Dream Blog #354
Conan O'Brien Unfortunately Becomes My Hero
I’m living in a big city in an apartment with no Pueblo-style influence and many floors. I just left somewhere, a club maybe. I enter the building, go to the elevator, ride up to my floor and exit. I walk past the elbow of the building and notice a door that I hadn’t noticed before.
It’s open and leading to a rooftop garden resembling the Queen of Heart’s in Alice in Wonderland but dark and more dead because it’s night time during fall. I hear laughs coming from behind an ivy-covered wall that’s a few feet away into the garden. A few people are leaving the garden and walking in front of me (rude). One man is smoking a cigarette and another man walks behind him with his arm over a woman. I don’t approve of the man smoking inside so I follow them with my eyes as they walk down a different hall than I intend to follow and I see a man in his 50s or 60s sitting in his underwear on a wooden chair to our right; he’s silently watching everyone. This seems unusual but I don’t say anything. I move past him and walk to my apartment.
I enter, pace around and then leave quickly. I can’t stand being in the apartment alone. It reminds me too much of a hotel. I hate this apartment. I depart through the fire escape and am down on the ground in what seems like an instant even though I was many stories above ground. I walk to the subway and back. I walk past the apartment parking lot at twilight and see a giant kangaroo rat standing behind a tiny, young tree. It’s about eight or nine feet tall and peeking through the sparse leaves. I see someone at a nearby car saying to their passenger, “Oh he thinks we can’t see him. I have to let him play for a few more minutes, he’s just too cute.” I move away quickly, afraid that if the rat sees that I noticed it, it’ll kick me to death. People and their fucking kangaroo rats.
I decide to go visit my friend who lives in a nearby apartment building so I don’t have to go back to my apartment. She isn’t there so I wait in the lobby for her. I start talking to a nice young man, he looks like a young Conan. We go back to my apartment. Now I look like Ellie Kemper in 2008.
After making out and complimenting each other’s hair, not-Conan realizes he’s late for a family event and invites me to go with him. “Sure,” I say, “is that appropriate, though? I mean, we did just meet.” He gives me a knowing smile and reassures me it’s fine. “Whatever you say, not-Conan.” We leave the building through the fire escape again, arm in arm, which would seem difficult because fire escapes aren’t exactly roomy. But then before I can say anything about it, we’re down on the ground in an instant. My hair is messy now but not-Conan can’t say anything because I’m not-Ellie Kemper who can just wave here mane and look perfect.
We get to an apartment building, still arm in arm, walk into their weird dentisty-hotel-esque lobby and he brings me to a wall and looks at me with his nonexistent-lipped smirk. “Hold on.” “Okay, Edward Cullen.” I say sarcastically. He chuckles as he looks up and the ceiling opens enough for us to squeeze through, all the way to the top floor it seems. That’s a weird elevator I think. He jumps and brings me with him.
It’s like we’re falling up. He pushes gently against the wall with his foot when we reach the fourth floor and we land on the carpeting. He looks at his watch and huffs.
“You’re late.” Someone says from across this room. It’s his sister. I know it’s his sister but I don’t know how I know it’s his sister. She doesn’t acknowledge me. She’s sitting down in a cushiony chair. She needed to get out of the party for a few minutes and just so happened to be out in the hall when we arrived.
“I know, I’m sorry. Look, go open the window so I can make the entrance worth it.”
“Fine.” She says. She gets up and goes through the door on her right, our left.
Not-Conan looks at me again, with his knowing smirk, and tells me to follow him. He opens the window that is between the chair and the door and crawls through it. I follow. We’re walking on a small ledge on the fourth floor above a street with traffic, but I’m not afraid. I know if I fall he can catch me with his weird super-jump. Plus, we aren’t going that far. He rolls through an open window and I follow.
No one notices his entrance. He’s disappointed. I’m glad no one noticed, I feel uncomfortable. Who makes an entrance like this? People who want attention #nothankyou. I hear an alarm and I wake up.
The Daily Word 4.13.10: iSpecs, Pierced Kittens, Vapor Wake Dogs
Check out this new porno magazine ... for the blind.
A woman gets put on house arrest for giving her kittens body piercings.
Mexico’s tourism industry is way, way down due to drug cartel violence.
Facebook is told to install a “panic button” for children scouted by sexual predators.
Apple goes to work on creating 3D glasses, or “iSpecs”, to watch films on the go.
Check out these “vapor wake” dogs, the next generation of sniffing out explosives.
Conan O’Brien begins his 32-city “Legally Prohibited From Being Funny On TV Tour.”
UNM men’s basketball star Darrington Hobson is reported to f orego his senior year and enter the NBA Draft.
A deputy shoots and kills a man threatening suicide in Tijeras. Mission accomplished?
The Daily Word 01.21.10: Domestic Partnerships, Women's Rights, Billy Ocean
Limits on corporate contributions to elections eased by Supreme Court. Expect candidates to begin looking like NASCAR racers.
The battle for domestic partnerships in New Mexico this legislative session could be rough.
John Edwards admits he IS the father.
Three leaders of Haiti's women's rights movement died in quake.
UNM holds "read in" of Haitian literature today and tomorrow to raise funds for victims.
The "Poe toaster" fails to show for first time in 60 years.
Conan gets $45 million to leave; 33 mil for him, 12 for his staff.
Faceless man wants a face.
Jewish teen wearing traditional prayer boxes sparks terrorism fears; emergency landing of plane ensues.
A pill for multiple sclerosis could be on the horizon.
It's Billy Ocean's birthday!
Late night edition
In last week’s column, I casually mentioned that “The Jay Leno Show” would kill network television. Fortunately, NBC plunged a stake into its heart before it could do any more damage. Now what? Will the post-prime-time airwaves become a desolate hellscape in which men battle one another in a winner-take-all competition for pop cultural supremacy? Likelihood: probable.
The Daily Word 01.14.10: Troops to Haiti, Pat Robertson's a Dillweed, Wire Hangers
U.S. sends 3,500 troops and 2,200 marines to Haiti.
Albuquerque Iraq veteran shot, killed by police after suicide threats.
Crazy-ass president of Hateful Kookball Evangelist Buttsniffers, Pat Robertson, says the earthquake in Haiti happened because of its citizens' "pact with the devil."
Eight-year-old's name on selectee fly watch list; he gets frisked a lot. There's no merit badge for that.
Using "The Office" for office human resources training. So, are pranks involving staplers in Jello "dos" or "don'ts"?
Soul singer Teddy Pendergrass dies at 59.
Fashion industry shocked at existence of attractive women over size 2.
Conan O'Brien's supporters take to the Internet, proclaim, "I'm with Coco." The nickname is from a funny skit about how Twitter is dumb. Just reporting the facts, people. If you care, here's how to join online Team Conan groups.
It's Faye Dunaway's birthday! And my dad's! He's never been on the Internet!