My sleep wake cycle was thrown out of gear by a multiple act zombie dream. The problem was not fear; my dream zombies were not very scary. These zombies were like the men performing feats of strength during Festivus; they uprooted trees and telephone poles to attack me with, but the weight of their weapon slowed them down considerably, and I was always able to escape easily. Plus i had a helicopter. The problem with the epic dreaming was that I had to keep going back to sleep to find out what happened, and the process shifted my sleep wake cycle by three hours. This combined with skies that darken sooner every night is my problem.
Sunday it snowed for the first time. Large wet flakes that pancaked into puddles upon impact. It kept transmogrifying into hale. I rode my bike in the shit. It was barely light out, and I rode to the movie theater in Harvard Square to watch Where the Wild Things Are. I haven’t heard so many grownups sniffle / sob at a film since Saving Private Ryan. The themes of childhood were lost on the actual children in attendance. When the lights came up, some kids had clearly been shocked beyond emotion, traumatized, by the arm-ripping James Gandolfini-voiced monster named Carol who chases Max trying to eat him. A small one bleated out like a forlorn baby llama, “Mama, can we go home now?” Everyone had a good laugh.
Bleating baby bear, there is no better reason to move to the tropics than the whole winter-swing around. Let’s go! Where shall it be? Oh, what you say, the tropics is too wet and wild? You have heard your pal Herzog calling it savage? OK then, we go to California. With frequent side-trips to Hawaii and the Baja Peninsula. No problem.
“move to california” thats your answer for everything