I was hired to write a comedy screenplay, and I had to work with Fed Willard. Normally I don't think the guy is funny. He's one of those actors who is a fixture semi-personality, but you can't ever remember what he did originally to be famous. I mostly remember him from the Christopher Guest films, where somebody had the idea to let him be his cheesy self and just recontextualize his horrid humor so that it becomes funny.

We met once and he was an ass.

He wanted to do fake documentry of a fake reality TV show, that was pretending to be real.

I locked myself in a room to come up with concepts. I thought if one, and the dream shifted and I was on it.

I was in some middle eastern city and a building had been blown up. I was with another group of Americans, in some sort of walled compound. We were playing reality TV style games, the only one I remember clearly was fishing for sets of keys in a murky pond.
I made it through 3 rounds before the key I found was not what they wanted. My name was read off and I was eliminated. Then I was lined up for my ceremonial beheading.

I managed to escape through a hole int he compound wall and I was desperately looking for the American Embassy. The city looked like New York for one block, and then some ancient world middle eastern city the next. I think this is how I secretly imagine places like Bahgdad.

When I found the embassy it was like a train station and I had to wait in line with other Americans who reporting their own close-beheading situations. By the time I got to the counter ther very sexy clerks were offering me Sprite, which was cool cause I was parched.

I was driving around a lot. visiting relatives.

At some point I realized I hadn't been to work in several weeks an was still mailing off bills. Did I have enough vacation time to still get my check?

I kept calling my work to check, but I was calling a place I haven't worked for several years. I did some chores for my grandparents and asked them about when they were going to pay me.

After touring some fancy neighborhood of old Victorian houses nestled in Griffith Park i some how scroed Don Knotts phone number. He was still alive?

I thought of his old Disney movies and remarked "He'd have been a good Joker for Batman."

I heard rumor he was quite the pimp. I simultaneously left him a message and heard it playing back. It as his voice, "This is Don Knotts, leave a message."

But there was no beep. I kept clearing my throat and coughing, wait for it to come. Then i realized THAT was the message i was sending him. How embarassing. Now he'd never be in my movie and get his comeback.

I woke up late, I knew I was going to be late for work. Casey called me and wanted to have breakfast, I knew it would make me late, but I'd think of an excuse later.

We met for breakfast in mexico. I got there and started drinking, she never showed up. I checked the time and realized i never called work. I went outside to call them on my cell, and I kept dialling wrong. I knew the number, but my fingers didn't seem to work. I got through onmce, but realized Mexico was roaming charges so I went back to drinking.

My car got towed. When I tried to leave a large man got in my way. I tried to push him aside but he was immovable. Then suddenly I hit him. I usually can't hit people in dreams, but I kick his ass and drove his head into a wall.

I followed the guy from the TV show Overhaulin' to a run down garage. The mechanic had tons of scrap cars and I wandered his shop. He had a fabrication machine that was cariving his wall into "mini-bricks." I got my car back, but now it was a large truck and I drove really fast to the border.

it was dark, at night in Portland's west hills, but there were industrial buildings instead of mansions.

There was one house i wanted to rent, and the block looked like my grandma's. I kept getting out and reparking my car. I only remember a house on a hill. and moving the car.

then i was with Kelly and Ericka and we had to go to the mall. Kelly was driving, she had just gotten a mini. Which is odd, cause Heather is the one in real life who got the mini. So we park and enter this warehouse type building. I tell Kelly I need the keys, cause i forgot my inhaler in the car. But i just wanted to drive the mini. I went around the block, reparked, then went inside. It was all dark and stairs, like some of the lower entrances into Pike Place Market in Seattle.

I got on an elevator, and it opened and I saw cops and panicked.

"Mall security" I said.

I got trapped running in a circular pattern through identical rooms. The security was on me. Eventually I got to a basement and went outside.

I was in Portland's Pearl district, but it looked like the French Quarter. I went into an antique store and bought tea.

There were manicured gardens even though the world had ended. I was touring them. Miles of dead city, with lovely gardens here and there.

The city was layer upon layer of cracked paint. I was singing opera and listening to my voice echo.

I took up residence in a garage with early automobiles. I considered them such, but they looked like pipe sculptures or jungle gyms.

Somebody came to the door and I had to drive the vintage-pipe fire truck to the door. But it was old, steam power and hard to steer. I kept passing the door and tried to pull it open, but the knob kept slipping from my hands.

Somer and I were house sitting for Colin's parents. His dad collected antique cars. We wanted to go to dinner, and decided to take the "Jag."

The Jag was like one of those animal skin eskimo canoes that you sort of "wear" to navigate, only it had wheels and a large engine.

