Dream - Making Movies

I am attending a gathering on a dock in SF with burning man circus-dressed individuals partying for some event or possibly a protest. I am scheduled to leave on a private boat with Harrison Ford to an estate across the water. The plan is to use a new fresh food delivery service that arrives after items are chosen from a well-designed menu hand delivered from a small dingy. The choice is a large bird, possibly an eagle, still with feathers, claws and a suspicious looking identifying tag that must be removed. I struggle with it in the kitchen with Dayna West. She takes a short cut to alleviate the problem by cutting off the tagged leg. There is still much plucking of feathers to do, but I am distracted by the other activity.… creation of a movie in a suite of rooms, notably an elegant bathroom and the main shooting set, a bedroom with a large bed. I go about doing lighting tests by cranking up any number of dimmers that illuminate the scene from bucket lights in the tall ceilings. There seem to be an inordinate amount of light switches throughout the suite, which I am toggling back and forth to ascertain their source connection. Harrison Ford has now turned into Rob Lowe, who is a close friend. As he lays on the bed, we discuss the type of movie we're creating as I take Polaroids for the lighting tests. I have only one package of the film along with a digital movie camera I assume will be used for the filming. Rob expresses his desire to make the film using mostly stills from the Polaroids. My concern is how to acquire more Polaroid film for the completion of this new idea. John Elk is present and contributes his dismay that he never had such an opportunity with a set or star such as this. I am undeterred by his complaints as there is much to do and I have not had an inspiration for the sauce to be prepared to for the bird, yet.

Dream - Chaos Cab

There is much chaos in the streets outside, several celebrations are happening i.e. Critical Mass, Sunday Streets etc. and most seem to have devolved into protests of disgruntled mad max mobs. Their war cries and whooping coming from near and far. Those on bikes are circling intersections and holding cryptic signs. One reads: We are all born in a box to live in a box. It is held by a guy riding on the shoulders of another guy pedaling an elevated tall bike among other contraptions. There seems to be no cohesion to the groups, just restless and relentless discontent bubbling up. It is dusk so the light is eery and oddly multicolored. I have a ticket to a play downtown with an 8:00 curtain. I am not concerned about entering the fray, but decide to flag down a cab at 24th and Mission. Traffic is impossible and he decides to take South Van Ness, which is no better. This older cab driver has a silver short cropped crewcut and seems Slavic. In defeat, he pulls over to the old Cala parking lot as I decide to seek other transportation to the play. It is already late and I am calculating my time and wether to return home a few blocks away. The meter reads $71.41 and is obviously a swindle, so I begin to argue with him. He's an old pro at his scam and shouts invectives and threats back. I give as good as I get, eventually screaming "Fuck you" and walk away from the scene without paying. No one notices as there are small fires, mayhem, many brawls and much chaos as previously mentioned.

Watching the Watch

You can lead a horologist to Watch, but you can't make it tick.

Sexy sexagesimal celebration will soon ensue…

It's about time for my #appleWatch

Take me to church! I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your wise…

https://www.apple.com/watch/guided-tours/ … #appleWatch #aDay #hozier

Googled 'the answer to life, the universe and everything' for my ultimate #appleWatch question…WhichWatch? #tickTock

The clock is running out for my old trusty timepieces…

Watches: Past, Present, Future

#appleWatch #funTimeFlies 

2 minutes past midnight…$500 & I are quickly parted.

2 weeks & #appleWatch lands on my wrist. Siri smirks in silence…

Rest of today spent prepping iPhone for the arrival of my new baby Watch tomorrow! #appleWatch #nerdCred #giddyBrag  

Watch health benefits already in play, jumping up from the couch every 5 minutes thinking I hear the big brown delivery truck. #appleWatch

Feature or Bug? Wearing Watch in #sleeveTalker mode—inner Left Wrist w/ Digital Crown on Left Side—confuses the motion sensors… #appleWatch

…and only a downward karate chop will wake/activate the watch face… at its nadir. Up is down & down is up. #appleWatch #notWearingItRight

Setting Watch face to greyscale=2 full days of battery life. No daily workout also minimizes its charging…& likely my lifespan. #appleWatch

Watch battery life tip: Power Reserve mode on non-charging night saves a mysterious 20% while off-wrist & I'm off in dreamland…#appleWatch

Despicable Done Right

After attending a performance of Moliere's Tartuffe at Berkeley Rep and asked for feedback on the performance.

