I've been feeling strange the last four days, simultaneously exhausted and anxious. Some of that has to do with the fact that I haven't played basketball in over a week. But I suspect that I was also in the throes of a mild malady. Last night I finally got a good night's sleep, even though I kept waking up all sweaty and disoriented. As I learned during childhood encounters with moussaka, though, there's a delicious filling in every stuffed vegetable, no matter how abject it would be on its own. The more you wake up, the more likely you are to remember your dreams. And, boy, did I have good ones.
In one I had a long, thoughtful conversation with Jay-Z, in which the hip-hop legend's intellectual acumen proved even more impressive than I would have guessed from the words he puts on record. In another, I called my longtime friend Josh Gold, notorious for not doing his part to sustain a long-distance relationship, a "motherfucker," then wondered whether I'd delivered the insult with enough irony to keep him from getting mad at me. I never found out, alas, because I had to go help Kim with some complicated problem that involved color-coded hooks and tackle at some vast construction project. Interestingly, I knew that she was overseeing the work because her father's company was behind the project. In the dreamworld, at least, ironworkers morph into corporate big-wigs with ease. It has been a long time since I had so many memorable dreams. I'm taking that as a positive sign. Without somnolent wish-fulfillment the future would be a dull place indeed.
In one I had a long, thoughtful conversation with Jay-Z, in which the hip-hop legend's intellectual acumen proved even more impressive than I would have guessed from the words he puts on record. In another, I called my longtime friend Josh Gold, notorious for not doing his part to sustain a long-distance relationship, a "motherfucker," then wondered whether I'd delivered the insult with enough irony to keep him from getting mad at me. I never found out, alas, because I had to go help Kim with some complicated problem that involved color-coded hooks and tackle at some vast construction project. Interestingly, I knew that she was overseeing the work because her father's company was behind the project. In the dreamworld, at least, ironworkers morph into corporate big-wigs with ease. It has been a long time since I had so many memorable dreams. I'm taking that as a positive sign. Without somnolent wish-fulfillment the future would be a dull place indeed.
While the aerial acts were not as good as in previous years -- since when did the flying trapeze get transformed into the lame concept of "sky surfing"? -- the mood was welcoming. The MC even announced that this year's incarnation of the circus would be dedicated to answering questions. Circus folk roamed through the crowd collecting conundra -- or at least pretending to do so -- which the MC later repeated and went on to answer. "We're going to break down the wall between you and the circus," he explained. And the effect of all the interruptions for demystificatory work was mildly Brechtian. Unfortunately, that also meant that it was harder for us to become absorbed in the spectacle. Although the chorus to this year's circus theme song goes, "We're saving the day from the everyday," the tone of the proceedings was perhaps a little too mundane. On the other hand, there was almost no patriotic fervor of the sort that dominated the event when we saw the circus in Tucson back in 2002. And our collective lack of engagement made for a more relaxing experience overall.