Live from Austin!

Last night I dreamed that I met Bev Bevan. I tried not to be a fanboy. I mentioned that I really didn’t like "Discovery", except for the final track–which of course is dominated by his drumming. He replied that the album had been a difficult time for the band, and that that one track had been the one where it actually seemed like they were working together again. I wanted to ask about whether he had patched things up with Jeff Lynne, but knew that would be a bad idea. In the end he autographed my copy of "Out of the Blue". And then I woke up.

Back in reality, the dream was obviously the result of my finally buying the remastered limited edition release of "Out of the Blue". I had held off for a long time, because I didn’t think there was anything wrong with the previous CD. Then a 40% off coupon at Border’s tempted me… and I was wrong. The remastered edition is far better than the previous remastering, which was in turn better than the original 2 CD release… which, of course, was better than my vinyl copy.

So yeah, I’ve bought this album four times now. That’s a new personal record, beating the three official releases and one bootleg of New Musik’s "Warp". And apparently there’s a $25 Japanese 2CD release that sounds even better…

I had a dream about a Matrix-like conspiracy. The part of Morpheus was played by Markus Kuhn. I don’t believe I’ve ever actually met him, and I’ve no idea why my subconscious decided to place him in my dreams, except that obviously it makes sense that he might crack the code keeping us in the matrix.

Last night I dreamed I was recording a complete cover version of Jean-Michel Jarre’s first two albums, but with updated instrumentation. Which, come to think of it, isn’t a bad idea, so long as it isn’t like the re-recorded Tubular Bells.

I was in a post-apocalyptic Texas. My mission was to broker piece between my village and a gang of nomadic gay vampires. It wasn’t just my blood they wanted to suck. My main concern was that I didn’t want to become Vampire+. I decided I preferred them to the cannibal UFO worshipers.

Secret messages were being exchanged by using steganography to hide them in photographs of puppies. Details and algorithms were found in Bruce Schneier’s book “Look! Puppies! (2nd Edition)“.

After hearing me mention that we considered a Subaru Outback as plan B if we couldn’t get a Prius, a Subaru dealer tries to sell me a new car. I don’t seem to be buying it, so he takes me to a special Subaru dealership hidden away in the countryside.

The area is surrounded by trees and grass. The buildings are large and low, like aircraft hangars. We walk past lots filled with SUVs. I explain that I’m really not interested in SUVs.

He points at a sports car. I look at it. It’s a nice design, but it’s only about 2 meters long, so I’d never fit in it. I’m similarly unenthusiastic about the Subaru Clown Car. Then he shows me a car I could actually fit in, but it’s bright pink and looks like it was made by gluing together giant models of male and female genitals.

I start to suspect that these cars are deliberately unsellable, so he can push me towards an SUV. I say that I’m really not interested in buying anything. The salesman says I’ll change my mind once I’ve had The Subaru Experience.

We climb into an SUV and close the doors. Suddenly, a circular-saw-wielding maniac in a hockey mask attempts to cut through the door next to me. The door stands up pretty well to the attack. I’m obviously startled, but the salesman grins at me and says something about the ruggedness of Subaru SUVs. I can’t hear it above the whine of metal against metal. Then the attacker lunges the saw through the window, the blade touches my arm, and I discover it’s fake. The whole thing is fake, like a movie.

It turns out that this Subaru dealership is a converted movie studio where they stage elaborate scenarios intended to convince people to buy vehicles.

The second scenario is to experience how a Subaru Outback stands up to an attack by rabid wolves. The answer is: pretty well. Once the howling stops, we get out and head into a nearby building.

The salesman hands me some protective clothing. I put it on, but when I look in the mirror it turns out to be a waiter’s outfit. We walk through into a long room with tables laden with food along both sides. At the far end is some sort of car. We’re going to be experiencing how well a Subaru stands up to a custard pie fight.

I’ve had enough. I don’t want to get custard and whipped cream all over me. I run back out into the corridor. Alarms start sounding, alerting everyone to an escaping customer. I exit the corridor into a garage filled with assorted special-purpose Subaru vehicles. I’m delighted to find a Subaru customized for ram-raiding. I get in, hotwire it, drive out through the garage doors, and escape.