I had been warned that the show was dark, disconcerting and this side of disturbing, which piqued my interest in just such a theatre experience. Berkeley Rep never disappoints in your thought-provoking and cutting-edge productions. 

I have never heard 'congratulatory booing' from an appreciative audience applauding an actor's bravura performance… until Steven Epp's portrayal of Tartuffe. He has proved himself likable and entertaining in the past and he continues to be a one-of-a-kind performer… It is no small accomplishment to dance on the thin edge of the wedge between love and hate from a crowd so torn between the success of a portrayal and the deep visceral disgust for the character and his machinations. Bravo, you bastard!

Suzanne Warmanen's reasonable and feacetious indignation & Nathan Keepers's silent background ballet and mincing interplay were equally splendid standouts and incredibly enjoyable as a balance to the dispicable delight of Epp. I'm still awed by the animosity and anger he wrangled from me last night. Thank you Berkeley Rep for rattling my cage.

Dream - Vomit, Muppets, Jonathan

I realize I am late for a performance or show in Berkeley that I normally attend. I leave the house with my Clipper card and cross the street. At this point, standing in the BART plaza I know there is realistically not enough time and return home across the street.
As I open the street door, I encounter some sticky vomit on the lower entry stairs and the guys that live downstairs are coming to clean it up. One new ambitious magical slightly balding, bozo-haired roommate is offering to put down some white rug netting to alleviate any further problems. We all discuss the viability of the solution and realize it will not wear well and only get dirtier with use. His girlfriend and I go into the boy's room and discover its sparse furnishings and the origin of the netted mat from an old suitcase in a small closet.
There is a gathering of comics in a familiar corridor (downstairs?) I walk down the long hallway, squeezing through as I encounter throngs of local comedians. The one that I look forward to seeing is John Riggi,  I see him at the end of the hallway approaching and am thrilled and expectant at our soon-to-be reunion, but as we get closer it's apparent he will continue walking and only nods  acknowledgment as if I am just a passing acquaintance not worthy of a longer conversation. His dismissive acknowledgement astounds and befuddles me and as he walks further down the hallway away from me I call out to him "Really Riggi?," He turns around still uncomprehending how important he was to me and turns away. I am crestfallen and proceed sadly and resigned down the hallway where I next encounter Jonathan Winters. He is being shepherded/handled by Lorne Michaels, who disappears to schmooze elsewhere. We are both  waylaid by a television with a YouTube playlist of Muppet highlights, specifically small inchworms that are singing and wiggling in unison. We are laughing and enjoying the sequence of highlights of there well known and infamous career. As it comes to a close the conversation turns toward Robin. I compassionately express 'what a loss that must've been for him'. His face darkens and he starts to reminisce with some solemnness, obviously brokenhearted and missing his old friend. The insights he offers are hushed and I can barely make them out as he remembers what a genius his colleague was. He also voices some personal knowingness into Robin's character and reasons for his demise, possibly matching his own considerations for such an end. I am aware that despite the vividness of the conversation and trust Jonathan is showing me, he actually preceded Robin in death.

Dream - Play Disruption

A small segment remembered. Verla and I are in NY for a Broadway play. We're both excited and talking animatedly before the show starts and we find our front row seats. Our view seems to be obstructed as we are sitting very close to stage right. A large box structure gives us a sliver of a view. We are commenting and concerned as the curtain rises. I cut myself off mid sentence, but Verla seems to want to prattle on. She seems naive to the etiquette and respect of hushing the fuck up when the curtains rise. I give her a couple of arm touches and a disciplinary look to signal. The box is moved offstage and our seats have become great and wonderful for the vantage point. She can't help but continue to comment. Jonathan Groff is the star and begins. A house manager, voice comes over the loudspeaker, announcing someone is making a racket down front and the play must be interrupted to deal with the interruption. On cue, Groff singles out Verla and brings her up onstage to make an example of her, proceeds to humiliate her and use it as a teachable moment for the audience. Verla is quite oblivious to her faux pas and is enjoying the full spotlight of being part of the show. I am embarrassed and amused and during the intermission, I retreat to the back of the theatre to touch base with an acquaintance and gauge just how bad the incident was. There seem to be no repercussions although I feel the need to apologize to someone, while subtly disassociating myself from the clueless Verla. She will tell the story in full gory detail with her center stage antics as the gist of the tale.

