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Last night it was all about cruising. My family was there; others were there; it was a great big party. The ship was highly ornate in an over-the-top Vegas style. On our floor was a lounge with a guy dressed up as Louis XIV performing songs to piano accompaniment. One member of our party was so entranced that he missed the elevator the rest of us were on, only seeing us shoot by horizontally past him as apparently this was a multidirectional elevator.
Our ship was in port. I have no idea what port. Most European ports look pretty much the same — very industrial.
That elevator was taking us to the Lido deck at 4 a.m. to get something to eat. We figured no one would be around, and we were hungry after a late night. My ship card, which I apparently needed for securing food much like in a college cafeteria, had a mysterious title on it under my name, something like the Chief Dak of the Fifth Duck. I didn’t know what it meant in the dream any more than I do now.
On deck, we discovered that the buffet was already packed, with a huge line leading out the entryway. I looked up and saw a sign noting that registration for the eating contest was underway. We hesitated. We were hungry, but we didn’t want to wait in line, especially if that line led to registration for a food-shoveling event.
Luckily, we discovered an omelette station right next to the line’s end, with many prepared plates for the taking. I grabbed one with an omelette, potato pancakes, and a ball of sausage. I tried a couple bottles of ketchup and managed to get some on my plate. I requested some bacon from the cook behind the counter, as I always prefer it to sausage. Mmm, bacon.
Turns out my companions for the meal were John and Heidi of Carnival’s cruise-director blog fame. Heidi was tucking into an omelette meal herself, but John (as he is on a diet) only had two slices of whole-wheat bread and a whole lot of cut-up tomatoes in front of him. I commented on the number of tomatoes, and he woefully explained there wasn’t much else he could eat. At that point, the cook handed him some extremely blackened bacon, which had some special name I don’t recall that indicated it had been prepared in such a way as to render out most of the fat. I got my bacon too, though it was a lovely golden brown instead. It was still crispier than I make it for myself (I like it fully cooked by still a little chewy, which is why I often go for thick slices), looking bubbly on the outside as if it had been deep fried, but it was still lovely to have.
I was baking plain cut-out cookies in my parents’ kitchen. I first made small rounds and large stars, and these I made into sandwiches with a jam filling. Naturally, the stars on top were way bigger than the round bottoms, and thus the cookies were hard to eat. I considered making smaller stars for tops that would fit inside the circle’s circumference, but I worried they would be messy with all that jam peeking out around the edges. I decided to make two circular cookies instead.
My dream also involved some sort of conference. I can’t remember what that was all about. Still, it was a happier time than what life is handing me lately.
Last night’s dreaming mostly involved some sort of action-adventure conspiracy story with hints of the show Lost (I’m sure so many men out there wish they could borrow my brain at night), but only two details in particular stand out in memory.
One was that at some point in the action, one of my team turned on the gas in an oven in our basement hideout/prison in hopes of triggering an explosion when the bad guys next fired their guns at (unknown to them, escaped) us. Sort of kawhoosh, like when the lighter on your stovetop doesn’t catch at first and you better back up from the burner for when it does. This plan had no success though, merely leaving us in a jam as to who would brave all that gas to go in and shut off the oven after the bad guys, having smelled the gas, hightailed it out of there.
The other was that this basement thing was also a large library, a warehouse-style store, and a depository of pizza. Much of my extended family was down there with me, where we spent part of the time looking for books and signing up for library cards, which built up an appetite. No need to cook, as, like I mentioned, there were pizza boxes stacked as far as the eye could see. Of all different varieties, too: I got not only pepperoni, but also a cream sauce pizza and a pesto-y herb pizza for my munching.
Makes me kind of hungry. No, I did not eat my pillow.
