Dream 410: Foode

08.31.2015 § Leave a comment

Molly holds a small glass bowl upside down over the pour chute of a blender, which she is using to heat up olive oil; as the oil blends it shoots up the chute and onto the inside of the bowl where it is collecting. Zira has left some cheddar cheese and/or eggs on the counter; she asks me if that’s okay, and I say sure.

The next morning I’m playing a video game about a cat at a diner. The cat doesn’t like sweets so it passes all of its desserts to the guy at the next table, a land orca. There were a disproportionately large amount of desserts the cat got served, though, and each one needs to pop up as a text bubble to click through as it’s handed over. My sister comes in the room and is saddened that playing this game is the first thing I’ve been asked to do today.

Across the room, nested mahogany tables are nailed upside-down (by their feet) to the ceiling of the overhang of the loft; they nest all the way in scale from dinner table to end table. Up in the loft is a huge pile of styrofoam sculptures and debris (we’re not taking advantage of renting it out); to get up there you have to take this staircase which is extremely long because it includes a number of landings along its multiple obtuse-angled changes going all around the apartment through the kitchen even to the front door. My mom has left some Coke in the freezer. Last time we moved apartments, sawdust on street blocked the moving truck, slowing us down; I wonder what we can improve about the process this time around.

Taking the space train to another dimension — POW!!!!!!
Once in the new dimension, we’re greeted by the Spanish actor who had to dance over Zorro’s whip and also had a part in The Princess Bride. He looks pretty old now. He’ll be our chef for this evening. I have an awkward conversation with him where I can’t place him and can’t understand what he’s saying through his thick accent. I just want to know what he’s making us for dinner, really, and am not able to glean that. On my way upstairs, though, I see his weekly menu and it looks like we’re having something with lemongrass.
Up on the roof of our college the next morning, Karin and I wait for the bus, bundled up against the winter snow, looking across the courtyard at a windowless four-story grey paneled high school. I pull out some blue cheese to eat. The blue part is not blue in this particular brand, and a web search confirms that that’s just how this brand is. Karin, however, instructs me to roll it up into a ball to fix that. I do. It gets softer and turns all white, at least, and it gets sticky flecks on my hand. I wonder if she wants to try a piece now.
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