Dream - White House

I am with a large group of people playing a sophisticated survival game, possibly televised . Our task of several different groups is to survive challenges in the White House. We have access to almost every room depending on the challenge. My group talk of strategy and have a scarf talisman to identify us to each other. Early on after the first successful challenge is completed to continue in the game, I am traded/separated from my original group. As my cohorts leave me, I join a new group who are doing food tasks. We are seated at large dining tables and must choose foods to consume as we wander among staffers. After having a great meal, we are left to choose a desert. I choose a tall ice cream cone of my own making. I must juggle the assemblage by putting my pinkie in the bottom of the cone and flip it right side up in a ball and cup manner to add the final topping. There is an eagle? component that endangers it from getting snatched. Surprisingly, I do this twice successfully, seeming to have an aptitude, which is congratulated by Barack as he sits and and nods approval while casually talking to another head of state on the phone.  Several other team members join me in looking out a picture window that reveals Alaska/Hawaii where a person walks by as Barack comments on the view and its splendor. There are also several raccoons that gambol thru this vista and a dock leading to a serene lake. I decide to wander/explore into a hallway where a large art is displayed. I ask permission to do this and am OK'd by WH handlers. I encounter other team members with their various foods. I start to peruse the art, down the hallway. Some is classical, but many are large format color political cartoons, left over from other presidencies. I stop to identify a large eared George. Bush cartoon- he's in a speeding out of controller car careening off an overpass. I am aware I should be careful not to spill my cone in this great carpeted hallway, and am warned by a housekeeper as she leaves for her day. There is a general hubbub and I join others of my team in another room to play an odd pinball machine with golf balls that overflow the supply slot after I win. Barack is there again being briefed by staffers and looking out a window and has the time to notice my accomplishment. I do this all while continuing to juggle the ice cream cone. I pick up some of the golf balls to clean up the overflow as Barack wanders by again in what is obviously the Oval Office. He jokes with staff in what seems like a very convivial atmosphere. My team is assembling again to begin a new task.

Dream - Pig Roommates

I am sitting in front room rocking chair talking to Tina. She heralds the arrival of a small baby pig into the room as others come up the stairs. It is not only a Francisco-like tall man roommate, but his young short blonde girlfriend. She is moving in unexpectedly and my first reaction is horror and dread. I am not able to hide my reaction from her, even as she is placing a check for $40 on the desk as her half of the rent with her tall boyfriend. He is not visible yet, has not warned me of this change in the living arrangement or even asked. The young girl is some sort of desperate straits, and is relieved and not wavering from the inevitability of moving in. This is a done deal as far as she is concerned and may be saving her own life from the previous arrangement she is fleeing. The little pig is running around, perhaps playing with other small dogs in residence, in a very happy frolicking way. I begin to see the writing on the wall and apologize for my initial reaction. There are hugs and general making nice. She is a sweetheart and I start to make mental adjustments to my new living situation, even asking if she is working during the day. She replies with an "I wish" negative. I have to answer the door several times and knock collected papers to the floor at the bottom of the stairs. I have to pick them up again and again, re-stacking them in their wire basket cubbys attached to the wall. Inconvenient and obviously inefficient. Chris Frieber comes upstairs or is on the street with conversation as one visitor. He also shows me a picture book(?) of old weathered French doors of great architectural splendor.

Dream - Biking Guide

I have left a dream-forgotten situation in the Richmond and am on a standard bicycle wending my way through a series of right-angle wooden covered tunnels as an approach to the GG Bridge.  I encounter and avoid oncoming tourists who may or may not be on the right path, as it is narrow and does not seem to be designed for this double passage. I am not traveling at top speed so this is more of a pleasant surprise when they pop up from around various corners. After what seems a long convoluted and Byzantine journey, I finally come out near the ramp to the Bridge. I must walk my bike and avoid a muddy patch of long grass that leads down to a path. Tourists from both directions are milling about and I give directions to a few who I overhear talking. I correct their confusion about the name of their location, but restrain from telling them the history of the buildings in the Presidio and the architectural timeline they portray.

I never really knew Robin Williams

Robin and me, Comedy Day, San Francisco c.1984
Photo Credit: Sue Murphy

Everyone that survived the 80's comedy boom in San Francisco has at least one story that includes Robin as the main attraction. We all wanted to share the stage with one of the best and brightest, hoping to up our own personal game or just bathe in the same spotlight while hoping a little of the fairy dust rubbed off on our otherwise meager talents. As is the nature of ego, others may have hoped to hold their own with his rapid-fire brilliance, or even best the genius of his rolodex mind. I often witnessed the self-satisfaction of lesser talents basking in landing a personal bon mot in front of his adoring audience. The crown jewel of achievement was catching him off guard and actually hearing his surprised chortle of amused recognition of your bit of funny. I often thought his gracious appraisal was at once congratulatory and encouragement to fly further with him to the rarefied air of his orbit. Few did; all tried.

