Strangeness

Strange days make for strange dreams make for stranger days still. The other night's: a doozy.

I was in Austin, a city I've never been to, attending a gig at SXSW in a small, packed, dimly lit club. I had no idea who was about to perform but I wanted to get closer to the stage. Then the crowd turned to me in unison and parted. As I walked to the front I overheard murmurings like, "Praise be!" and, "Oh, yes, this is great! He can help us." I saw that the people were trying with little success to fasten a large leather tarp to the stage floor. I grabbed a corner and started instructing them to secure rivets by the monitors and to smooth out the tarp surface. When we finished, a road crew came out to set up the band's gear. Moments later No Age took stage and started rocking out. During the first song Randy Randall's guitar broke in half and a roadie came out to replace it. I couldn't see the roadie's face but she was wearing a ridiculously long flannel shirt with sleeves that nearly touched the ground, and she had a cigarette clenched between her teeth. When she turned around I realized she was none other than Alison Mosshart. Alison Mosshart looked down, pointed to me with her cigarette (looking like this, to be exact) and said, "Hey, you! [Me?] Yeah you. You look familiar..." "Oh! I mean... Yeah," I responded, referring to that one cool time that was not a dream but actual reality. She reached down and grabbed my hand to hoist me up. Massive applause from the crowd, then we walked backstage. As we were walking, a chalice containing some sort of glowing blue potion appeared in her hand. The potion was reminiscent of Squeezeits, specifically Berry B. Wild. She insisted that I drink it, "But not all of it!" I misheard her on that last part and accidentally drank it all, every last drop since it turned out to be fairly delicious. Then we were both all, "Oh no!" and I started asking her what was going to happen to me. "I... Honestly? I have no idea," she said. "What do you mean you have no idea?! What is this stuff?!" I asked, freaking out, trying to cough up the Squeezeitesque liquid and wiping my mouth on my sleeve like a madman. "Never mind. This way!" she said, laughing. So we started running down a long, dark hallway and I began to feel pretty goofy.

This break is to denote where I briefly woke up and then fell back asleep, re-entering the dream precisely where I left off, which almost never happens to me.

Alison Mosshart led me into a tiny room where there were several doors of varying shapes and sizes. A light was shining under one of the tall ones. When I asked her what was behind the tall door is when I realized I was alone. I decided to turn the handle and cross the blinding threshold anyway. The door slammed shut behind me, and when my eyes adjusted who did I see standing in the middle of the room? Why, Matt Damon, wearing nothing more than a white bath towel tied around his waist that was branded with Hyatt symbols. Matt Damon was dripping wet and standing in front of a mirror flexing these abnormally huge muscles, and when he saw me he grew angry and screamed, "THERE YOU ARE! God damn you. I'm gonna end you, boy!" I was so, so confused at this point. I tried asking him, "Wait, who? Me?!" and then, "Did I drink your potion? I'm so sorry if I drank all your potion, Matt Damon!" None of it worked. He grabbed me by the throat and punched me in the face, which sent me flying backward until I hit the wall. Lying on the floor, my face bleeding and my nose smashed in, I saw a shelf built into the wall that held dozens of Starbucks coffee mugs. As Matt Damon walked toward me, going on and on and on about teaching me a "hard lesson," I quietly grabbed a coffee mug from the shelf. When he picked me up by the shirt I turned and broke the mug over his head, which sent him to the ground crying. His cries were not those of a man, but of an infant. I quickly opened the door and closed it behind me, putting my back to it and collapsing in the previous room which was now lit with candles. Alison Mosshart had reappeared and was pacing around the candles in a circle. "Where were you?!" she wanted to know. "Where was I? Where were you?! And what the hell is Matt Damon doing here, huh?! He's pretty pissed!" I stammered. "I don't know who that is," she said flatly. I couldn't believe it. "You what? You... You don't know who Matt Damon is?!" I asked, crazed about what had just happened to me but, strangely enough, a little more crazed that she had never heard of Matt Damon. "Oh my God, your nose!" she exclaimed, grabbing my face and smooshing my cheeks and lips together like a fish. She then led me through another door and into a different room where she started feasting on the blood from my nosewound. As luck would have it, the pain began to subside. "This is awesome! We're gettin' all Twilight!" I exclaimed, to which she replied, "Quiet! Quiet, man! We gotta heal your nose to save the world!"

This break is to denote where I awoke.