I dreamt I was on Tracy Island. Jeff Tracy wasn’t around, because it was finally his turn to man Thunderbird 5, so I had been left in charge of the boys.

Unfortunately, they had invited Saddam Hussein and Kim Jong-il to visit the island. Saddam and Jong-il were claiming to be bored, and wanted to play with the Tracy family’s video camcorder. I realized that they actually wanted to record as much information as they could about the Thunderbird craft, so they could use Brains Hackenbacker’s technology to create Weapons of Mass Destruction. So, I had to keep putting them off by claiming I couldn’t find a blank tape and couldn’t find something they could tape over.

Obviously I blame Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

It seems like forever since I last had a dream amusing enough to be worth writing about, but last night I had two.

The first was a confused mess, except for the good bit: Margaret Cho appeared in the dream, but she was reincarnated into the body of a guinea pig.

Which someone had shaved.

In the second dream, I had taken up playing the tuba to impress my friends. I managed to find a book of music which had DEVO hits scored for tuba, and just before I woke up I was trying to persuade someone of the genius of Mongoloid so he’d accompany me on the piano.

Last night I dreamed about a moose. When the moose appeared, everyone was scared of him. They thought he would bite or trample them. However, I approached him and talked to him, and discovered that he understood me, and had quite a large vocabulary, though he could only really nod or shake his head or emote with his eyes.

He had learned to write by gripping a pen with his hooves, and really wanted to go to school, and maybe college. Unfortunately, he was still pretty clumsy, and tended to go through a lot of pens, and the schools weren’t keen on having him as a pupil because of the potential for unfortunate accidents.

I tried to be supportive and build up his confidence; I told him how much I admired his antlers, and fed him walnuts. I arranged an empty classroom where he could take an entrance exam. However, angry crowds began to gather, and soon he smashed through the window and ran off into the wilderness, rejected by human society. I chased after him, but he was gone.

I didn’t like the way the dream ended at all. I was about to engage in a lengthier search of the dreamworld, when there was a trailer for an upcoming dream. The trailer promises that the moose will return.

A few days ago I woke up and was thinking about caffeinated beverages, when I vaguely remembered how the current attempts to revive the Fanta brand were covering up the sinister secret–that Fanta was actually a drink invented specifically for Nazi Germany.

I mentioned this to sara. We laughed, both agreeing that it was obviously some crazy stuff I’d come up with in a dream.

Coke sponsoring the 1936 Nazi Olympics. Sales of Coke dropping after it was advertised as Kosher. The Nazis banning the importation of Coke syrup as a threat to Europe’s precious bodily fluids. Coca-Cola’s German operation coming up with Fanta as a drink more acceptable to the Third Reich. All completely ludicrous and very, very silly.

Except… it’s true. It’s all true. I’d obviously read about it somewhere, somewhen, and it had stuck in the back of my mind, only to surface like a bad dream.

Here’s another crazy stupid dream: Coca-Cola are setting up factories in villages across the country. As the Coke flows, the villagers realize the factory is sucking the village wells dry. Meanwhile, the factory pumps out a toxic sludge of lead, cadmium and chromium, source unknown. Eventually the local water supply is declared undrinkable, and all the villagers can do is drink Coke… or their bottled water product, Dasani.

It’s the half-remembered plot of a Ben Elton novel. No, wait, my mistake, it’s another actual news story. So’s the one about Coca Cola paying right-wing paramilitaries to kill troublesome union leaders and their families in Columbia.

This is it. This is the week when reality became so bizarrely horrific that I could no longer believe it was real.

I had this dream that Microsoft bought the Science Museum and the Natural History Museum, and re-launched them as The Encarta Museum. We went, to see how bad it would be, and laughed at the mis-spellings and other errors until we were identified as enemies of Microsoft and the museum security squads were sent to terminate us.

That wasn’t the interesting bit. No, the interesting part was that the dream wasn’t finished, so parts of the escape sequence were still just pencil-test animations. I think this is my subconscious making fun of the software development process.

I got called for dreamworld jury duty. It was a demonic possession case, so you’d think they’d have been more cautious. The accused naturally attempted to possess the judge and jury, and it was up to a few of us to try and thwart his efforts.

Strangely enough, I’ve never managed to get called for jury duty in real life. It’s probably a lot less interesting there anyway.