Certainly a recounting of that moment was shared and re-shared in pissing contests with others lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, a battle of "Oh yeah, well once he joined me after my set and..." those encounters became legend in each of our minds and were told as proof that the possession of genius was ripe for the picking, and not the sole proprietorship of one freakishly talented individual. Those treasured moments were likely looped in memory to revisit the thrill, perhaps elaborated and enhanced, and likely called in to service as self-soothing on nights when the gig was less than stellar, singular and truly lonely on similar stages with hacks and wannabes. Our minds, when left to our own devices, yearn to be special, unique and above the pedestrian. The brutally honest part of a performer's brain, or maybe the built-in insecurity and doubt, knows better. That moment was certainly hard evidence of our untapped abilities and the destiny of greatness in the pursuit of stardom; the type of stardom that Robin was scouting ahead and dancing with before our eyes. It seemed wonderful and magical and within our grasp, at least in that glimpse of a moment. At least, at that time within San Francisco's comedy enclave.

One of his kindest contributions was graciously sharing and collaborating, even as his circle was widening beyond the hothouse environment of SF. He allowed us a peek behind the grander curtain, what it was actually like... each bringing our own hopes and dreams of belonging and being included in the exclusive club. I suspect that he also loved to play and required playmates who understood the shorthand and lingo. Maybe just a stretch to keep the comedy muscle tuned and limber, but he was likely seeking the joy of collaboration or making something out of nothing, disengaging the calculating brain and leaving the imagination to its own devices. Nothing is better than being surprised by your own mind and the wonders below the surface waiting to be tapped and un-trapped. It has its own addictive qualities, to recreate that high of the high-wire, to be blameless and shameless for a shortcoming, failure or transgression and move on through the glorious pell-mell of creativity unleashed.

For many he was the reason that comedy as a vocation became a way of life. I watched him burst forth from my small TV on a local comedy show filmed at the Great American Music Hall, on a bill with other rising stars in the comedy scene. He smoked every one of them; that’s not to say they weren't entertaining and garnered laughs, but Robin erased their triumphs with a new kind of authenticity. No one was like him, as his methods were madness and otherworldly; almost foreign and incomprehensible to translate what was happening in real time in this new way of funny. He was the undeniable star of the evening and soon to be for his generation/the ages. I was left speechless, gasping and sputtering with incredulity and vaguely grokking my new aspiration, perhaps similar to mortals gazing on the gods when they deigned to appear before them. That night his talent soared from the stage through the audience and into the stratosphere, transmitted by way of a 13" television. My subsequent journey began to steep myself in countless improv workshops, learning the way of those before me to honor the ancient craft, then performing, and hanging out in comedy clubs for further research or as an insatiable sponge for all things funny. My fellow travelers were possessed with the same compulsive desire and the City's fertile ground nourished and sprouted all sorts and stripes of humor.

Robin stops by to play with Femprov at Cobb's Pub in the Marina
Terry Sand joins the trio in a Madrigal.
Photo Credit: Mark Pitta

Of course, my path crossed again with Robin. When he was in town as a respite from his burgeoning career, he also turned up in the small clubs we frequented to grab a bit of stage time. His presence was always met with a murmur of excitement and anticipation among the comics. We knew the night had already become special and we were about to become audience members held in his thrall. The scarcity of patrons in the club magically transformed into SRO. Somehow ‘word on the street’ spread like wildfire and a literal stampede engulfed the room. The subsequent roar of the crowd when he took the stage upped the ante and the energy became electric and immeasurable by standard comedy gauges of entertainment. Everyone sensed, no, knew, they were in the presence of a remarkable entity and it was now our job to witness this shooting-from-the-hip superstar.

Among the working comics, ambition and competition were temporarily put on hold... it was time to be entertained and schooled. Heads up, the Rosetta stone has taken the stage and we had yet another front row seat and chance to decipher the method to his hilarious madness. The clues had to be there, it was just a matter of paying close attention. Doing justice to these performances is feebly captured with mere words. Take yourself back to the first time he flabbergasted you; re-conjure that for yourself and attempt a description. Mind-blowing and boggling all at once, preternatural and spellbinding, and oh-so-very funny only begin to scratch the surface of that singular experience. I’m guessing you’re smiling, but words fail.

