Night Visions, September 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.
(Dates of awakening listed)
Could That Second One Have Been Porn? (September 29, 2015)
A disgusting IRL neighbor shows herself into my apartment...and room...and bed. Her man "be too loud" so she's taking half my bed. For some reason, I lack the motivation to argue and resign myself to potentially touching bare skin with this creature.
Luckily, I am saved—Judge Judy appears along with Byrd, and the neighbor's mysterious "lawsuit" is thrown out over her protests. It makes no sense to me, but she's out of my bed so I don't care. Judy and I commiserate about the witch—she was actually nice!
Later, I'm alongside David Ortiz with several reporters. He is ticked about something and warns us all that "nobody better not ever talk to me." Apparently "in" with Papi somehow, I prepare to essentially tell Ortiz that I will continue greeting him and if he punches me, so be it. But before I can, he vanishes, and a shaving homeless dude has taken his place.
In the blink of an eye, the dude goes from shaving outside to emerging from the store with a stack of video games. Calling me by name, the nearby store manager asks me to make sure nobody tries to return those games. The vision ends with me attempting to commit the game titles to memory—"California Dreams" "Tease" and "Need For Speed" are the only ones that stuck.
Why Are You In MY Room Then? (September 28, 2015)
Waiting at Kaiser hospital, my number is never called so I change buildings. (?) On the way, my "agent" ditches me for that reason.
Next, after a segment with two ghetto neighbors reviewing the fictional film "World War 2" (the "2" representing the movie sequel, not the war sequel), things take a suspenseful shift.
I'm in my room...with seven of "my" Golden State Warrior teammates (only one, Ognjen Kuzmic, isn't fictional). We are being announced one-by-one for an exhibition, but because I haven't signed my contract I'm ineligible to participate in any way. Perturbed, I grab my keys and take off—tweaking my ankle leaping down stairs in my haste.
In between me and my car lies a muddy slope; I opt to go right through it, slipping, sliding and rolling my way to the sidewalk. Desperate to get away before the lady announcer can stop me, I struggle for any use of my slippery, injured legs—essentially crawling to the car as the announcer shouts my name. I awaken not having reached the car—heart racing.
I'm Better With Mammals (September 26, 2015)
Cleaning out my fishtank, I've stashed my larger fish in the kitchen sink and two coin-sized ones in a bowl. Problem is, the bowl water is too hot and the tinies cook. I flush them and return to the sink, where I discover the sink water has accidentally drained and taken those fish with it.
Later, some Russian politician (not Putin) and myself play a round of golf. I think up appropriate bets for our match: if I win, the politician has to let me go to outerspace the next time Russia sends someone. But I'm unable to come up with one for if I lose, and waking up renders it moot anyway.
Either's Fine, If We're Talking High School (September 25, 2015)
The setting: a Giants game with many called strikeouts and their 2B Kelby Tomlinson heroics on offense and defense (why has he appeared in two visions now?). As broadcaster Duane Kuiper, I simply walk out of the booth to hide a wood carving in a little sandbox cave until postgame.
On the way back to the booth I give Giants 1B Brandon Belt my glove, but during the middle of the next play he's still struggling to put it on.
Skip to my complex; I trek down many, many stairs with two baskets of laundry in hand. Finally reaching the machines—not making this up—I begin sorting not clothes, but ABC blocks that are taped together.
Things wrap with a televised ESPN poll: who is your most wanted tall first baseman, Orel Hershiser or Fernando Valenzuela.
Left 'Em Wanting Less (September 21, 2015)
Things begin with me—and a pair of useless chicks who don't seem to understand what's happening—interviewing Paul McCrane (Dr. Romano from ER) at his house, which I take upon myself to tidy up as we chat. We even make fun of the dopey ladies behind their backs. Nice guy, that Paul.
Skip to some outdoor downtown mall; Josie is posing in a director's chair having her "official photo" taken by a county worker. We then walk off with her blaring Ice Cube's "Check Yo'Self" from her boombox, until the first wave of obscenities hits and she drops the box, destroying it. I've trained her well.
Lastly, and most embarrassing...
I'm gathered with several Law & Order actors, including Chris Noth, Michael Moriarty and Sam Waterston. (Why I'm there is not explained, naturally.) I'm fitting in; we are getting along very well.
