No Red Pens
 

Never had many work realted nightmares, except the repeating occurence of Table 47 not getting their Fried Cheese. I'd wake up with my heart racing, sweat pouring off me, and hyper ventilating. None of it related to sex.

Anne
Yes, I worked at a restaurant that required Flair.

Olympic Stuff and Oliver Stone SPOILER WARNING
 

You have no idea how much people saying things like this frustrates me.

Olympic hoops
 

Since we're comparing 1980's to the present, what do you think?

BTW, if you haven't read it yer, the SportsGuy has a great column about an all-weekend NBA TV binge. Good stuff.

No Red Pens
 

Isn't that symbolic of the classic fear of being exposed for the fraud you know you are but others have not yet accused you of being?

It's funny, I haven't had a naked-in-public (where I am embarrassed to be naked in public) dream since I was in high school, but during adolescence I had it a lot. I had dreams of going to school in my pj's, of taking a shower in the middle of the hallway outside homeroom, etc.

Now that we've talked about it, tonight I will probably dream of gwinky's avatar planting trees outside the hallway where I am taking an exam for a higher math class I didn't know I was in with a draft of a client newsletter that I haven't started due to my partner the next morning.

No Red Pens
 

I'm always driving in my naked dreams.

Olympic Stuff and Oliver Stone SPOILER WARNING
 

What do you want, a Piston named? We sent your coach . . . who now is in the same bucket as John Thompson and Henry Iba

No Red Pens
 

Hot. Have you ever had a dream where you are in a moving car where nobody is driving and you're struggling to get access to the controls? Usually in that dream I am in the back seat. Sometimes I'm in pajamas or a robe. Often the car is a white 1970s Mercury Marquis.

Do with it what you will.

Olympic Stuff and Oliver Stone SPOILER WARNING
 

Sure, send a different team and you get a different outcome. Maybe.

When was the last time Brazil sucked at a World Cup? Last time around they beat Germany in the final. Replacing them with England and Argentina makes your point.

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I am often walking around non-challantly in my underwear in the office, on the street, etc. In my dreams.

Then I notice. A sort of emperor with almost no clothes thing.

Sometimes other people in underwear are just walking around here, too.

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That is the difference between you and me. In my underwear, I always walk around challantly.

In Other News
 

Apprentice announces candidates:

boston.com article here

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how many pieces did you typically wear? were you an overachiever?

Olympic hoops
 

It was a rhetorical question based on the fact that both Kwame and 2004 Magic are excruciating to watch.

No Red Pens
 

I think that's the only prototypically weird dream I've ever repeatedly had. I'd guess at something like "my life careening down the road totally out of my control", but that's way too simple. It probably really means I want to learn Armenian dance.

No Red Pens
 

When I was about 8, I had a series of vivid and bone-chilling nightmares involving an Evil Plant. Many plants are Bad or Wrong (hi, PLF!), but this plant was Evil. It could kill people who had touched it long after they had gotten home and gone to sleep, etc. And no one knew about its villainy but me. I bore the sad and lonely duty of guarding the Evil Plant to keep away the endless parade of clueless gawkers, many of whom died despite my precautions. They called me mad!

What was weird about this dream was that it wasn't recurring --- it was serial. It was cinematic. Nay, it had a grandeur that was lacking in 1970s cinema. It was operatic.

It culminated after several months in me convincing the President (who may or may not have been Carter, but was definitely a kindly old gentleman who took some pursuading of the danger --- FWIW) to let me take the redwood slat half-barrel in which Evil Plant made its home out on a battleship to drop it into some trench in the Pacific. Still it lurks there.

What was also weird is that my 8-year-old brain came up with this story before ever having seen "Little Shop of Horrors" or having read "Rappaccini's Daughter." I mean, at the end of the day it was just a fucking plant and could be dropped off a battleship without putting up much of a fight. Fuckin' punk-ass pussy plant. Boo-yah!