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4/24/13
beautiful adventure, new orleans, cafe bamboo, hardcore show, anarchist
jondilks
I had a dream last night that I was watching hockey: Steve Mason was the goaltender for the Flyers, but after a moment or two that idea was abandoned and I myself was the goalie. I made a great save with my head, almost entirely accidentally, after the puck went over the glass and a linesman just threw another one onto the ice: I was expecting a faceoff, but this game wasn't wasn't being played under the standard rulset (I learned afterthefact when I asked the linesman) so instead he just had to put a new puck into play as quickly as possible. It went right to one of my opponents, who took a shot before I was really ready to respond. I just fell in the direction of most of the open net and felt solid contact with my head. The puck dribbled away to the left and I poked at it to get it further out of range.

I had a dream last night that I was supposed to be head ref of a bout that was fairly important, like a Big 5 event or somesuch thing, but as usual I was having trouble getting ready. The downstairs of the building, where the dressingrooms were, was based upon the locker area of the CHA gym: same layout and just as poorly-lit. I started off upstairs next to the track (which didn't look so much like anything at CHA) when I realized that I wasn't fully geared up, so I ran down and found my equipment bag over by the bathroom. I started trying to put my stuff on, but there were constant problems: my jersey was old and had the wrong number on it (37!), in addition to having a frilly section with colorful polka dots - and being absolutely monstrously huge on me, as though I'd lost 120 pounds since the last time I wore it... Sug stopped by and told me something unhelpful about "that's why I don't keep my old jerseys." Also, I couldn't find my wristguards. Then I thought I was ready to go for a second before I realized I didn't have my skates on. Things kept on popping up like that, and every time I went back upstairs under the impression that it was all finally under control, another problem would become apparent. And while I had about 5mins until bout time at the start of the dream, this had all taken so long that the first period was verymuch underway (I could hear it happening) and I hadn't had a chance to meet with captains or refs, nor had I actually ever told anyone where I was going or what I was doing, so I wasn't sure how exactly they were getting along without me. Not that I was vital to the bout, but things must've been reconfigured somehow in my absence. At last I seemed to have it all together, so much so that when I went upstairs I still couldn't find anything wrong with myself. By this point the first period had ended, and I tried to gather up all the refs to have a conversation with them. Murder & Stabby were among them, I don't recall the rest except that one was a woman with a lot of eyeshadow. The meeting never happened, though, because I woke up. With a headache.

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