Afterwards and off stage, he was friendly and extremely gracious, even as he was inevitably accosted or ogled by a spent and grateful crowd grasping at the hem of his garments. After hours, backstage when the club closed to the public and the ballyhoo had died down, he was one of the gang, all of us still amped from performing or just watching him weave his stream of consciousness.

Was this a form of recharging and a touch of normal he welcomed from the juggernaut of his meteoric rise into the Show Biz firmament? I like to think we offered him a small remembrance of familiar things long since passed by (recently lost) in his life that had suddenly and deservedly leapfrogged over our earthly struggles. There was no turning back from his inevitable path now, but one often yearns for simpler times with mundane surprises. Who hasn't revisited their grade school or attended a HS reunion to take stock and gain perspective on a life's passage? He was shy, respectful and humble beyond the talents he obviously possessed... or maybe just observed our foibles while some were searching for any small acceptance in his eyes. Still, most welcomed his down to earth attitude, and the grace with which he tolerated our embryonic state, as an example and proof that fame and fortune did not necessarily have to expose the inner asshole we all harbor and hopefully keep at bay.

Linda Hill and I create a Robin sandwich, backstage at Cobb's

He gave, but boy did he get. I had a small taste of the thunder and lightning he absorbed from a crowd.

Traditionally, Comedy Day in Golden Gate Park was headlined with an appearance by Robin. He followed an amazing roster of local comics who were loved in their own right by an appreciative and knowledgeable comedy crowd gathered for an entire day of back-to-back 5 minute sets in broad daylight in a polo field full of funny-loving folks. In some years the numbers swelled to thousands. Not an easy room, especially for performers used to working small darkened clubs with intimate crowds, half in the bag, focused by a singular spotlight on a small stage. Few of us had arena experience, although it felt like rock star proportions when you took the sun-lit stage.

Obviously, the adoring masses had been hopeful they would be rewarded for their patience with a lengthy set by Robin. If he was in town, he did not disappoint. All kibitzing among the comics backstage came to a halt because it was time to watch him unfurl his brand of magic. The response to his introduction, standard by now, made us all realize the laughs we earned earlier were mere titters by contrast. He was their maestro, orchestrating their now-forgotten exhaustion into a frenzy of joy and laughter. It was mesmerizing to watch the puppet-mastery of it all on the faces of an audience reacting in perfect unison, just as Robin intended. You might think this hyperbole, but I assure you, no exaggeration is required.

When he could finally end his extended set, despite further protestations by the crowd, all comics would join him onstage en masse to take a final bow and thank the audience for being there. Honestly, we all wanted a piece of that goood stuff Robin had whipped up. All of us clambered onstage and I found myself near the front behind Robin. The roar of the crowd was crazy good for the soul and the greedy ego that fuels us all, enough for a lifetime. We were all soaking in this field of people on their feet, clapping, screaming and literally barking with approval. I noted my vantage point behind Robin was pretty special, as most of this adoration was rightfully focused toward him. His sight line was spectacular and this POV allowed me to imagine stepping into his performing shoes.

Comics traditionally returned to the stage to thank the audience…
and take one last bow after Robin's closing set on Comedy Day in the Park (1984).

Knowing when to leave the stage is just as important, so you 'leave 'em wanting more' or, realistically, don't wear out your welcome and the goodwill of those applauding. Expertly, Robin took the initiative; he turned around and reflexively hugged the first person in the sea of comics. It happened to be me. Robin was a hugger, so this did not seem out of the ordinary from the regular hugs received over the years. What I wasn't prepared for was the combined energy from performing and the subsequent received love from his crowd. The hug transferred all of it to me in that embrace. Yikes, like nothing I have felt since. Electric and visceral in impact. A sonic boom of quantum force. It would have knocked me on my ass if he had let go. When he did, he met my shocked look with a knowing gaze, as if to say, "That's what the real stuff feels like every time." I had my share of loving and thrilled audiences and the occasional standing O, but I was never able to replicate or receive that feeling on my own. It was an unexpected gift and a sudden realization of how unique Robin's experience must have been.

Though I flatter myself as part of the 80’s comedy inner circle, San Francisco’s up and comers witnessing and cheering on a comrade’s launch from our ranks to the highest of heights, I have no legitimate claim to really knowing Robin. His recent passing and our cumulative clumsy attempts to make sense of how someone who meant so much to so many could exit a world of such adoration is obviously beyond our ken. Abandoning all that… and us, calls into question our own capacity for handling all the varieties of love he received. We flounder in our own shallow and vapid imaginations about the perceived perks of his life…or the incomprehensible and attendant pitfalls.

