—"If I was gonna rob somebody, it wouldn't be a Big 5...no offense" I tell G-Rad.

 

We end up walking to a sports card shop he used to work at. Along the way, he asks for my opinion on major leaguers who don't draw enough bases on balls; I rattle off a few names (Chase Utley and others) until we reach the shop—at which time a kindergartner playing on the ground grabs hold of my ankles and won't let go. I literally cannot break free from this kid's grip, and Radnich goes on without me. F---.

Skip to a giant mall; I'm training to become some sort of medic/rescuer, and my trainer instructs me to duplicate her rabbit-hop up the nearby escalator. She, being young and small, does so with ease. I, being less young and far less small, do not—but I do better than I probably would IRL. We don't get any calls, so I go off to the side and wash clothes.

Someone has made a Steve Young effigy of my laundry, complete with a pink towel for his brains—creepy and cool all at once. When a semi-attractive female sets up next to me, I'm inspired to sing "I'll Never Break Your Heart" by the Backstreet Boys to myself as clothes are loaded. End vision.

Now THAT'S Pissed Off (December 3, 2017)

 

I've been reading a lot of baseball literature lately (SHOCKER) as my first mention-worthy Night Vision of December firmly proves.

 

At vision's outset, I'm taking fielding practice with third baseman Bobby Bonilla and second baseman Barry Bonds (ex-MLB stars, if ya didn't know). I'm the first baseman, but no matter what I try my glove will not fit on properly; as a result most throws my way aren't caught.

Eventually Bonds gets frustrated and, without a word, moves over to first base as if I'm not even there. At this point I try my IRL 25-year-old backup mitt...and it fits perfectly; I'm instantly able to snag everything my way, which is fortunate because the scene shifts to a small office building, and I have to react fast to protect the actress Tamara Braun from a wild throw.

 

However, I prove unable to protect her or anyone else in the office from the massive human beast in search of something. She shovels in without a word and heads for a restricted room; even as I wrap both arms around her from behind, I can't even slow this defensive tackle-sized specimen.

 

Fortunately, before I'm eaten, skip to Reggie Jackson's house—he's received evidence that his (fictional) son has flunked out of college, just as said son enters the house with a handful of buddies, laughing carefree. Reggie's dad is nearby standing behind a couch; he gets so angry that he wets himself and the back of the couch. 

 

Finally, I'm Giants broadcaster Duane Kuiper, at some sort of baseball executive committee meeting seated at a long table with about 20 others in a banquet hall. I speak of improving MLB, emphasizing that making fans happy trumps making management happy, at which point Giants executive Brian Sabean (who is really ex-players union leader Don Fehr) all but leaps out of his seat, angry at the whole idea of putting fans first. As he spits out vitriol, a break is suggested.

 

After the break, before anyone gets a word out, "Sabean" picks up right where he left off, turning red, ranting and raving as his wife—seated to my right, clad in an exercise jumpsuit—sneaks bites from an entire cheesecake concealed under the table. When Sabean insults me personally I simply walk out of the meeting and into the movie theater immediately outside the room.