Once in while I find myself waking from a dream that is so jarring, so horrific and realistic that it takes a few minutes to realize that I am safe at home in my bed with my husband and cats, and not in the life-threatening peril I thought I was in just moments before.

Other times I wake to find that my dream the previous night have had some kind of prophetic quality to it, regarding an animal I might run into later in the day, or a movie I might see later in the week.

It’s terrifying when those two types of dreams collide.

Last night I dreamt of an alien invasion. They looked like us, but much taller, standing about ten feet, with bigger, bald heads. (Think Richard Kiel’s alien in the episode of The Twilight Zone, where “To Serve Man” was actually a cookbook, but leaner and fitter.) I never saw the destruction coming, but one moment I looked out of the window to see nothing between here and the river. Nothing but flat land and charred trees, razed by some unseen force. Devastation.

We were told to collect what we could in a single suitcase, and get out of the building because the shuttles were coming to take us to a safe place. I remember laying out my clothes, unable to decide between my favorite comfy sweater that I’ve had for years and the new stylish outfit I purchased for an incredible $15 at Old Navy last weekend. I ended up throwing some random clothes in my suitcase, but not closing it, opting rather for a couple of music books I grabbed haphazardly from the shelf, clinging them to my chest the way we did in middle school.

The shuttle was supposed to come in two minutes – not much time to prepare. The woman upstairs was hysterical because she didn’t have enough arms to carry all her things, including a kitten she had rescued only the week before. One older couple decided they would rather stay put, as they believed they would be a burden to the survivors. Through all this, I realized that Paul was nowhere to be found, and I started screaming for him. I tried to run back to look for him, but the shuttle came. The conductor barked at me to get on board. I had no choice, as the building collapsed before me. Tears welled up in my eyes as everything I had ever known was whisked away from me. We took off, and the world itself disappeared. All I had left was the two books I clutched to my chest.

I awoke with a start. It wasn’t until Paul snorted a bit as he turned over that I realized that it was all a dream, that I hadn’t lost him, that our house was safe, that the outside world was still there.

A half hour later, when I turned on the computer and logged into Facebook, every post was about praying for the people in Japan. I opened the NY Times and saw that the worst earthquake to strike Japan in recorded history had struck just off the northern part of the country, and walls of water had swept everything away. Hundreds of people are dead, and at least as many are missing. Devastation.

It’s frightening to think that this was all happening as I dreamed a similar situation.


I am very glad, indeed I finally return home

I’m sure this will be the next big thing to rock the interwebs, so it’s my pleasure to share it with you, gentle readers.  The only clue I have as to its origins is the barely noticeable “1976” printed in the bottom left corner, and the Russian title, which, according to Babelfish, translates to “I am very glad, indeed I finally return home.”

My mother once said that nothing good came out of the seventies.  The fashions, the hair styles, the color schemes, the architecture, the cinema… This video is the culmination of all of the bad aspects of the seventies.  Yet, somehow when they are all put together something truly corny and wonderful is created, which is greater than the sum of its parts.

I vaguely recall seeing reruns of variety shows from the seventies where the musical flavor of the month would come on and “sing” their latest hit.  By “sing” I mean move their lips to a prerecorded tape.  Why should the USSR be any different?  To me, the lip syncing makes this video all the more awesome.

Tales from the potty

The restaurant was full, but the three-stalled restroom was unoccupied, save for the woman about ten years my senior who had entered just seconds before me. We chose the stalls on opposite sides of the room, leaving the middle stall as a buffer between us.  Standard restroom etiquette.

Just after I had gotten myself situated, I heard a voice, loud and resonant:

“Hi, Ruthie, it’s Mrs. Lasky.  Is your mom or dad home?”

When you hear another person’s voice in a public restroom, the first thought is usually that someone is addressing you personally.  It wasn’t until she finished her question and waited for Ruthie (whoever she was) to fetch the person to whom she wanted to speak that I realized she wasn’t actually talking to me.  A minute later she continued:

“Hi Carol, it’s me.  Yeah, I’m out with Allison and her friends after some Girl Scout thing…”

Why is this lady talking on the phone in a public restroom?  It’s not as if she was standing in line by the sinks, killing time while waiting her turn.  She was actually on the toilet.  And it wasn’t as if she was making some urgent call about work or some personal emergency involving forgetting to turn off the stove.  She was chatting.  Just chewing the fat with a bud.  While sitting on the toilet.  In a public restroom.

After careful thought and the eventual realization that I wasn’t going to overhear the plotting of a mob hit (and the completion of my own personal business), I decided to go on my merry way.  I got myself together and reached around to flush the toilet.  Just then, the woman, who had until that moment completely ignored my presence, turned on me.

Now would probably be a good time to add that, being a restroom, the woman two stalls over who was carrying on an innocuous conversation with an apparent friend was making some noises that belonged in a men’s restroom in a bean eating factory.  I have never before heard so much or such loud gas being passed within such a small timeframe, especially when the person knows of my presence.  So, it’s not as if this woman wanted to conceal the fact that she was in the restroom from her friend.  She wasn’t even trying, and she certainly didn’t apologize.  Surely the person on the other end of the connection had heard the sounds of this woman’s terrifying flatulence long before the flushing of my toilet.  Perhaps that is why I was so surprised at what came next.

“Do you MIND??  I am on the PHONE!!!

