I joke with my brother about the origin of the butternut root, telling him that their special flavor comes from the way they are harvested: by monkeys who store the roots in their butts as they pick them.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #349: The Origin of the Butternut Root
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #348: How to Paint with Watercolors
I receive a commission to paint a watercolor for a girl. She wants me to paint a girl pointing a gun at her. She provides me with a large palette with new grass growing on it, and stones that can be scraped for color. My pal T advises me. He has taken a watercolor class recently.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #348: How to Move a Giant Basket from the Inside
I join my pal R in the task of giant Indian basket moving, which involves standing inside the giant, boat sized, wicker basket with red-painted bow-and-stern-ends, and throwing one's weight against the side or kicking at the keel to move the basket along the trail.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #347: When the Aliens Come We Sleep on the Grass
My sister and I sleep on the grass in the front yard of our childhood home. The whole town has been abducted by aliens. They fly north overhead in lighted cylinders in long procession. The grass around us grows long.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #346: She is Crazy
As I return from my jog I pass some bleachers. Two beautiful blonds call out to me: 'We're single! You're single!' I give them dual thumbs up and then trip and stumble as I continue on. I hear laughter. Later, inside, I recline on the couch in an embrace with the taller of the two. I am awestruck by her familiar beauty. She seems to be attracted to me too. Then I see the problem: she is crazy. She channels Napoleon and her bare skull face is tightly bound with many windings of dental floss.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #345: Playing Footsie During an Exam
I am sitting in a class with next to a blond, tanned beauty. She is playing footsie with me. We are in the middle of a written/oral exam.
Q: “Will she have used load average = overdrive?”
A: “If she drove faster than five!”
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #344: Telling Jokes on a Furniture Store Bed
I am walking through the mall. I pass my old friend D and her dark-haired Aussie girlfriend. D gives me a severe look. I bow and kiss her hand. She wears a gold band on her finger. She asks me when I'm going to grow up. I tell her it's too late, so never. We are joined on a furniture store bed by four of her friends. I joke in response to some anecdote: “That will kaak in your craw!” This gets a big laugh. One of the girls is playing with my tie. I see where this is going.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #343: Chili Powder Miniaturizes My Friend
Against our advice, my friend B consumes an entire package of red chili powder, rendering him microscopic. I can still hear his tiny voice, but I can't see him.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #342: The Long Boat Returns From Battle Deserted
I am led inside a darkened long boat to look at a car for sale. It is a 3/4 size 1930s sedan with a sleeping compartment in the rear—all black and chrome. The guy wants $100 or $200K. The car is also amphibious, owing to its large, grey running boards. The guy will demonstrate, but the fog on the beach is still too heavy.
"They're not letting anyone in yet." Soon, everyone leaves for the battle.
Jack Sparrow explains: "I actually try not to kill too many people, and trust God to keep me safe." I tarry, looking for my gloves.
I start to run up the river bank, realizing I am late. I picture myself helping with the wounded and the ammo on the long boat, as I have done before. But the long boat has already returned, nearly deserted.
I climb aboard and hear the cries: "They sucked our blood everywhere!"
I now hear war whoops, like coyotes, from up the river. N, dressed in black, walks somberly past me.
"Scairdy?" she asks, then quotes: "'Even his little will be taken away from him.'"
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #341: I Meet the Farmer’s Daughters
Song: "All my life, all your life, yer numb, yer numb, yer dumb, and then you die…"
In a field near the top of my childhood street I search for a place to build a fort for my nephews. I examine a shady, overgrown area behind some rusty corrugated siding. An old farmer appears. He is friendly and leads me into a huge house he is remodeling. I see his wife down a long hallway with a plywood floor. In the living room, I meet his three daughters. The farmer resumes painting above the mantle. The middle daughter tells a story about my old friend S. I ask about S’ sister. I ask if S is married.
"No, but close to it—with (girl's name)!"
"That's even better!" I say.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #340: I Had an Experience on a Truck
I am riding in a flatbed truck with some farm workers. I spot some tornadoes on the horizon. We arrive at "Washer Heaven." A Great Dane tries to climb over the rail into the truck. I pat his paw. "Good Dog", I say and try to push him off.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #339: Martha Stewart Turns Into Someone Else
I briefly meet Martha Stewart face-to-face at a party where others wearing novel jewelry are dancing. She transforms into someone else I know.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #338: Old Colonel, New Game
The old colonel has invented a new game whereby one takes hold of some loops in the ears of a small wooden elephant and gives chase by flying in a sine wave, rising and falling, rising and falling…
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #337: Hooked by a Fisherman
I am sitting on a rocky cliff in a canyon between two streets with my boss, C, and some other guys. C wants to hike in the bigger mountains. As we leave, my other boss, E, tells me about the blood in his stool. I beg him to try psyllium.
On our way, we stop in a split-level Walgreens so I can show my friend, R, the protein powder. She tries a sample spoonful of cream-of-wheat from a green desert dish.
We then proceed east on a path up a hill near my childhood home. Two guys are practicing fly fishing in their yard. I am hooked in the back of my black fleece jacket.
"Give me back my fishing arm!" the guy says. I unhook. Now they both have their hooks in C.
"Are you going to club him too?" I ask.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #336: The Walking Stick Turns Into a Naked Lady
G has placed a large walking-stick bug in our terrarium with a juniper branch—something it can't eat. I wake from a nap to find that the bug has transformed into a tiny, blonde naked woman drowning in the water dish, which has been filled to the brim.