Then I get a bit too comfortable and innocently call Waterston handsome. He is uncomfortable, and no one pays me any mind for the rest of whatever event this is. In fact, Noth openly mocks my subsequent remarks. Fun while it lasted.
One Good Meal Deserves Another (September 20, 2015)
I'm engaged in a game of two-on-two against a couple of hoodlum-types who play a tad, uh, rugged. They snipe, they hook arms, they're basically junior Ron Artests. In the end, we lose 270 to 256. (I don't know, maybe each hoop was worth 16 points or something.)
Later, I'm feeding a large goldfish in a pond. He seems content, until a cat shows up and eats him.
...Congratulations? (September 18, 2015)
There I go, walking thru an alley at dawn, trying to come up with the ultimate rhyme that will get the media's attention—all the words end in "andle" and it's not shabby at all. However, some middle school brat wrecks my flow by uttering something silly like "I caught the bus" to no one in particular as he passes me. Concentration shot, zero chance of recovery.
Skip to home; the Golden State Warriors have just won the NBA title but I don't care because Josie was pouring ice when she was supposed to be putting on her shoes. It should be noted that the Warriors' 50-something co-owner participated in the title clincher.
That Must Be How I Lost The Weight (September 17, 2015)
I'm on a playground with some old co-workers. (How should I know why? I just log the visions.) I'm excited about my significant weight loss and want to share with them but they won't stop talking to each other long enough for me to sneak a word in.
Later, I'm choppin' it up with old pal BJ, wanting to know where our other dawg Chris lives. He tells me to guess. I guess San Francisco. His response? "Nope—Golden Gate!" So my pal either lives on a bridge or a horse racetrack. Tough times.
Hey, I'm Already Bruised Up (September 15, 2015)
Tonight, Skillz is in the big leagues—or, at the very least, he's playing against the big leagues. A Los Angeles Angel hits me with a pitch, then when I work my way past third base, a throw drills me in the spine as I retreat and a brawl breaks out—during which I decide to quit playing, walk off third base and go home.
How You Mistake Fries For Pills?! (September 14, 2015)
I'm a Golden State Warrior, and Josie—age 5—is my backup. I'm battling Tim Duncan inside and reject his shot, but I'm called for a foul. I protest, but Tim "swears to God" I whacked his arm. Okay, then, guess that settles it.
Skip to me on a sidewalk, doing a food swap with a buddy. Ice-T (apparently in his SVU role) intercepts the bag, thinking it's a drug deal. He hauls me away under arrest; naturally I vociferously plead innocence until, convinced he made a mistake, T lets me go—in the middle of some random cul-de-sac. Guess I'm supposed to tap my shoes together to get home.
Next thing I know, I'm watching The Young & The Restless, where a chick smooches Jack Abbott and then all three of her lesbian daughters. If that weren't enough for some formidable morning wood, things end with me feeling up a bunch of thick-legged babes in the water. Christ.
A Near-Miss, A Kiss And A Diss (September 13, 2015)
The brakes on my Pontiac fail and I (gently) crash into the 1250. Reversing, I can't stop the car from drifting into the road but a "skip" saves me from danger. Next thing I know I'm curled up on the couch smooching a girl I haven't seen in 20 years, then I'm rude to some moron asking about the contents of somebody's purse.
Are ALL Your Beds Broken? (September 12, 2015)
Five IRL friends are setting up an Exploratorium (San Francisco science palace) trip on Facebook. They ask me for directions and tips...but don't invite me. Ticked, I spend way too much time trying to craft the perfect passive-aggressive response, but fail.
Later, at home, I open the door and my nude adult male cousin shows himself inside—apparently, his bed broke and he has nowhere else to sleep. So rather than just flop on the mattress for a night, he's trudged across town to our place without bothering to get dressed. (I can't say this would shock me IRL.) As he gets situated, more relatives check in to the hotel Skillz.
We Were Dressed (September 10, 2015)
I lay in bed with a fictional uncle watching The A-Team; as a mission begins, Murdock stops everything because he forgot his car. (?)
Another (actual) uncle calls me up needing a ride, but I refuse because I'm late for high school. There, I kick it in the bleachers with Stephen Curry; we talk strategy as I feed his ego "you better than everybody except LeBron". At least I think that's feeding his ego.
