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Advice to Sell Disneyland

Date: 20-Mar-2012/9:56+3:00

Tags: , , , ,

Characters: kid, me, yellow animal, doctor

I was in a situation that was like being in a movie about CIA agents. At first I was taking it seriously and getting mad at how incompetent everyone was, but then they were laughing...and I began to think the theme was that everyone was completely incompetent. So I started trying to play that up and be incompetent and laugh with them.
At one point I was in the director's office, and a kid showed up at the door. He was goofy looking and introduced himself, but I perceived him as supposedly an enemy spy.
kid: "Hi there... I'm... um. I'm 15, and I am collecting papers for my school recycling program. I heard you had a lot of papers, can I take them?"
me: "Oh, recycling is very important! Yes, definitely lots of papers in this office. Here...take some!"
kid: (pointing) "Actually, I really would like to 'recycle' THAT paper...the one over there..."
He pointed at what looked like a newspaper, with a cover headline that said something like "CAN'T GET THROUGH TO THAT NUMBER". The newspaper had been marked up with letters blacked out and underlined. I went and got it for him, but insisted he take the rest of the papers in the office even though he didn't want to...because of how important recycling was.
There was another guy in the office who I identified as another agent, who was laughing hysterically at my response to someone coming and asking for papers out of the office.
me: (chuckling) "Oh yes, I remember those days too...the days of my youth. What crazy times me and my friends had, recycling things!"
Somehow I was able to take this "movie" we were doing and record it to a tape. I pressed stop, and then I was curious what I had been taping over. I pressed play and it showed some other comedic situation, and someone in the room expressed concern that I'd just taped over something they wanted.
me: "Don't get stressed about me recording over that. It's on YouTube, or somewhere. You can find it again if you wanted."
But I continued watching that (or perhaps something else) and it turned into a cartoon. The cartoon depicted some animals in primary colors dancing. Although it was very movie-like and flat, I got the feeling they could hear me.
me: "Hey rabbit!"
The rabbit continued to dance and went offscreen. I decided to try again. There was a yellow animal (cat? dog?), but I yelled at it:
me: "Hey ASSHOLE!"
This caught the cartoon's attention. It stopped and looked at me intently.
me: (laughing) "Look, I don't know if you're an asshole or not. It's you who stopped dancing."
The animal shrugged.
me: "Well, you tell me: what are the worst, most asshole-ish things you do?"
The animal looked pensive, then snapped its fingers and the scene changed to another cartoon. One was of a large dog asleep, and the yellow animal (much smaller) dashed by and pounced on it, and zipped off the other side before the large dog could get it. The next scene was of the yellow animal doing a monologue walking by a caricature of a new animal that was hanging around that was orange and looked a bit like a bulldog, called "Baby G".
yellow animal: "Yep, things sure have changed since Baby G came around. I think the best thing about hanging around with Baby G is all the flatulence...constant flatulence...it's really romantic. Hold on a second, did I just say best thing? Sorry I got confused for a second there...I meant it's the worst thing. The exact OPPOSITE of romantic. Baby G is a disaster."
A glass door opened in the room where I was watching this movie on the wall, and a woman walked in. We seemed to surprise each other, although she recognized me. She began asking questions about how long I'd been there, and I answered the questions very non-lucidly with things that I felt were true...like that I'd been there for a week. She also asked about whether the owners of the place had painted something on the wall as part of their new interest in art, and I said that it had been a gift (somehow I remembered a birthday dinner where the gift was opened at the table.)
Eventually she left and I wound up talking to a man with long hair and round glasses wearing a white labcoat. He had a cardboard box with a label on the cover that seemed to be medical information. It had the usual patient address/info...but also whether they would be arriving for some procedure sedated or require sedation on arrival.
doctor: "So it seems from recent events you're pretty dead set on living in the 'perfect world'."
Taking a red pen from his pocket he wrote the words "VNV Nation" on the box label, which seemed to be not filled in at all otherwise.
Note VNV Nation is the name of an electronic band I think is all right, but have mocked for the monotone chant of its singer... who either has no vocal range, or has it and chooses not to exercise it... so it's kind of funny to me. Still has some good songs.
me: (becoming lucid) "It sounds good to me, but I'm not there now. And this dream is a mess, I don't know this place or what anything is about."
doctor: "No, this isn't it. But you're going to have to make a decision on whether it's where you want to go. What's your answer?"
He reached onto the box and pulled at the label on which he had written VNV nation. When he did a blank label underneath it was exposed (or copied?) and he now had two.
Note I got the feeling that the information on this box was for me, and that which label he used represented how certain things would be handled...and he was going to wait to decide whether to use the sample with red writing on it or not based on our conversation.
me: "It's not fair to give someone a decision without information! I mean, what would you do, have you been to the 'perfect world'?"
doctor: "Yes, I know all about it. Why do you think I'm discussing it with you?"
me: "Well what if someone asked you to make a decision on going somewhere they'd been. Like...you could move to another state, or go to Disneyland. Shouldn't it be possible for them to describe what they'd thought of it and give some advice, instead of making you choose blindly?"
He became frustrated, but seemed to think I had a point.
doctor: "Fine. How's this...I went to Disneyland, and my advice to any of my friends who could wind up there is: sell it."
Note I could not tell whether he was suggesting selling a ticket to Disneyland if you have one...or if the analogy was more like owning Disneyland and him saying that you should sell the park itself.
me: "But we're not talking about some future theme park where you're an eternal consumer, right? That's not my 'perfect world'. Mine would be about being able to shape surroundings how you want, not having to worry about disease and aging and death, systems that actually work..."
doctor: "I can't really explain the whole thing here. I'll just say that what we're actually talking about is a place you don't belong. You belong with me."
We had stopped in some kind of hallway in front of a door. He leaned against a wall, there was some form of illumination.
me: "I'm sure you're very nice. Yet with this 'I belong with you issue'--for the sake of argument, let's say you are my soulmate. If I wind up in a world and it's just us, and I'm in human form and you're a man too...that doesn't work for me. Not trying to be all narrow-minded about it, but this is a good example of a freedom of choice that my 'perfect world' would have. A lousy world wouldn't, and it probably would have a lot of other lack of choice too."
I felt I saw a bike or Segway-style machine materialize, and we became separated so I woke up.
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The accounts written here are as true as I can manage. While the words are my own, they are not independent creative works of fiction —in any intentional way. Thus I do not consider the material to be protected by anything, other than that you'd have to be crazy to want to try and use it for genuine purposes (much less disingenuous ones!) But who's to say?