Once upon a lucid dream (Thoughts on waking from a semi-deep pseudo-sleep)

Imagine waking from a dream to a world where everything was the same… except for one or two little things.  The next day those seem fine, but there’s something else a little off…

The drainage pipes on the building across the street have offsets of different sizes that make them look uneven.  I’m sure this isn’t the fault of the architect and just some miscommunication between an engineer and the contractor who put them in.  At least this is what I learned from a repeat of How I Met Your Mother episode. 

Oh, and the rivets in the siding.  They are not quite perfectly lined up.  It’s hard for me to look at.  Not because it looks bad; it is certainly the nicest building in its vicinity.  I’m just always looking at how things line up with other things and when it isn’t just so, I become annoyed fairly quickly.

Earlier, I received an email from the insurance company I used to have.  That’s right, they shouldn’t be contacting me anymore because I’m no longer one of a million satisfied customers… at least they advertise something absurd like that.  My assumption is that the other 999,999 customers never had any intelligent questions to ask their customer service reps who perhaps couldn’t have told me the difference between my policy and the receipt from their lunch break.  But that’s beside the point.  The email from the insurance company isn’t the point either.  Neither is the building across the street or any of its “flaws” that probably exist only to me.

So what’s really going on?  I woke up from a dream and this time there were enough things off for me to notice and since I’m not very good at expressing emotion, I felt irritated, unsettled and even a little angry.

It’s also important to note that I don’t mean dream like one of those things you think of since you were little and try very hard to achieve or obtain.  I simply mean a dream like when you sleep.  It’s sort of like this…

One night after a long shift at work, you went to the bar where you went almost every night after work and probably had either a PBR or a Coors Light, depending on what was cheaper.  At one point in time, you never would have drank that awful stuff proclaiming to have tastebuds or standards.  But the first sip of ice cold beer after a long shift, especially at a job you’ve become disenchanted with, is so good, regardless of the beer.  So good on so many levels, it lulls you into returning night after night without ever realizing how often you go or how much money you’re spending on shitty beer.  You flirt with the habits of your alcoholic friends; dark, empty lifestyles you refuse to believe could ever become your own.

One night, you fall asleep on the couch you got for free on craigslist; probably a semi-deep pseudo-sleep that’s been partially induced by a couple of shitty beers and some well whiskey.  This sleep is not very restful, but you drift from consciousness and your body doesn’t move the entire night.

As consciousness slips, your mind is hijacked and taken away to another place. 

Away from everything.

A fresh start.

And it turns out to be a lucid semi-deep pseudo-sleep.

So you explore.  You see the newfound sights around you, and you begin to rewrite who you are. 

A new person, a new place, a new story. 

You can be whoever you want to be.  Good, bad, whatever… none of it matters, because you are inside a choose-your-own adventure story as the protagonist and somehow you cannot fail.

If it were my dream, I would choose to be really good at my job.  Its something I cannot help.  I would also choose to live like I’m on top of the world, that I mattered, that what I was doing was going to guide a piece of what would someday be important history.  I would make a lot of money and get to eat almost whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

Then you make a critical error.  You forget you’re asleep.  You start really investing where you are, in the place, in the people.  You make some really, really good friends, find favorite places… favorite flavors.

Chicken wings from that super cool place, the best sandwiches of your life… regular tasting best-coffee-of-your-life because it just was.  Breakfast that was the best because of the bike ride and scenery you experienced before.  And ramen.  Oh, the ramen!

You spend Sunday afternoons in a park with best friends you barely know.  They showed up somewhere in the middle of the dream but it feels like they’ve been there far longer.  At night you eat three dinners, because…

Cocktails here and there.  They fried what? I have to try that, do you want to go?  Oh, they have amazing… do you want to try it?  What about noodles?  Steam buns?  Foie gras?  I used to think it was disgusting, but I absolutely love it at… Let’s do drinks on Monday.  Drinks and dinner?  Dinner then drinks?