Perhaps he had sated the adoration-seeking aspect of a performer’s life long ago; maybe that was never his concern. I cannot fathom the depths of his clinical lows or the heights of the joys he experienced, consistently touching countless souls of several generations along the way, each and every one believing, for that moment, he was our closest compatriot in this folly of existence.

By happenstance, I had a sliver of insight into his world one sunny afternoon 30 years ago. Despite this minimal proximity to a kind and generous man, I am comforted by the certainty that he wasted little time in fully living an extraordinary life. Good speed, Robin.

Dream - Encouragement

I am in school and working on a story, perhaps illustrated, perhaps being hammered out in storyboard form. The pages are laid out on the floor of my bedroom. The book is colorful and may be in watercolor. Barbara Scott is a fellow student and Robin is there in the capacity of teacher. We are looking at the pages and pondering what is not there yet and needs to be filled in where there are missing pages of these brainstorming doodles. There is some discussion and encouragement from both. Robin is also mindful and expectant of an approaching deadline. I am on the stairway finding places for some colorful books to be wedged into niches of the back of the door. Later or the next day, we are now downstairs and the book is laid out on a table. Robin comes to check on my progress that is no further along, though he reads a later chapter and is optimistic about its content. I have other studies and classes that need attending and tended to. I now must take a station wagon across the bay and leave on my trip. On my way I pull over to rest or attend to something on a country back road, and do so in a covered roadside gas station, likely abandoned. When I pull out to continue my journey, I pass Hispanic women crossing this pastoral road, with large sparse trays of cupcakes, the others having been delivered to a school on the right. The frosting is colorful for celebrating a holiday. I imagine their homemade goodness.

Note: Robin Williams committed suicide yesterday - August 11

Dream - House Police

Details of how we got into a large showroom are gone upon waking…although I have flashes of initial dream's location orientation. We are seated stage left near the front of a comic-con type gathering. Before the show starts, we are called away to answer questions, tour and inspect a house across the street with some urgency. Supposedly we have some knowledge of the home (it may be mine or had been). Police are involved, because when we return I look back through the auditorium's entrance portal to see them on balconies and roofs combing the slope-roofed brick abode. I implore Teresa? to witness the goings on behind and over our shoulder, as it appears Frank Kidder and another old-school comedy guy (Cantu) are now part of the police proceedings. I comment: "Thought you would ever see that?…" Upon our return to the audience, we see that our away time has been put to good use by Denise and Joe entertaining the happy crowd with some fireman's carry game with sets of two hapless audience members and have accrued 60 points. Cheering and laughter for these time-fillers, while the original intent of the show/panel is all but forgotten. Later we are all in a van with Charlie Brown among others in the back, on our way to another performance.

Dream - Backstage before the Flood

Dream
I am somehow privy to 3 theatre productions running concurrently in a large warehouse space. At first as an audience member, then morphing into a backstage assistant to one of the actresses. Vince and Richard are also knowledgeable about those working on the productions. There is much busyness in the space as, workman dismantle and rebuild  the stages daily between each play. Time ticks away but there is no urgency just relentless hard work on a grand scale. The gay 'bouncer' at the door allows me in after quipping (not remembered upon waking) something I repeat to others as I make way in with a bag with auxiliary items for one of the actresses. She is blonde and has been asked to fill in for the third play. The other plays have something to do with variations on/with or without a certain costume of each actress. Each play had a distinct different actress. Detail is spent on my part packing bag with a variety of specific found items needed for blonde's part in the play.
This actress is visiting with small dogs and later meets a family with children and is cordial to their normality. They live in a single level house. We all witness a rainstorm and folks caught in this deluge outside. The increasing severity is reflected in BART plaza flooding with increasing number of blue tarps to cover the water as seen from window above. (having morphed from the family's first floor) Some concern and commentary about the flooding.