Whe started it off, and I can't describe how it feels to "wear" a car, but it was.. gravelly.

I dropped her off to get us a table, and then drove myself to the ER cause i thought I was having another kidney stone. I drove into the ER, but then sat down, still wearing the car.

A nurse took me to a room and gave me a robe to change into. I tried putting it on over my car/dress, but it didn't work. I had to strip in front of the nurse and while I was trying to take the car off it begin to flake and peel and crumble like a bug carapace that had been left in the sun.

I told her about my chronic back pain.

I was driving Somer around Portland, showing her houses.

I showed her one that i was sure was haunted. Vaguely Victorian, all spires and vaulted. Hard to describe, but the inside geometery was clearly defined by the outside. It gave my vertigo to look at it.

We left, and drove more.

Now dark.

I mentioned the haunted house, and she tells me it is a maze noe for Knots Scary farm. It's October and we are too poor to go. "Always poor in October."

I dropped her off and started walking. Found a coffee shop with diseffected hippie scenster hipster puck rockers. I didn't recognize any of them, but knew them. The coffee shop was a basement.

I want home and lived with punk rockers. I was the only one that was over 21 and I was scared of them.

Punk rocker: We're out of beer. We need more jugs.

Me: The place up the street cards.

Him: That's why you're going.

Me: But I'm going to bed.

Him: You're buying beer. And fruit. I need fruit.

Me: What kind of fruit?

Him: Egg McMuffin.

Trying to punch in dreams, it goes slow motion.

Ghosts, BBQ, Grandpa, Haunted, Cars.

Small cafe, on a main street small town sort of drag. I had BBQ, but I was waiting to pick up an order for a party I was going to. My grandfather (dead 3 years) was going to help me deliver it. He seemed young and old at the same time.

I was full of questions about his childhood. "How old were you when your family got their first car?"

We got to the party and had to climb through a dumwaiter to get in. It tasted haunted, if that makes any sense.

The floorboards were warped.

Sometimes I am watching a film, other times I find myself as the lead character. As Hayden Christensen I have very 70's hair. I am arguing with Natalie Portman, and her elaborate dress allows her to hover as if she were on a skateboard.

I was using her as bait to draw out some robot I wanted to kill.

Overal the plot kicked ass over any of the movies... and so did my hair.

I was a former industrial music rock star that was living in a small motel in the desert. There was a prequel of another dream, but it has already faded from memory. But I remember I was on the run and hiding out, possibly after some great caper. I was continually looking out the windows for signs of trouble.

Like most on-the-run-caper movies, there was an old TV in the corner on a wheel cart, playing old cop films. While I looked out the windows I saw:

1. Hot Asian girl running through the court yard in a robe.

2. Her mother (not sure how I knew that" chasing her, also in robe, but her glowed like a hologram and the scenes shifted. It reminded me of this.

3. Lots of dust.

4. A man carrying boxes of robot models.

Clearly, my bandmates/caper pals and I needed a cover, so we chose to be firemen.

Hoping to meet Asian girl, I ventured outside. Robot guy was in the next unit. His door was open and I saw several un-assembled, unpainted resin Boba Fett statuettes. Although my neighbor was missing, I knew he was actually a former Hollywood studio executive, who was also on the run.

I desperately wanted to find him, after all i had this idea now for an awesome movie to pitch, (former band pulls caper, and hides out as firemen in desert hotel). I started going unit to unit looking for him. The Asian family was very secretive, and I assumed they were making Cuban cigars.

As I went unit it to unit, I was finding all my bandmates, dead in the firemen outfits. I start to feel a sickness in me. I started to vomit a lot. Then, there was an alarm. There was a fire. It was easy to find the ambulance I was supposed to drive. There was no firetruck, but I assumed that was because my bandmates were dead, and they were intended to man it. My ambulance partner was Scott Glenn, playing his traitorous firefighter character from Backdraft. At once, I realized he was the killer, no doubt trying to keep the spoils from our caper for himself. I started vomiting more, but then got behind the wheel of the ambulance. I vomited as i drove, and it looked like raw eggs. Scott Glenn told me that, "Trent Reznor had 8 different types of psychoses, and 32 different personalities, one of which liked classical music.

Traffic was ass, so he directed me into a warehouse as a short cut. We came to a locked roll-up door an we had to get out to snip the locks. Clearly, this was where I would be killed. He set to work on the locks, and I looked for some wood to make a ramp to get the ambulance up to the door since it was set a foot higher than the ground. I was still vomiting when I got a splinter. Scott Glenn said something about LA traffic, and then I woke up.