Thread of Dreams

[Dr. Medulla]

Had a weird one last night – it was the first semi-coherent dream that I’ve been able to remember in several weeks. I was in my twenties, and I was hanging around with an old friend from high school (I think we were just walking around smoking pot) when I was “discovered” by some kind of very rich talent agent, who was convinced I could sing. The talent agent’s name was Ken, and he was an eccentric combination of Buffalo Sabres owner Terry Pegula, John Candy, and one of my old college professors. He was very fat and wore a Hawaiian shirt. I hadn’t been singing, nor can I particularly sing at all, but for some reason he was thrilled to have discovered me, and was convinced that we were going to make a crapload of money from some venture he had cooked up that involved me singing. It was kind of exciting, and though privately I was doubtful that I could pull it off, my friend and I went along with this guy’s plan as a lark. We drove to his place of business in his very expensive car, which was not unlike “The Homer”. When we got there, the outside of the business was a building that sold drinks and snacks from a window that fronted the sidewalk, but inside it was just like a very large and messy office. There were numerous employees there, who were basically just hangers-on. They weren’t really doing anything but milling about, while Ken the agent kind of went around whipping them up, like Monty Brewster – “We’re in the business of making money, so let’s make money!” – that kind of thing. He plopped me down at a cluttered computer desk for some reason, and then left me and my friend alone. I had no idea what the hell I was even supposed to do. My friend messed with the computer briefly, the result being that it spit out a name tag for me with some kind of colorful photographic background on it. Ken the agent returned and I showed him the name tag as proof that I had actually accomplished something. Ken was displeased, as the name tag was not supposed to have a photographic background on it. “Didn’t you even read the instructions?” he asked. Well no, I hadn’t, actually. A bit peeved, Ken scurried off to try to rectify the situation. And then I woke up, never having sung a note.

If you're willing to perform under the name Big Anus the Rodeo Queen (or The New Big Anus the Rodeo Queen), we might be able to come to an arrangement.
https://clashcity.com/boards/viewtopic. ... 15#p520615

Ha! I remember reading about that one as a lurker some time before I started posting. I had mis-remembered it as Alice the Anal Queen though. Not crazy about the name, but I’ll think about it. Should my name tag have a colorful photographic background, or just plain? I want to get off on the right foot as I think I blew my big chance with Ken.

I encourage creative freedom with all my artists, so let your name tag look however you want, Big Anus.

In that case, how about A-Daddy the Rodeo King? I’ll perform in a cape, of course. Nothing embarrassing though - I’d like to keep it tasteful and family-friendly. I’ll require a live band (including a sweaty sax guy), lots of female groupies, probably some coke (to conquer my stage-fright), and some large bodyguards.

I agree to everything but the name change. Big Anus the Rodeo Queen has been trademarked and is a proven lucrative brand. As Mike Love said, don't fuck with the formula.

[Kimmelweck]

If you're willing to perform under the name Big Anus the Rodeo Queen (or The New Big Anus the Rodeo Queen), we might be able to come to an arrangement.
https://clashcity.com/boards/viewtopic. ... 15#p520615

Ha! I remember reading about that one as a lurker some time before I started posting. I had mis-remembered it as Alice the Anal Queen though. Not crazy about the name, but I’ll think about it. Should my name tag have a colorful photographic background, or just plain? I want to get off on the right foot as I think I blew my big chance with Ken.

I encourage creative freedom with all my artists, so let your name tag look however you want, Big Anus.

In that case, how about A-Daddy the Rodeo King? I’ll perform in a cape, of course. Nothing embarrassing though - I’d like to keep it tasteful and family-friendly. I’ll require a live band (including a sweaty sax guy), lots of female groupies, probably some coke (to conquer my stage-fright), and some large bodyguards.

I agree to everything but the name change. Big Anus the Rodeo Queen has been trademarked and is a proven lucrative brand. As Mike Love said, don't fuck with the formula.

Dang. No deal I guess. Finding the right agent/management really is the hard part.

