Part of last night's dream can probably be explained by the sight of Victoria staring at me from the living room darkness before I went to bed last night with glimmering green eyes. But the dream began in a complicated three-dimensional white stucco maze of a house, where I lived with a few relatives. Some of those relatives had begun to complain about an infestation of demons in the garden. This garden, which I viewed through one of several large, pane-less, fully open windows in the first storey bedrooms, consisted of miles and miles of flat, red, sandy desert, like a Martian landscape. The demons were clustered in slow moving herds a couple miles away. They looked like hunched, emaciated red clay skinned old hairless men. I knew the only way to kill them was to use bullets made from cat matter.
I couldn't find any dead cats, so I stuffed Victoria alive into a small, transparent shell, like the gelatine case of a pill. She shrank easily, and crouched at the end of the shell to stare warily back at me with the glimmering green eyes. I somehow managed to kill all the demons with the one bullet, but I was afraid to look inside the shell afterwards to see what had become of the cat.
I drove to North County Fair mall yesterday and saw this poster for the upcoming Stardust movie in the form of huge banners all over the mall, and even pasted on the elevator doors. I have this bad feeling Stardust is going to be a very good, but quite unsuccessful movie. I just can't imagine many people wanting to see a movie based on this poster. I like Tristran's overtly phallic sword and Yvaine's expression that seems to say, "I know quite a bit more about important things than you possibly could, but I'm willing to let you join in my fun for a few hours." But I'm not sure I like these things in the right way, and the movie already has to work against a title that might suggest to people a 1970s Ice Capade.
As I was approaching my grandmother's house on my way back from the mall, I found myself behind a white utility truck which pulled over to the left, facing the wrong direction. I didn't think too much about it, parked, put my iPod back into my bag, got out of the car, and heard, from a distance away, "You need to slow down!"
I turned around to see a large man with a big white moustache had gotten out of the truck and was now glowering at me from across the street. I laughed and said, "What the fuck're you talking about?" I think I've been waiting weeks for an opportunity to say that to someone.
"You were driving too fast!" he said, "I was backing up--I could have hit you!"
Now, anyone who's ever ridden with me knows that I'm ridiculous about observing the speed limit. I'm never in a hurry, and I'm annoyed by all the pricks who have to rush by everyone on the freeway so they can buy a new cell phone or whatever. I especially hate people who speed in a residential area, particularly around here where there are often kids playing in the street. I also don't, under any circumstances, tailgate (and I love orange juice. I've patterned my life after Robert Loggia).
I said, "I was behind you, jackass, if you're backing up, it's your responsibility to look out for cars behind you!"
"You were speeding!"
"I was going the speed limit, if not slower!"
"Do you want trouble?" This guy was big--he looked exactly like Paul Teutul, Sr., and I had no doubt he could pound me into the pavement. Even so, all this made me think was that I didn't have to go easy on him;
"What the fuck do you mean, trouble?"
"I'll call the cops."
I laughed, "For what?"
"I'll tell them you were speeding."
"I wasn't speeding, asshole!" How exactly I could have been speeding if I was behind him is an interesting question that sadly wasn't addressed.
"You don't have to cuss."
I laughed again; this was incredibly rich, and I was starting to feel really good, "Ah ha."
"What does that mean?"
"I was saying 'ah ha' like you'd said something threatening, like you'd said something intimidating."
He seemed chastised but still sore, "I was just telling you to slow down . . ."
I grinned, showing him my missing front tooth again. It occurs to me now I must look like a Jack O'Lantern. I said, "Oh, okay," and left him alone.
I think what I learned is that I like fighting. A lot. Sure, only when it's called for, but when it is, I love it, I have to admit. I am from Mars.