Dream - Medical Forms, Cats

Filling in patient's medical history and prescription forms at house/friend I am visiting. There is also a maid that is struggling with the same thing. She is familiar with this regular duty for her employer, while I am just biding my time while I'm waiting for her to finish or return from her busy life, and to help out so she is freed up to leave. The power gal of this huge house is around but too busy. She corrects or answers myriad questions about the forms on occasion, but disappears to other social or business engagements. The info needs to be transferred into matching fields from other hard to decipher forms. There is one black form, with white writing that is especially complex, hard to read and decipher.
I am next, tasked with taking care of Durst's cats while they're gone on a tropical vacation. They are attending one last baseball game before they leave. The game is about to be rained out, or perhaps not when the sun returns after a deluge. I am already on their enormous house boat. There are 2 decks that wrap around both sides of this enormous floating living space that has a view of the ballpark. What I think are 2 cats, an older tabby and a youngish kitten turns out to be 6 more exotics that appear after the mishap. A squirrel gets on board and the 2 known cats give chase. The kitten is outside the house and crawling into a broken headlights space on the outside of the boat.  My fear is her escape, but she returns indoors from the romping and high speed chasing with a broken foot, that is now swelling. This kitten is hobbling and favoring the front right broken paw. The older Tabby is also concerned and shadowing the limping kitten and licking the broken paw. I must reach the Durst's for advice and possible vet visit. There is some hope they may be able to do this before they leave. I am concerned, Will seems to be taking the lead because Debi is seldom in sight or present. There is concern that the squirrel may still be on the boat, and may be a nuisance to the other now-congregating cats or dead upon the Durst's return if it is trapped on the boat.

Dream - Sex and Elvis

Andy I's house, I'm resting horizontally on my side, possibly laying down for a nap and he mounts me from behind for sex. His release results in a huge load that surprises me and I surmise this as his peccadillo of shame. He must greet other visitors while I am secreted away to deal with huger-than-imagined load dripping down my leg. Can feel the warm wetness and proceed to clean myself up. He asks/requires me to be hidden upstairs afterward. Part of a long detailed rationale explaining rules of my continuing to stay for his repeated and regular pleasure. He is a bit naive and thrilled that this will happen again.
Escape to attend a huge Elvis Presley concert where I am privy to his redundant clueless wandering behavior in stands and backstage mechanics of his life in arena during concert, I view this from wide stairs below, near seats of friends who are either oblivious, uninterested or bored with this view so nearby. I leave concert early with one of them on inside tip that he always leaves at same time while band finishes concert, Sure enough, I watch Elvis carried out, wrapped up in a hod. Despite a full stadium, we go to an empty parking lot, looking for my odd white car. We are on the way to drop off my male morphing identity passenger in Santa Cruz, she/he wants to take a side trip looking for a storage unit. Pull over at Chinese donut shop to check phone map, enter and crawl  under hinged counter. Now also have a small boy dressed in overalls and s'easter, and Judi Clark is now present, impatient and calling the shots.

Dreams - Shorts

July 27 - A lineup of all the stages of Dad's life, as presented by different costumes and small vignettes, all acted by me(?). MC'd by me as Ed Sullivan.

July 17 - Cannot remember a pleasant complex dream, but have the phrase, "The bees always return to their hive home" as the last thing said before waking from the dream.

July 11 - There are many elements to this dream, most of which have to do with Chinese culture. Decorations, a parade and shiny embroidered sheath dresses. Most details disappear upon waking.

Dream - Birds and Boys

Margaret and Alex Lindsey are visiting my house and I am ensconced in my attic bedroom. Both are pleasantly conversing about this part of the house they haven't been privy to. Margaret is antic and moves the stuffed chair out onto the roof, relieving it of the white covers in the process, to sit and be outdoors. She curiously opens the Dutch roof door into the eaves, which now are sunny and habitable and include a south window and an upright piano. It has become a small playhouse-sized room. Although dusty it is cleaned out, pleased, I note this without venturing inside. It has upped my living situation in Margaret's eyes and she also seems pleased and her continuing conversation is positive about the experience. She leaves for another appointment and Alex stays. We talk and as I note an odd, large flocking of birds (gulls, maybe pigeons) outside the window, above the alley, Alex gets up to look and becomes dizzy and faints back onto the bed, white as a sheet. He sez he is about to be sick, so I rush downstairs to get a bucket. My first thought is to make a cold compress for him in a very Florence Nightingale way. He pinks up after not being able to hurl into the plastic container supplied. He recovers and goes along his way.