It goes on and on, crazy combinations of the best flavors you can imagine at a nearly unheard of frequency.  Is it gluttony? Nah. It’s just something to do.  Food and drink bring people together and this is certainly the best time of your life.

Then a ripple happens; you can tell something isn’t right but you’re not sure what it is.  Like something is coming.  Like a character in a movie where a bad guy or bad thing is right behind them but they can’t see.  You feel your body start to wake.  Frantically you examine everything in your dream and you start grabbing for everything. 

Anything.

Something.

Please remember.

Don’t forget this.  When you wake up, don’t… don’t you dare forget.

And so you go on but more and more frantically.  You burn brighter and brighter in more places with more people, but you forget the wick is almost gone.  Slowly the flame fades from its brilliance as your body wakens.  You let your blurry eyes open.  The couch has become someone’s guest bed and there’s no whiskey on your breath.  You blink a few times to be sure.  This is reality, but that dream…

…it was so real.  It feels like you became somebody, like you discovered your own self, like you became somebody different and perhaps better.  But your dreaming stopped and now you’re here.  The semi-deep pseudo-sleep transported you from a place of deep dissatisfaction and darkness to a place of ideals (mostly), and now you’re here. What is here?  Where is here?  What just happened…

The dream fades from your consciousness and the details slip… what was it you tried so desperately to preserve?  What was that? What was that dream I had just earlier today?  the other day…

And it slips.  Further, further

further.

I know it was a good one.  It was like… I was invincible.  The world was my oyster and I had it with bacon and Champagne. 

That’s the alarm.  I woke up before it again.  I should put on some pants and leave the house.

- --

White peony white tea

Townshends

2223 NE Alberta

Portland, OR 97211

(503) 445-6699

Droid does(n't).

Technology is strange. Billions of dollars are spent on marketing for the latest technology that will make our lives easier or better because it does this or that better than the competition. For a few hundred dollars, we can purchase the freedom to do any of a countless number of tasks (probably simultaneously) whenever or wherever we choose.

We purchase our freedom and for a while it seems that everything is better. We are able to find things we didn't know we were looking for (or could look for) and our lives outside of social media even improve because of the ease that technology has facilitated relational growth with our colleagues, friends and family. Perhaps it has even allowed for new relationships to develop because there is now a connection where there previously was nothing.

All that is great... until its taken away.

I was very slow to jump on the smart phone bandwagon. But when I did, I loved it. It changed everything. I was able to go more, see more, and eat more than I ever had before. It was as good or better than having a new best friend in my new city because it knew all the best places to go for this and that, and I was able to discover who I was. It turns out that Droid, in fact, does... or at least it did until mine didn't for the second time. This isn't about that though. What I found most interesting is that I didn't know what to do when I realized that I wasn't going to have a phone for 24hrs or so. I mean, I knew what to do. I emailed everyone who I knew would try to call or text me today and posted on Facebook for everyone else. But, what to do... Words With Friends was now impossible, I couldn't text anyone, and I didn't have lunch plans yet so how would I even find anything to eat?!

Then I recalled a time before my droid where I would look something up the old-school way... on the internet with my computer, look up a map and go from there. Turns out that it still works. Not having a phone turns out to be better than I could have imagined. I was forced to observe more of the world around me than I had in a long time. It was amazing.

Oh, and by the way, my already delicious lunch was more delicious because I couldn't tell anyone how delicious my pork belly was while it was getting cold. Next time you go out, leave your phone at home and put delicious in your mouth while its still hot.

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[No photo because my phone was BROKEN.]

Santa Ramen

1944 S El Camino Real
San Mateo, CA 94403

(650) 344-5918

When the substitute becomes the standard.

Ramen. Ten cents or ten dollars?

