I try not to needlessly rebel against commonly accepted ideas and paradigms. To that end, I generally believe that the moon landing was real and that the earth is more than six thousand years old. That said, I can’t really get on board with the idea that dreams mean anything at all. There are literally hundreds of books that purport to tell you what the symbolism in your dreams mean.
I don't dismiss this idea totally out of hand, because I know that some dream interpretations sound accurate. I have the "showing up to school without having done my homework" dream all the time and i know Inky does too. I can also get down with the idea that a dream where you are falling is symbolic of feeling out of control, but they ALL can't mean something.
As an example, let's take the dream that I spent the first waking hour of my day trying to figure out. I was on a bus (specifically the York College Campus Shuttle) with Abe Lincoln sitting next to me. He was wearing York College Basketball warm ups and his famous hat, while rocking out to a penny colored iPod. When I tried to tap him on the shoulder to ask him what was going on, he just kept turning up his iPod, so I peaked at it and saw that he was listening to "Gold Digger" by Kanye West.
So I just yelled out loud: "What the fuck is going on?" and then Kanye emerged from the bathroom (I should point out that in reality the YCP Shuttles don't have bathrooms)and told me to "slow my roll." He said that we were all on the way to Barky(not a spelling error)Obama's inauguration. Then the bathroom door opened again and Snoop Dog came out shrouded in smoke saying something that ended in izzel.
I sat down again, and Kanye and Snoop began reading a copy of G.Q. which rather then standing for "Gentleman's Quarterly" just stood for "G's Quarterly." The actress who plays Thirteen on the show House was on the cover, and she was naked yet covered by a huge Chesapeake Bay Retriever. The headline read "Barky in the Motha'fucking dog hiz'ous."
At this point, I've pieced together that I'm on a bus with a few rappers, and the heading to what I believe to be an inauguration of a dog cleverly named after our next president. When the bus comes to a stop, I realize that we are in my old home town: Metuchen NJ. The door opens and my father gets on, dressed to the nines in what can best be described as pimpwear. This surprises me on many levels because A) The man wouldn't have been caught dead in these threads and B) He is actually dead, and has been for 6 years.
Nonetheless, he gets on the bus and sits down right behind the driver, who quite surprisingly is the real Barack Obama. I keep trying to get my fathers attention, but Obama keeps telling me that I have to return to my seat and get buckled in. When the bus finally stops I realize that we are at the New Jersey opening to the Holland Tunnel. Obama gets on the loud speaker and says that we have to walk into the city from there.
I spend the whole walk through the tunnel talking to my dad, who tells me that he didn't die in 2002, but that he had gone undercover for CIA. He goes on to say that all those years we thought he was working for the Postal Service was just a cover for his work at CIA, and when we thought he was taking classes at the Culinary Institute of America that was his way of explaining to my mother when he got mail from the real CIA.
We walked from the NYC side of the Tunnel to Tompkins Square Park, where somewhat anticlimactically, Barky Obama was being inaugurated by the Queen of England. After she performed what looked like a knighting on him, he walked to the podium and rose up to speak into the mic. He was just about to deliver his address when my dad turned to me and said "you should probably get out of here now, it's going to get messy" and with that I woke up.
Now, you can't tell me that any of that nonsense means anything. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I miss my old man. And I think the chick that plays Thirteen is kind of hot and I am excited about the possibility of going to Barack Obama's inauguration next week. But on the other side, I hate dogs, I'm not a fan of Rap and I'm reasonably sure that my dad did actually work for the Postal Service, not CIA. I'm sure someone could sit down and tell me all the parts of this dream that mean something, but I don't buy it. I think I just have a fucked up subconscious that likes to see where it can take me.