I dream in color TV

I rarely remember my dreams, but lately, in all the ones I do remember, I'm hanging with characters from TV shows. Sunday night I was at the mall, enjoying a meal in the food court with Jim Halpert, Pam Beasley, Michael Gary Scott, and Dwight Kurt Schrute. Last week I dreamt that I was back on the Lost island -- I say 'back' because it's the second Lost dream I've had. In the first, I was hanging with Locke in the hatch, season two style. In the one I had last week, Ben had been replaced as chief of the Others by some unknown person who immediately enlisted Sawyer to carry out seemingly random kidnappings among the other island survivors. For the end-of-the-episode twist, this mysterious personage was revealed as my friend Marliett, which, if you knew her, would be one of the best twists of plot in Lost history. Of course, let's not forget about Carl Winslow the Cannibal that I blogged about earlier.

I just can't wait for the night when I find myself in cut-off shorts ("There are dozens of us!") painting myself blue with Tobias Funke. Or maybe working a shift at the Banana Stand with George Michael (no, not the 80's pop star). Perhaps I'll find myself appearing as a wisdom dispensing David Bowie in one of Bret McKenzie's freaky dreams ("Am I freaking you out, Bret?").

And I'm sorry Mr. Jones, it's time.

In memorandum

Jameson Jones, iPod

When I got in my car after church today, I began the normal routine of attaching the car charger and iTrip to my iPod. "Bitterblue" by Cat Stevens was almost over but I wanted to enjoy the rest of it at a louder volume so I reached down to turn it up. When my thumb hit the track wheel and slid accross its surface something strange happened. Or rather, nothing happened. I was confused. I hit the menu button to backtrack to the list of songs of the album I was listening to. I tried cycling through the songs, but with the same result, or more accurately, the lack of one. It was the same when I tried going through albums and artists: nothing. The conclusion I reached: the trackwheel is broken.

I bought my iPod in Spring of 2005. Over the past three years, Jameson Jones has been a stalwart and constant companion. Whether it was a road trip or a drive across town, a long run or a short walk to class, an hour cleaning my room or a long day at work, Jameson provided the soundtrack to which each one of these activities was accomplished. The number of miles and hours Jameson has spent at my side is incalculable.

Sure, Jameson still functions, he still works; however, his functions are now limited. I love the album Teaser and the Firecat, and for that reason, I don't want to end up hating it since it's the only album Jameson is now capable of playing. I love the fact that my iPod can't play videos. I love its monochrome screen and blocky text. So, with a heavy heart I sing to you the words that you allowed Ben Folds to sing to me so many times: "I'm sorry Mr. Jones, it's time."

Sans sujet

Click here.

Sab-badical!

Jesus sought me when a stranger
Wandering from the fold of God
He, to rescue me from danger
Interposed His precious blood

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter
Bind my wandering heart to Thee

O that day when freed from sinning
I shall see Thy lovely face
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I'll sing Thy sovereign grace

Utils

I don't remember much from those two econ classes from my earlier college years but one thing I do recall is the concept of marginal utility (probably because Jeff, Greg and I were always making jokes about it). Marginal utility says that when you consume one unit of a particular good or service, satisfaction will decrease from consuming additional units. Take this bag of gummi bears I've been snacking on. The first few I ate were great. The next few, not so much. And so on, till I'm left with half a bag of gummi bears. However, I've found that marginal utility doesn't apply to everything. Using running as another example, the more miles I run, the more I tend to enjoy it.

With the band Sigur Ros, their utility increases with "consumption." Having said that I proudly post these two videos on my blog, "Glósóli" and "Hoppipolla". Maybe you've already seen them; all the more reason to try this marginal utility thing out. For those who haven't seen them, if you're not left with a smile on your face after watching both, then I wouldn't go stand next to any large magnets because you're probably a robot.

Glósóli

Hoppipolla

The combined length of both videos is about 11 minutes; in other words, 11 of the best spent minutes of your day.

(I tried posting them in the blog itself but apparently they won't let you. Psh.)

It's a Rare Condition

It was either Monday or Tuesday night (or early in the morning of one of the days that followed). I can't remember when. I was on a mission. I didn't know what my goal was, even in my dream I didn't know what my goal was; I just knew that I had one.

It was night, the sky was blood red with black clouds. I had travelled through time to a distant past, only to return to a present where the world I knew was turned upside-down, Back to the Future II style. But who was behind this sinister transformation?

I had a sidekick, though I can't remember his name. I wanna say it was Chuck Norris but that's only because he was in an awesome movie called Sidekicks. Except he wasn't the sidekick in that movie. Danica McKeller (The Wonder Years' Winnie Cooper) is also in that movie. I digress. Sidekick and I found ourselves in an unfamiliar suburban family neighborhood. We could hear commotion coming from a nearby backyard so we hopped the fence to check it out.


It didn't take long to discover the source of the commotion. Huddled in a corner of the yard, we observed a pack of feral children, dressed in rags. They seemed to be huddled around something, or rather, someone. As we cautiously approached the gang of seemingly rabid children, we discovered the center of their attention: Famliy Matters' Carl Winslow. We were instantly relieved and we marched boldly toward to the pack of kids. If anyone knew who was behind the evil transformation of our once pleasant world, it was Carl Winslow.

As we came closer to the band of wild kids, they turned to face us almost in unison. We immediately noticed the wild look of hunger in their eyes. Carl Winslow smiled diabolically. Something was wrong and we knew it. However, our curiosity bested us and we contiued our approach in order to satisfy it.

But Carl Winslow and his children (no, not Laura, Eddie, Little Richie, or even Steve Urkell) had something much greater than curiosity to satisfy: hunger. And Carl explained that Sidekick and I were to be their means of satisfaction!

No sooner had we learned of our intended fate did we turn and run, escaping the pack of hungry children and their "father", literally nipping at our heals. Over the fence and through the nearest time portal, we escaped into another, safer dimension.

So what was this mission I was so determined to accomplish? More importantly, what caused Carl Winslow, loving father and one of Chicago PD's finest, to resort to murder and cannibalism, the two things he had fought so hard to eradicate? I have no doubt that the two are somehow linked. But unless I return to that world of my slumber, I may never know. . . .