dream movies
If I’m not dreaming about my own death I’m dreaming movies. Either way I’ve a show playing every night, I wish I could invite you. However, you may quite understandably want to refuse.
The other night I was living in the early twentieth century and somehow, I guess to make some quick money, or so I thought, had gotten onto this old wooden freight ship that, so I was told, was making runs up and down the Atlantic sea board. Oh, but it was no local run. For some reason unknown to me it was bound for the Pacific. So we go all the way around Cape Horn and the land of fire and the angry natives. And, man, am I stuck with this ship, every attempt I make to jump the thing at port is thwarted, which has the result of making me progressively disliked by the crew.
Nevertheless, it’s around the horn and into the Pacific for all of us, and the next thing I know we’re traveling through a badly equipped Japanese navy, which does not seem terribly pleased to have us cruise through, but luckily for us everyone keeps their cool. Next thing we’re stopped by a serious looking Russian ship. And, these Russians board our boat and ask about the location of that Japanese navy we just passed. Everyone’s pretty jittery and afraid of these cats so we tell them what they want to know, and satisfied, I guess, they let us go, but in the tension of the scene I manage to stow away on their boat. (I do not know precisely why I did this)
So, now I’m manning some Russian gun as the ship I’m on goes to reconnoiter with the rest of the fleet. And, when I see the size of that Russian armada, I remember the miserable state of that Japanese navy, and think, shit there’s gonna be a lot of dead Japanese if they are still where we left them. And, unfortunately for them, they are. Now, at the onset of the battle, I have no desire to use the gun I was assigned so when the bombs go off I’m overboard in some sort of raft. In no time I’m left in the dust of the war. Next thing I’m on the coast of Oregon working as a fur trader in some company and somehow become deeply involved in a rivalry between two Indian chiefs.... and that’s where I left the saga, I either forget what happens next or nothing did.
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In addition to the travelogue genre, of which the above story serves as a prime example... the sports genre is a popular one too. Baseball and hockey semi-heroics feature prominently.
You know, if I’m going to run these features and be up the night anyway, I wish I’d play the occasional x-rated film. That can’t be too much to ask.
The other night I was living in the early twentieth century and somehow, I guess to make some quick money, or so I thought, had gotten onto this old wooden freight ship that, so I was told, was making runs up and down the Atlantic sea board. Oh, but it was no local run. For some reason unknown to me it was bound for the Pacific. So we go all the way around Cape Horn and the land of fire and the angry natives. And, man, am I stuck with this ship, every attempt I make to jump the thing at port is thwarted, which has the result of making me progressively disliked by the crew.
Nevertheless, it’s around the horn and into the Pacific for all of us, and the next thing I know we’re traveling through a badly equipped Japanese navy, which does not seem terribly pleased to have us cruise through, but luckily for us everyone keeps their cool. Next thing we’re stopped by a serious looking Russian ship. And, these Russians board our boat and ask about the location of that Japanese navy we just passed. Everyone’s pretty jittery and afraid of these cats so we tell them what they want to know, and satisfied, I guess, they let us go, but in the tension of the scene I manage to stow away on their boat. (I do not know precisely why I did this)
So, now I’m manning some Russian gun as the ship I’m on goes to reconnoiter with the rest of the fleet. And, when I see the size of that Russian armada, I remember the miserable state of that Japanese navy, and think, shit there’s gonna be a lot of dead Japanese if they are still where we left them. And, unfortunately for them, they are. Now, at the onset of the battle, I have no desire to use the gun I was assigned so when the bombs go off I’m overboard in some sort of raft. In no time I’m left in the dust of the war. Next thing I’m on the coast of Oregon working as a fur trader in some company and somehow become deeply involved in a rivalry between two Indian chiefs.... and that’s where I left the saga, I either forget what happens next or nothing did.
-----
In addition to the travelogue genre, of which the above story serves as a prime example... the sports genre is a popular one too. Baseball and hockey semi-heroics feature prominently.
You know, if I’m going to run these features and be up the night anyway, I wish I’d play the occasional x-rated film. That can’t be too much to ask.
posted by j/r at 1:57 a.m.
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