I wish you all the best in finding your Big Anus.

[Dr. Medulla]

Ha! I remember reading about that one as a lurker some time before I started posting. I had mis-remembered it as Alice the Anal Queen though. Not crazy about the name, but I’ll think about it. Should my name tag have a colorful photographic background, or just plain? I want to get off on the right foot as I think I blew my big chance with Ken.

I encourage creative freedom with all my artists, so let your name tag look however you want, Big Anus.

In that case, how about A-Daddy the Rodeo King? I’ll perform in a cape, of course. Nothing embarrassing though - I’d like to keep it tasteful and family-friendly. I’ll require a live band (including a sweaty sax guy), lots of female groupies, probably some coke (to conquer my stage-fright), and some large bodyguards.

I agree to everything but the name change. Big Anus the Rodeo Queen has been trademarked and is a proven lucrative brand. As Mike Love said, don't fuck with the formula.

Dang. No deal I guess. Finding the right agent/management really is the hard part.

I wish you all the best in finding your Big Anus.

Ahab had his Moby Dick; I have my Big Anus the Rodeo Queen.

[revbob]

Big Anus sold out years ago.

[Dr. Medulla]

Big Anus sold out years ago.

Fuck you, man, fuck you! That deal with Kodak was street-level legit!

[Dr. Medulla]

Interesting event last night. The dream wasn't anything special. There was a beautiful and large old bookstore that was going up for sale. I was involved in its sale in some way. One buyer wanted to preserve it, the old looked at all the aesthetic touches as financial liabilities and would be better sold off. Then I encountered an old co-worker—not from when I worked at a bookstore but as a researcher—and then got a gut flip in the dream and real life, the kind I often get when I have a seizure. I either woke up right away or shortly thereafter and had the telltale sweat of a seizure. Notable, too, because I'd had a seizure early that day. Those things normally come in clusters—I'll have, like, three in a month—but rarely so quickly. Clearly, Jesus is signalling me to enact His plan.

[Kimmelweck]

Interesting event last night. The dream wasn't anything special. There was a beautiful and large old bookstore that was going up for sale. I was involved in its sale in some way. One buyer wanted to preserve it, the old looked at all the aesthetic touches as financial liabilities and would be better sold off. Then I encountered an old co-worker—not from when I worked at a bookstore but as a researcher—and then got a gut flip in the dream and real life, the kind I often get when I have a seizure. I either woke up right away or shortly thereafter and had the telltale sweat of a seizure. Notable, too, because I'd had a seizure early that day. Those things normally come in clusters—I'll have, like, three in a month—but rarely so quickly. Clearly, Jesus is signalling me to enact His plan.

Damn, best wishes Doc. I had a childhood friend named Bill from 3 houses down who had constant seizures. They started when I was about 10 and he was 11 – early 80s. There was a 2 week period where he had a couple head-trauma injuries, and they began shortly after. The first injury occurred when we were sitting on our bikes in my parents’ driveway. I remember he had a small orange bike with a big black banana seat. Out of nowhere, he got the sudden inclination to race down our driveway on his bike, towards the court across the street. He just took off. When he got to the end of our driveway, he didn’t bother to look both ways - as he entered the street, a car smacked into him from the left, going about 25 mph. I can still picture him flying about 10 feet into the air and bouncing off the hood of the car. The poor lady driving slammed the brakes, stopped, and was horrified, but it wasn't really her fault. A parked car had blocked her view and he just darted out in front of her. Anyway, he bounced off the hood and onto the ground, got back up, and seemed more or less ok – just looked a bit shaken and embarrassed. In those days, if you weren’t mangled, you’d brush it off and there was little thought of going to the hospital. In hindsight, I’m sure he must have whacked his head pretty badly. About 2 weeks later, I heard that he had slipped in the shower, whacked his head again, and was a bloody mess. Shortly after, the seizures began and he was diagnosed with epilepsy. When he was about 14, he had surgery to remove a cancerous brain tumor, and then a year or so later his family moved away and I never saw him again.