She yelled at me.  She actually yelled at me because the sound of a flushing toilet in a public restroom interrupted her phone conversation.  Stunned, I rushed out of the stall and over to the sink, secretly hoping I could get out of there before she could raise her voice at me again.

As I left the restroom, I heard her say, “Sorry about that.  Some people…”

Megan Dancing

Back in 1985 or so, when I was about four years old, I took “dance” lessons.  I put “dance” in quotation marks because while we wore dance shoes and tights, we didn’t exactly dance.  It was more of a coordination class. Well, apparently, our dance teacher thought we were so fabulous that she volunteered us to perform on live television, for the Delaware Special Olympics Telethon.

While my parents drove me to the television studio, which they tell me was many, many miles away, a neighbor offered to record the telethon so that my television debut would be forever saved for posterity.  It was saved on a simple black VHS labeled “Megan Dancing,” which I have just transferred to the computer using my brand new Roxio Easy VHS to DVD.

A few notes about the performance, which may be more clear after you watch it:

  1. The quality is a little wonky, but that should be expected considering the tape is almost 25 years old.
  2. I was the line leader.
  3. We were supposed to stop in the middle of the stage, not at the far side.
  4. We did actually have a routine prepared.
  5. Despite what happened, we were not part of the Special Olympics.

Recent reviews of our performance raved:

So cute and a little scary!

Don’t quit your day job!

Even after all these years, it makes me laugh til tears are in my eyes.

And so, gentle readers, without further ado I present “Megan Dancing.”  Enjoy!

NASA attacks the moon!

Gentle readers, I am feeling particularly lazy as of late.  So lazy, in fact, that I have asked a friend, the distinguished Mr. Otto von Kotzenmeister, to write a guest post for me. Enjoy!

I can live with the headline “NASA attacks the moon” or “NASA to bomb moon.”  I mean, it did catch my eye enough to have me read the article.  But when you get a smug newscaster from MSNBC with raised eyebrows prefacing a report with “…and there’s this item, we’ve decided to bomb the moon” it gives off a totally different vibe.  He goes on to show the computer simulated video of what will happen when NASA crashes it’s rocket into the moon (spoiler alert: it blows up), although with the amount of reverence they gave this story it would have been more than appropriate to play Yakety Sax in the background while showing it.

Of course, like any other red blooded American, at this point you must be thinking, “Yeah, sure, water on the moon, future missions, space exploration blah blah blaaaahh, how much am I paying for this?”  Well, MSNBC is right there with you wondering the same thing; they end the video with “This ‘moon bombing’ mission, by the way, is costing tax payers 79 [pause] million dollars.”  And I’m left wondering, do they really need to say that?  Are there comparable stories about the most recent mission in Iraq where they add that it has cost tax payers 900 billion dollars at the end of the story with a skeptical look on their face? Someone did the math (not me, I don’t do math) and this experiment cost each tax payer 26 cents if the cost were evenly distributed across the U.S. population.  That seems pretty worth it.  But no, let’s just rile people up instead until we are left with comments like these:

Why NASA spent alot of money to strike the moon even though our economic in the world is in trouble.  If hit the moon, earth’s surface and weather will be changed worst.  Sciencists [sic] know nothing but God knows. Does God allow?

I don’t think this is a good idea at all.  What if something goes terribly wrong? The moon should be left alone.

And my favorite:

Is money all that you all think that is important! The moon sound be left alone, NASA has to put their noses in everything and in somethings that should be left alone! WTF is your all’s problem get a life! It’s people like NASA who think that they know everything about outer space when really they don’t know diddly crap. LEAVE OUTER SPACE ALONE!!!! Up with space down with NASA!!!

Well, the attack on the moon happened early this morning and the earth and moon seem to be intact, and it’s raining now so I can only assume that the weather is still working.  But I’m 26 cents poorer, and so are you – I expect my moon house and hover-car before the world ends in 2012.

Hi, my name is Ninja Assassin and I’ll be your waiter tonight.

ninja assassin

I think our local brewpub may be hiring its waitstaff from outside the normal pool of potential employees.

WTF Wednesday

I’ve decided to start a new segment here at Melodic Insomniac: WTF Wednesday. Basically, I’m posting about one of the many, many things that I see during my week that make me think or say, “WTF?”  I think I’ve got enough subjects to keep this going for quite a while.  That’s pretty scary.

There’s a great toy store in my mall that sells mainly toys from my childhood. That means board games, Lincoln logs, those cool cardboard blocks painted to look like bricks, and more of the like.  Electronics are at a minimum.  The majority of the dolls are of the nameless teddy bear and baby doll variety, but there is a small selection of action figures.  There are some Indiana Jones action figures, but they look nothing like Harrison Ford.

On the other side of the store, completely alone from the rest of the action figures, hangs a set of the following:

crazy cat lady action figure

Crazy Cat Lady: The Action Figure.  How many cats do you have?

I’m sorry, but who in their right mind needs an action figure of a crazy cat lady, complete with six cats (in addition to those that are already peeking out from beneath her hair and from her sweater pocket) to accessorize her?

What really cracks me up is that this toy seems to be completely independent from any TV show, movie or game.  She is a stand alone crazy cat lady.  Not to knock the cray cat lady, but I thought that most action figures that do not emulate movie stars or teeny bopper singers encourage children to pretend to be some worthy profession, like a firefighter or a policeman.

Seriously, WTF?

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