The Heavy Metal Matador (rydain) wrote,
The Heavy Metal Matador

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Computational relics

Last week, we doubled the RAM in my computer and swapped in a faster hard drive. After three successful data migrations, from OS upgrades to moving all my business onto this current machine, OS X decided to put on its best trollface and only copy over some arbitrary subset of my profile. Repeatedly. Which kept me up past 4 a.m. on a weeknight until I decided to fuck it all and manually drag over all the missing data on my old drive, which was left untouched and mounted externally. A computer without satisfactory customization is like a fire hydrant that some other dog peed on, especially with the complication of Data Restoration Whack-a-Mole. I need to be able to come home and sit down and listen to my music while diving into any current project - and I was closing in on my latest artwork at the time - so I took a morning off to recreate that comfort for myself.

The silver lining? This gave me a good reason to go through assorted downloads and notes from long ago. I threw out all sorts of random offal just sitting around, and I came across quality amusement long since forgotten. I present to you a dream log from five years back, which still brings the relevant images to mind.


This dream was in cartoon form. Happy Mr. Owl was wandering around the peaceful wilderness of his home. He looked into some magical flower and I saw a 3-D Matrix pan around his face. The flower was actually some giant owl statue that he was about to go into. The music had a dark undercurrent at this point, and I knew it was time for Serious Business because I had seen previews for this movie. Mr. Owl would go into the giant statue, where things wouldn't be so happy.

I remembered something about him trying to pull out some treasure with his cane, and I had the idea that he would get greedy and it would be his undoing. The entire thing had to do with evil developers who were going to bulldoze the wilderness. The sign for the "Future site of whatever" actually said "shit", but it didn't look vulgar in context.


There was a ship in some desert area about 20 minutes away from State College. It used to be owned by some group perceived as a cult (although they weren't really that bad). I was out late on the ship working on some [client at my then-current job] stuff with [coworker who is basically The Dude in programmer form]. I left the room to go to some other area on the ship. This involved walking through this alleyway behind a building. Huge pipes were overhead. I sped up out of paranoia that it would fall on me.

At the other building, I kept feeling paranoid, and I thought about taking a knife with me on the way back. I worried about accidentally knifing one of my coworkers if they surprised me. I left the knife there and went back to the original building. There was a sign on the door warning some professor guy who came by the ship. It basically said there were sex and drug traffickers - RUN. It was written in red Magic Marker. I freaked out and ran.

All of a sudden I was on North Atherton near what looked like the Blue Course intersection. I called [The Dude] on my cell. He wasn't concerned. There was a police station right there, and it looked quite old-fashioned. The police officers all wore blue uniforms that reminded me of English bobby clothing. They took me into a dormitory of sorts with a bunch of women in way too short bunk beds. I started writing a police report. The end.


Dad and I were driving around Pittsburgh through the Grandview Tunnels. I'd never gone through those tunnels, and the setup was pretty scary. You bought a ticket and then drove around this giant column of doors leading to the tunnels. Doors would open and close, and you'd just go in one at random. Sometimes cars would be lined up at a door. The masonry seemed to be old and cruddy, which didn't help the scariness at all. We wound up circling a few times and not going in. I knew that the tunnels were disliked and in need of an overhaul.

I was living with my dad and (mom? stepmom? I forget). The owners of some business (or possibly our house) had voted to move it into the house, so there were retail clothes displays everywhere. To say that I was pissed? An understatement. I hollered THIS IS A NIGHTMARE and woke up in my own bed within the dream. The clothes were still there.

Tori Spelling did my hair.
Tags: general bullshit
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