We were walking through Woodfield Mall when I noticed that the Rainforest Cafe had shut down. I was pretty surprised since it had always been packed, at least on the weekends. Several stores nearby had also been covered with white tarps with solid pastel animal logos on them, announcing the coming of a new restaurant with an almost identical theme. So I looked up the Rainforest Cafe website, and it was totally empty except for a small list in the middle of a yellow page: the three CEOs, followed by "were forced to eat," and the names of all 20 vice presidents. But it suddenly pulled back and I was sitting at the conference table during the last Rainforest executive meeting. The "webpage" was now a plaque on the wall, and the "were forced to eat" letters had clearly been stuck on later as a practical joke.

As the other board members lamented the decline in sales and inevitable bankruptcy, I started to draw the outline of a jester's head in an attempt to explain... something. I have no idea anymore. But apparently, they knew exactly what I was talking about. The jester's cap had three prongs, while his "collar" had two. When the smiling jester was turned upside down, he looked like a frowning devil. Supposedly, it had been their business model since the beginning, since it symbolized both the fickle nature of industry and the ability to see the same thing differently from different perspectives. I noticed now that the plaque was also shaped like the jester's head. I thought about how much money they must have sunk into those giant fish tanks they have at every store, and how they could possibly have thought that selling food could make up for it. (I had forgotten about the merchandising.)

This may have been a separate dream, but at the same conference table, the CEOs had turned into my parents. We all ordered a crab dish each, but mine was whole crabs while my parents' were "just the tips." Turns out, it's the same thing except with the main shell hollowed out. My dad asked to trade with one of mine, since his had so little meat. I wasn't hungry, so I switched the whole plate. Then I woke up.

posted by Larry at 7:28 AM

[Sorry for the purple prose and generally crappy writing. It was a great dream and I had to write it down fast, but I was still trying for drama. I'll clean it up later.]

I was a Shinto swordsman. As I walked into a brand new American home, I saw a basement filled with junk. But not just any junk; I was here for a reason. The gang of men who owned the place looked like construction workers; it was clear they worked together, but whatever they did certainly wasn't constructive. Most of the stuff was stolen.

It was all arranged in this wide, unfinished basement like a house without walls. Entire room setups were interspersed with boxes, workbenches, and the dirt, darkness, and cobwebs of a den of thieves. I was here, so I said, as a policeman to help guard the house while things were set up. They bought it, thinking I was as clueless as anyone. Little did they know I was there to steal from them.

But it soon became clear that not all of them were bad guys; just the few ringleaders. The rest of the twenty or so probably were construction workers, thinking they were hanging out with their rich foreman, drinking beers and playing cards in his new house. It was a dire party: the place alternated between these smoke-heavy bouts of revelry and lounging men with deadly eyes who talked in hushed tones.

Coming out of the elevator, a stray rack in the corner caught my eye. There was something mystical about a certain wooden slat stuck loosely on one side. It was seamless, a fine craftsmanship, yet somehow opened down the middle to reveal a long, thick weapon the shape of a hockey stick. It had an elegant curve and a heavyset swing. I knew it was something special.

Just then, as though in a movie theater, I watched a Japanese archery master descend on an unsuspecting Tokyo village. The lone guard's shield and sword might well have been cloth; the arrows pierced anything. The master let out a long, harsh laugh, with the arrogance of a man whose domination was unquestionable. But suddenly, he broke off with a scowl. Something that had been lost for centuries had just been found: the one bane of his bow and arrow.

Now back in the basement, I just had to figure out how to activate it. As I walked through the throng of ignorant men, my fingers played lightly on the edges of my weapon. I had been trained in so many fighting styles, but had never seen anything like this. How could this bluntly-shaped weapon be a source of fear for one of the greatest samurais? Finally, a small and unnoticeable split down the middle formed the slightest movement of half-against-half. Curious, but it seemed useless to have two parts of a poorly-weighted weapon. Then, moving on its own like a peacock come to life, invisible seams split all along the width and fanned the wood out into the most gorgeous array. Suddenly light and soft, the weapon revealed it strengths: it was both a razor sharp blade and a shield that could block any arrow.

I knew I was in no immediate danger, so I folded it up into my robe; I put the empty case back to avoid suspicion. Then, with the most powerful weapon tucked firmly against me, I walked nonchalantly through the crowd, pausing only to watch a few of the dimly-lit powwows of desperate men. I sat down in the lounge area, where younger kids - college age, maybe - were sprawled across a motley assortment of old couches and recliners watching a game on the television. They ignored me as they poked fun at one another. I looked around for more items to take; somehow, the rack with the case had made its way over here. I knew then that I was not alone down here. Someone wanted it destroyed.

I decided to go undercover, as just myself in modern clothes, and the basement suddenly became a mall. But there was something about it that made my skin crawl. It was a large recessed area, dipping far below a posh lobby like a food court gone mad. It was literally swarming with customers and businesses. I found both myself and my mission lost in the enlivening crowd, caught up in the ebb and flow of their exhilaration. I began to chat idly with people in the various booths, and it seemed as though I had met a few of them before. At one particular place - a restaurant I believe - a girl I apparently knew asked me if I would like to go on a date with either Ann or Jason at the counter. I didn't bother to explain I wasn't interested in men. I looked at Ann, a short, very heavy Asian girl with a protruding lower lip and receding chin. I told them I'd be back later to decide.

I hastily continued my round of the perimeter, and tried to chat up a few cute girls in the their booths, but none were engaging in my conversation. I had strayed far from my swordsman code by now, but it seemed forgotten. I would soon learn that mistake. But first, I had found myself back in the corner restaurant with Ann's friend. She jumped out, excited to see me again, asking if I had made my decision. Ann was gone, but more of her coworkers had come out. I felt the pressure, and I briefly considered lying by saying I had only just ended a relationship. Instead, I said simply that I didn't think I could see her ... and when I saw their mixed anger and dejection, I hastily added "for a few weeks." I practically had to shout over their screams that I would see her the weekend after next. She ran out of the backroom screaming for joy, and jumping up and down with her colleagues. She looked so desperate.

But I had said two weeks, and I knew why I had done so. In two weeks, none of them would still be alive.

The place had turned, it seemed, into hell: a reddened basement crawling with emaciated but vicious humans. The construction workers had become ghouls. Two fellow samurai, ranking higher than myself, shoved me into the elevator to plan our attack. We could hear the strained moans and shrieks as we prepared ourselves mentally for battle. With a flick of his wrist, our leader sliced the doors open and leapt out through the quickly closing gap. The other samurai braced himself against the back wall, then bulleted out straight through the shattering doors with a brazen warcry. I gripped my fan tightly, not opening it yet, feeling the first fear of the epidemic. Our enemy had made his first move, and it was genius. He turned our environment against us, poisoning the unsuspecting Americans with this unrelenting virus. Drawing a deep breath, I rolled out, only to find myself behind a heavy stage curtain. I peered out underneath to see a few of the writhing ghouls, but then I awoke.

posted by Larry at 8:58 AM