During the period after his injuries and before the family moved, I witnessed about 50 of his seizures. By age 11, I was a bit of an expert at recognizing the early signs. We’d be standing around, and he’d get that 1000 yard stare. Then he’d start twitching, and down he’d go. I caught him on the way down many times, and would just hold him until he came out of it a couple minutes later. Probably 15 times though, I saw him go down and was too far away to get to him. He’d whack his head on the pavement, there’d be a slight pause, and then instantly a pool of blood a meter across would just expand around his head and onto the driveway. I saw that happen so many times, and man, it would be so quick. I can still picture it, not red like in the movies, but a much darker color. There’d be nothing, and then in the space of a heartbeat or two, there it was. I’d wind up sitting in that pool of blood just cradling him. Crazy shit to see as a kid. We’d get him home to his parents, holding a towel to his chin, and I’d hose the blood off the driveway and onto the lawn. We'd hang out on the grass as much as possible for that reason. For several years, he had to go around in a batting helmet, but he always seemed to have stitches in his chin from his latest fall.

[Dr. Medulla]

Ugh, that's horrible. Whatever adjustments I've had to make to my life—chiefly, I don't drive anymore—it's nothing compared to what so many epileptics go thru. Just terrible, especially when they don't have any warning that an episode is coming on. Frankly, I feel like a bit of a poseur in comparison. Yeah, I'm in the club, but not really in the club.

[revbob]

Ugh, that's horrible. Whatever adjustments I've had to make to my life—chiefly, I don't drive anymore—it's nothing compared to what so many epileptics go thru. Just terrible, especially when they don't have any warning that an episode is coming on. Frankly, I feel like a bit of a poseur in comparison. Yeah, I'm in the club, but not really in the club.

Time to revive that side project Big Anus and the Epileptics

[Olaf]

I dreamt I pulled out the toenail of my big toe and there were tiny picture cards behind it. I think one showed the Taj Mahal.

And yet I had no doubt the nail was gone. I was thinking "Dang, guess I have to see a doctor now..."

[Dr. Medulla]

Ugh, that's horrible. Whatever adjustments I've had to make to my life—chiefly, I don't drive anymore—it's nothing compared to what so many epileptics go thru. Just terrible, especially when they don't have any warning that an episode is coming on. Frankly, I feel like a bit of a poseur in comparison. Yeah, I'm in the club, but not really in the club.

Time to revive that side project Big Anus and the Epileptics

That is such a perfect No Wave band name, straight outta 1978.

[Dr. Medulla]

I dreamt I pulled out the toenail of my big toe and there were tiny picture cards behind it. I think one showed the Taj Mahal.

And yet I had no doubt the nail was gone. I was thinking "Dang, guess I have to see a doctor now..."

Speaking of my stomach doing flips …

[Kimmelweck]

Ugh, that's horrible. Whatever adjustments I've had to make to my life—chiefly, I don't drive anymore—it's nothing compared to what so many epileptics go thru. Just terrible, especially when they don't have any warning that an episode is coming on. Frankly, I feel like a bit of a poseur in comparison. Yeah, I'm in the club, but not really in the club.

Glad to hear your situation is of the milder sort. Bill’s older brother Craig (a year and a half older) saw more of it than I did. The upside was that Craig got to play on our little league team a year beyond the upper age limit, to keep an eye on his brother. Craig was like 6 feet tall and weighed about 165 pounds at age 13, and he was our ringer. Never knew a bigger kid. I recall one game, it was the bottom of the 9th, and we were down a run with 2 out and a guy on second. Craig took the first pitch and parked it. As he rounded 3rd, celebrating his game winning homer, the asshole ump yelled, very late, “foul ball!” Well, Craig was pissed. Tears of rage streamed down his red face. He went back to the plate, furious and shaking. The pitcher was probably 4’8” and 110 pounds and he was terrified. Craig took the next pitch and parked it again. Only this time, the ball sailed over the right field fence, over the second ball field beyond the fence, over the right field fence of the second ball field, and into a pond. A double homer, fueled by total angry Hulk strength. It would have easily been a homer in any MLB park. That’s probably my best baseball memory, or at least right up there with my Willie Stargell chicken wing story.

