so i was in new york city this morning...

...in a dream. Per usual for my dreams, although I "knew" this was New York City, it looked nothing like any picture of The Small Orange I'd ever seen. In fact, when I first arrived at the place where I was apparently to meet Stuart and Lisa, it looked more like a private community in Avon Lake -- not really, but that's what my dream mind said. It was a quiet, tree-shaded, coastal, brick-pathed area with old brick buildings. Now that I think about it, it was more like the Chautauqua Institution, only with street musicians. I'd also point out that, to get to this quiet little enclave, I was following directions on a scrap of paper, but unlike most of my dreams, this one did not involve a frustrating half hour of getting lost and cars stalling in the rain and head-on collisions that leave everyone uninjured and cars unscathed.

Anyway, I parked my car on the street at the edge of this community and rode my bike (which apparently conveniently folds up to fit in my Civic). I followed the bike path paralelling the coastline, because I was sure it would lead to the Longaberger Basket Company Headquarters, which I wanted to take a picture of. Mind you, although it's a neat building (shaped like a Longaberger basket), I've already seen it once, oh and also, IT'S IN OHIO.

Somehow, I ended up near where my car was parked on the street, and I met up with Stu and Lisa (sorry, Steve, I guess you didn't come along this time). It was getting dark, so we chatted for a bit, then I walked down the street to my car to get my suitcase and laptop bag. This was a residential neighborhood, similar to Elyria or Bowling Green, and as I came down the street, I noticed a group of partyers out on the porch of the house in front of which my car was parked. From a bit of distance, I clicked the remote to unlock the doors, which also turned on the dome lights, and that caught the attention of the revelers like a dog that's just seen a squirrel run by a window.

I heard some music start up in the background, like in a movie; something a little syncopated, slightly rock-calypso perhaps? In any case, I started getting my suitcase from the back seat -- oh, and apparently my Civic has only 2 doors now -- and wouldn't you know, those sneaky devils opened the passenger side door and snatched the laptop bag.

Then -- I sh!t you not -- we broke into song. Really. I'm pretty sure this was my subconscious attempting to mix all the songs from Rent (it was New York City, after all) into one strange amalgamation of "Tune Up," "Take Me or Leave Me," and "What You Own." (Shame it didn't include "Seasons of Love," which is actually the only song from Rent that I like.) My portion of the song was a la Mark Cohen's "what am I doing here" rants, as the partyers passed around my shoulder bag -- in tempo -- each looking inside, puzzled at this marvelous invention known as a laptop. While the partyers sang thier piece, I called Stu on my cell phone (who was still down the street at his car), but Lisa answered and didn't really have any advice. I said the laptop has way too much stuff on it that I need, and I hadn't done a backup of the hard drive in months.

At the bridge of the song, one woman came up to me and said she'd give me the bag for $50. I agreed, because I really wanted it back, and I figured that was a small price to pay, aside from the various other lessons learned. But since I could see someone up at the house still had the bag, I didn't trust her. And I certainly didn't want her standing near me when I whipped out my wallet to see if I even had $50 cash, so I told her to go get the bag and I'd meet her halfway in the middle of the yard. She said "OK, but I expect to see results."

Then I woke up. A minute later, my alarm rang. I considered letting myself doze back to sleep so I could finish the dream, because I really wanted to know what would happen, but what I had already dreamt was frustrating enough, and I doubt my subconscious would let me off that easy by just paying $50 and getting my laptop back.

Now then: interpretation time. I believe dreams are the brain's dustpan; they're little bits of information that the brain organizes during REM sleep, much like defragmenting a hard drive. The brain has these pieces and attempts to link them together. So if I ate a pizza yesterday and saw grandma last week and was thinking about my brother's trip to Cancun, today I might have a dream about grandma eating a pizza in Cancun. At least, this is how my dreams work.

I will indeed be visiting New York City this weekend with Stu and Lisa-Marie (and Steve), and I will probably bring my laptop since it's an 8-hour car ride there, but that's about where the similarities end. I will not be driving my own car, nor will I be parking it on the street in a seemingly-safe residential neighborhood. I will not be riding my bike through a Chautauqua-esque community to see the Longaberger headquarters in Newark (hey! maybe that was the connection: Newark/New York?). I would not, despite what my subconscious thinks, be stupid enough to unlock all my car doors from a distance when I can clearly see a group of inebriated 20-somethings nearby, giving them a chance to help themselves to my luggage. And although three of the four of us might at some point burst into song, that will (hopefully) be in the privacy of our own group, not with a bunch of random strangers. We don't want to look like tourists, after all. "It's easy to spot the tourists in New York City: they're the only ones walking around who aren't scowling." --Justin

I'll back up my hard drive before I leave, though.