The second dream starts with leaving a theatre production on Geary and catching up to Debi Durst and Diane Amos who were also there. While Diane is friendly, Debi is taken away by other preferred associates. Michael O'Brien is also there and asks if I can help him with some computer glitch. We leave Diane, as he sez he would like to take care of it ASAP. We walk toward Sutter where his new digs are. There are open walkways between buildings and we ascend to an apartment he shares with Ric Schneider/Ed Helms and maybe Chris Frieber is visiting. The glitch seems to be task work that he wants done and doesn't have time, or fixing some game system he wants to play. We take a break into his living room where the other guys are hanging out. It has a grand panoramic picture window that overlooks the City that looks as dense as NYC from these heights. The buildings are skewed and we are higher than imagined from this viewpoint. I marvel at the beauty. Margaret is now also there. There is another flocking of birds, assembled in a funnel that they are systematically peeling off and feeding back into, in the distance. There is a cry from the bedroom for help and we all rush to see a hapless Ric on his back on the bed with an erection caught in his zipper. Even though his colorful briefs (underoos) are shielding his pinnacle, he is whining in pain at his dilemma. We all laugh. I am doubled over on my knees with the giggles at the cliche dilemma he is in and barely able to comment on the ridiculousness. He is begging for help to free him. We all set about trying to come up with solutions, in lieu of actually touching it.

Dream - Mom's Tschotkes

Verla has an apartment that I am visiting. She has returned with a new younger male friend, that has helped her to clean and open up a large closet into a small room behind louvered sliding doors. I admire all the new room she has and am amazed at this newly discovered space. She is busy, busy, busy getting ready to go out again.
Later she is on Market street at her regular table selling tschotkes of her making. This is an entrepreneurial venture and she has done quite well with it. Today she is having a fight with someone and denies them a purchase and angrily pushes them away. I step in and realize she has slipped a cog and must be attended to for her mental failing.

Dream - Kidsitting and Dinner Parties

There are many forgotten pieces to this long dream that include a vacation presentation with grass skirts and other costumed destinations. I am at my home, with television and Kelly's boys. It is a mishmash of myriad happenings upon waking, despite my efforts to reconstruct.
The last part remembered vividly is, I am tasked with sitting Cory and Alex. They are manageable, content to play video games, and be fun kids at my house. However I have double-booked myself and must meet with new dog sitting clients in the Dogpatch area of Soma. It is dusk and we walk there and down a cosmetically clean alley. I can feel the sensation of peeing my pants, so that is another concern to be addressed. We arrive at their unassuming door, as I soldier the boys into good behavior mode and ring the doorbell. I am greeted by an unfamiliar older and sour face. I don't realize  it is more than just a meet up, it is huge sit-down dinner with their friends. I have not alerted them of the kids attendance and there is some huffing and puffing among other guests or roommates I don't recognize. I wend my way through the crowd to find my host who is busy in the kitchen and unfazed by the extra plates needing to be set at one of the many tables. Others are giving me stares and ultimately I know no one at this party. They are older and seem to have had bad plastic surgery or are just bored and discontent with their elevated lot in life. Cory and Alex are behaving, but the impending juggling act is foreboding. Oddly I see an old friend Tina Fey, and she  points out another dinner guest (evil Tina Fey) in attendance that I will give her support in dealing with. This could have been a cuckolding nemesis or just a notorious bitch. I need to change my wet panty liner and I notice dog poop on the carpet and alert the boys to avoid it. They want to help clean it up and are down on their knees. It changes from a bland grey to a mustard brown yellow as they try to maneuver it into a bag. It seems it will not end well.

Dream - Teachers and Dogs

I am showing the ropes to a new teacher at FAIS. He may be taking over my position which I am thrilled to leave. Part of my duties in the transition is settling him into teacher housing. It is a ramshackle studio at the end of a long hallway or pier that has odd stacked box access. Doors are modular and there all seems to be a piecemeal arrangement of window parts making up walls. It seems cozy and has a view of the water, although the street orientation is at Geary and Mason. He looks like Joseph Feinnes and has 2 little dogs. He has to leave for school duties and I am visited by parents that I am to show around the City (David Baal's parents) before we leave I am concerned about the dogs that may need to go outside or are unsecured in the new teacher's box and window studio. I leave the parents on the street to check on the dogs and spend quite a bit of time tending to their cute needs. One is a Papillion, and the other is equally small. There seems to be no way to insure they will not escape the studio and I work a puzzling set of options that will surely undo or crawl through. They do get loose and run down the long hallway, I give pursuit and meet up with the parents who have been waiting an inordinate amount of time on the sidewalk down below and have come upstairs to see what's up. They are not upset despite a need to get somewhere at a certain time. They also converse with another teacher in the studio warren and are invited into bide their time and be friendly. They find some of my erotic drawings in the other teacher's studio and are amused, quizzing me on my transplanted head technique. The dogs suddenly return with the new teacher, frantically happy that their master has returned from school.