Things end with me behind some lovely suburban home, encountering Dr. Winston Zeddemore from Ghostbusters. I acknowledge him, he says "okay".
At Least One Person WASN'T Laughing (September 8, 2015)
Chicken and I can't stop laughing at (fictional) scenes from Seinfeld and The Simpsons, especially a Jerry "zombie-walk" scene from the former. We go out of our way to re-record and laugh at the scenes over and over and over again to the point it takes over our lives, our food grows mold in front of us and Chicken's fiancee leaves him.
Later, I'm in a cell phone store waiting for over two hours. By the time I'm finally helped I've totally forgotten why I'm even there and have to invent a reason to keep from looking like an idiot and wasting the whole trip. So I claim to need a new phone case that "holds the whole phone", continuing to complicate the request so it doesn't end too quickly—after all, I sat there for two hours!
To receive my case, I must fill out a form that the clerk tries to pass to me, but a needy co-worker keeps prodding him about loving her so I lose patience and leave.
Final scene: a complaint log at our complex. It's meant for tenants to gripe about other tenants, but the most recent entry reads "Y'all niggas always like you out to get me." Guess they're supposed to magically solve who "me" is.
In My Defense, They DO Sell His Shoes (September 6, 2015)
Some teen punk, for unknown reasons, is chauffering me around town. Though clearly an idiot, he promises to signal—so I tolerate him. We pass where a now-gutted Big 5 used to be, then stop at an outdoor court where Michael Jordan just happens to be kickin' it. Of all the conversational options to select from, I choose to inquire about the old Big 5 we passed earlier—"You're an athlete, surely you know what happened?"
Things conclude with me playing a co-ed baseball game watched by Giants IF Kelby Tomlinson in the bleachers. Which might be cool, except when I approach him, he doesn't remember his own name.
We'll Always Have Facebook (September 5, 2015)
At the Food Maxx near my crib with some unknown first-grader. I order the kid to return a box of cereal he grabbed without permission; when he simply stands there befuddled, I shout "ARE YOU RETARDED?!" I then buy my stuff and attempt to put a store employee in the cart as well, but her little body is heavier than it looks, and I abort. Not sure if the kid made it out with me, either. Oh, well.
Skip to some semi-formal event at the 1250 (poor choice of venue, by the way). Some chick with glasses piques my interest; she reciprocates and excitedly adds me on Facebook. But when I follow her up to her area, some other dude "conquers" her, and beats a nearby African senseless for emphasis. Have a nice life, glasses girl.
How About I Give YOU The Tip? (September 4, 2015)
Following a scene with me advocating a soap character (not actor) to take over production of the soap, I've become a limo driver.
My lone passenger is a cutish-but-odd young employee I'm driving from Vallejo to...Vallejo. (Who the hell needs a limo for that?) When we reach her hotel I, like any good limo driver, offer a smooch goodbye. She never answers but doesn't resist—good enough! Any ensuing happy is cut short when those three seniors from the Volkswagen ads charge inside the car.
If that weren't bad enough, a tire goes flat (but I awaken before the salty-tongued seniors start up on me.)
Could These BE Any Bigger? (September 2, 2015)
I'm in Friends, tasked with changing the contact lenses of Chandler. They're huge and use some color-coded solution slots. Obviously this proves difficult and I take so long that my uncle materializes and takes over the assignment.
Things wrap with Skillz the pro wrestler...at least until my opponent starts to leg-lock me. I freak out and go bananas before he's come close to executing the lock, literally running away. Don't think Vince McMahon will be offering that contract.
Dude, You Do Know You'll Have To EXIT Too, Right? (September 1, 2015)
Not much sleep, although I was able to salvage a few "clips". In one, I'm in a giant warehouse where several classic playoff games are underway in the same space—and I'm tasked with playing in all of them at once. So yes, one second I'm on a fast break with the 1996 Chicago Bulls, the next I'm exhausting myself trying to defend the 1989 Detroit Pistons. I'm proud of my vastly improved stamina and not at all in question of the setup.
Later, I find myself outside a CVS at night spending five full minutes putting on shoes to walk over about six feet of gravel/broken glass to enter. Then—like an idiot—I take them right back off inside.