Snow... snow... snow... snow... SNOW!

So I went out my front door this morning and saw flakes drifting down. Without thinking I said, "Aw, shoot--snow!"

Immediately I realized that 10-year-old Cabeza, if he were here, would be sorely disappointed in what a lame adult I had become. Therefore, I repent of my dread of traffic and ice and embrace the possibility of building a snow man (or maybe a snow toilet (ah, Soutridge)). Let it snow!

Dreams: Soccer and the LOC

I figure I should get this one written down and published before I forget any more of it. A night or two after the Nazi invasion dream where I tasted of young ovine, I dreamed I was leading a group of fellows from the elders quorum in my ward to a "manrichment" activity. We were in DC, and I had a soccer ball. We walked past the Supreme Court and took a turn at the entrance to the Library of Congress. Once inside, we spread out and I gave the ball a good kick. It careened off of walls and bounced through the stacks, landing near another guy from my quorum and barely having time to rest before he sent it flying in another direction. It's funny, because I remember in my dream thinking that we were playing soccer--that there were goals and everything--but it seems like really we were just generally making noise and trying to get the ball to bounce off as many fixtures as possible.

After several minutes of general running around and yelling and chasing the ball, an irate middle-aged lady librarian confronted me at the top of an open staircase and started getting all passive-agressive. "Does this seem like an appropriate activity for the Library of Congress? Hmmmmm?"

Since she was playing it overly cool, I decided I would too. I glanced down at the banister and noticed I had a plate of potato chips and a big bowl of onion dip resting at the top there. I reached down nonchalantly and scooped an extra-big helping of dip onto one chip, then shoved it into my mouth. "Sure." Crunch-munch-smack-smack-smack-smack-smack... "I don't see why not." Another chip, more loud munching.

This had the desired effect of Smug Dream Jared, as the librarian dropped her act and started yelling at all of us to get out of there. Security guards showed up and led us all out. But it was fun while it lasted.

There was a second part of the dream, something about having to pack up and check out of a boarding house, but I really don't remember much of anything about it.

Dreams: Nazis and Lamb

In the tradition of the Shark's dream-recording blog posts, I share with you two recent excursions into my id:

Island of the Nazis

On the night of 2 January I found myself on a boat approaching an island off the U.S. Pacific coast. The island was fairly covered with trees, but a few hundred feet from the shore where we docked there was a cabin, overlooking the ocean. My brother Scott and I went to the cabin, where we sat and talked for a moment (I don't remember the conversation). I glanced out the open door and noticed people moving up from the shoreline toward us. Nazis! One of them was dressed like some sort of officer, and the rest were his stormtroopers.

I turned the table I was sitting on onto its side to use as a shield, then pulled a small handgun from my pocket. It was old and I wasn't even sure it if was loaded, but I had no time to check the clip. The Nazis were coming through the door! I put my arm up over the edge of the table to see if I could get a few rounds off, but the trigger was stuck. The officer pulled his Luger and shot me in the wrist. I dropped my pistol. I started to bleed pretty badly, but the Nazi officer didn't seem to care.

"Vhat iz ze radio frequency you are broadcasting on??!" I refused to answer--on principle, really, since I had no idea what he was talking about. This angered the officer, so he put his gun to my head and was getting ready to pull the trigger when Scott blurted out the answer, saving my life. This satisfied the Nazis, and they allowed Scott to right the table and help me lie on top of it while he administered first aid to try and stop the bleeding. I had been trying to apply pressure to my wrist this whole time, but the bleeding wouldn't stop. "I don't think it's really all that bad," Scott said. "It looks like a pretty small wound." I looked and saw that he was right. Then I looked away, looked back, and saw a gaping hole opening into my forearm. A nurse (where did she come from?) came in, looked at my arm, and announced that part of it would need to be amputated immediately. And it was.

Someone else who showed up in the cabin said that my amputated flesh shouldn't be wasted, and proceeded to toss it onto a grill. A few minutes later it was done, but the cook decided that he probably shouldn't feed it to anyone, seeing as how that would be cannibalism. But he figured that before he threw it out he should offer me a bite. "Don't you want to know what you taste like?" Turns out that I did. It also turns out I taste like lamb.

Okay, so maybe one is enough for now. I'll post the second dream tonight or tomorrow.