[Dr. Medulla]

Ugh, that's horrible. Whatever adjustments I've had to make to my life—chiefly, I don't drive anymore—it's nothing compared to what so many epileptics go thru. Just terrible, especially when they don't have any warning that an episode is coming on. Frankly, I feel like a bit of a poseur in comparison. Yeah, I'm in the club, but not really in the club.

Glad to hear your situation is of the milder sort. Bill’s older brother Craig (a year and a half older) saw more of it than I did. The upside was that Craig got to play on our little league team a year beyond the upper age limit, to keep an eye on his brother. Craig was like 6 feet tall and weighed about 165 pounds at age 13, and he was our ringer. Never knew a bigger kid. I recall one game, it was the bottom of the 9th, and we were down a run with 2 out and a guy on second. Craig took the first pitch and parked it. As he rounded 3rd, celebrating his game winning homer, the asshole ump yelled, very late, “foul ball!” Well, Craig was pissed. Tears of rage streamed down his red face. He went back to the plate, furious and shaking. The pitcher was probably 4’8” and 110 pounds and he was terrified. Craig took the next pitch and parked it again. Only this time, the ball sailed over the right field fence, over the second ball field beyond the fence, over the right field fence of the second ball field, and into a pond. A double homer, fueled by total angry Hulk strength. It would have easily been a homer in any MLB park. That’s probably my best baseball memory, or at least right up there with my Willie Stargell chicken wing story.

Sweet. I hope he glared at the ump the entire time he rounded the bases the second time.

[Kimmelweck]

Ugh, that's horrible. Whatever adjustments I've had to make to my life—chiefly, I don't drive anymore—it's nothing compared to what so many epileptics go thru. Just terrible, especially when they don't have any warning that an episode is coming on. Frankly, I feel like a bit of a poseur in comparison. Yeah, I'm in the club, but not really in the club.

Glad to hear your situation is of the milder sort. Bill’s older brother Craig (a year and a half older) saw more of it than I did. The upside was that Craig got to play on our little league team a year beyond the upper age limit, to keep an eye on his brother. Craig was like 6 feet tall and weighed about 165 pounds at age 13, and he was our ringer. Never knew a bigger kid. I recall one game, it was the bottom of the 9th, and we were down a run with 2 out and a guy on second. Craig took the first pitch and parked it. As he rounded 3rd, celebrating his game winning homer, the asshole ump yelled, very late, “foul ball!” Well, Craig was pissed. Tears of rage streamed down his red face. He went back to the plate, furious and shaking. The pitcher was probably 4’8” and 110 pounds and he was terrified. Craig took the next pitch and parked it again. Only this time, the ball sailed over the right field fence, over the second ball field beyond the fence, over the right field fence of the second ball field, and into a pond. A double homer, fueled by total angry Hulk strength. It would have easily been a homer in any MLB park. That’s probably my best baseball memory, or at least right up there with my Willie Stargell chicken wing story.

Sweet. I hope he glared at the ump the entire time he rounded the bases the second time.

He sure did – he probably outweighed the ump, who was maybe 17 years old.

While I’m on the subject of head injuries, one more story about a bell-ringer of my own. When I was about 9, we would play “smash-up derby” on our bikes in the court across the street. We’d just ride head-on into each other like little idiots – it seemed like a good idea at the time. On one occasion, I was facing off against Craig, who easily outweighed me by about 40 pounds back then. We circled each other like gladiators. My last memory was of the two of us turning our bikes toward each other, about 50 feet apart. I awoke several minutes later on the couch in my parents’ living room, a couple hundred feet away from the scene of the collision, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, surrounded by the scarecrow, tin man and lion, and I think Auntie Em, who were actually my very-relieved parents and friends. Craig had carried me the distance. He was a good guy.