I think its safe to say for most the word ramen evokes thoughts of ten cent packages of dried noodles with far too much salt that you add to hot water and have a "meal". Even though the package says to boil water... everyone knows you put the stuff in the microwave for about three minutes and you end up with a product at a similar point on the bad scale. Or you can be fancy and just get the cup of noodles, but the polystyrene foam cup is quite obnoxious. But everyone has had the less than adequate meal at one point or another, and thousands upon thousands of college students consume God knows how much of the stuff every year. And before teachers were smart enough to catch on, it was the easiest and cheapest way to win canned food drives.

And then perhaps you have a decent bowl of ramen somewhere and it changes everything. Your mouth is flooded with all kinds of flavors you didn't know were possible, and your palate does somersaults over new combinations of textures. It's almost exhausting. But you grow to love what's happening and you go back again and again. You forget what that dried microwave brick was all about and you have no desire to return to it.

Then, you go to a different city for lunch one day because you've heard things. Crazy things. That there was an even better bowl of ramen. This doesn't even make sense because what you've had over and over again at the other place was as mind blowing as any food really can be. But they say its even better than that. Could it really be? Doubtful, but you find yourself on the freeway just to be sure. Upon arrival, there is a small line, but apparently that means you're lucky because there's always a line, and usually its long. Or it means you are a nocturnal creature and showing up at 2pm is what some might say is "after" lunch. Don't believe them. Anytime before 3 or 4 pm is perfectly normal for lunch. The place is small and there is a chalkboard menu on the wall. Three choices of broth, a buttload of "extras" you can add to your liking for anywhere from $1 to $3 and a little note that says "our ramen is not vegetarian food". That little message at the end and aromas dancing in your nasaries is very promising.

I've thought for a longtime that food can be quite transcendental, especially when you taste something from, say, your childhood but you're 25 or you're 40 or older and you haven't had ______ in years. Those moments can even be religious. A friend of mine has even been brought to tears by something she ate. This was one of those moments. Except I didn't cry because I am an iron pillar of masculinity. (Okay, it's just that I don't cry often. Not that I don't want to, but my crier is broken.) The first bite of this ramen took me to places I've never even been, to galaxies far far away, and across centuries in the past and to come all at once. It was unbelievable. And apparently, there is an even better place in New York called Ippudo which I HAVE to go to at some point, preferably soon. And all this begs one question: why on earth would anyone ever choose to put that aweful $.10 into their body for any other reason than necessity?

Days and weeks later, my mind still lingers on those flavors. Was it even real? Could such grandeur have taken place in the life of a mere mortal like me? David said it best, "is this real life?" As usual, I end up thinking about things far beyond what is normal and I find myself all up in my head... this time about noodles. But ramen is more than that and here is why.

I think I paid about $15 for that steaming bowl from heaven after all of my extras and tax. It was truly unbelievable and if you don't believe me and you're in the Bay Area, let me know and I will buy your noodles if they don't change everything for you. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Anyway, when we hear "ramen", I'm confident that most will think of the ten cent dried noodles with salty broth in crinkly packages. But that's not what ramen is supposed to be. Its a substitute for something incredible. I wonder how many things in our lives are a rip off of something that's supposed to be soul-filled and delicious in every sense of the word. There's a song by Switchfoot called "Easier than love" and I wonder if it could also be about ramen. Of course, they didn't write the song about ramen, but it could be related. The song is about how sex is something that has become the substitute for love because its easier. A certain very prominent coffee company is trying to do this to people too. An instant coffee that's supposedly hard to tell from regular brewed coffee. Now I can imagine that its not too bad and I can see how you might drink it because its easier and more convenient, but when you taste freshly roasted coffee brewed in a french press (or a Clover machine, or some other snooty way to make coffee) you're blown away by what you're tasting and what you've allowed to become standard.

From all this babbling, I only know three things:

1. I won't eat ten cent ramen unless I have to (or I'm tempted in a weak moment)
2. I don't want substitutes to become standards for anything in my life because the real thing is that much better
3. Ramen Dojo in San Mateo, CA is FREAKING DELICIOUS AND EVERYONE NEEDS TO EAT THERE. Except, please don't because then I'll have to wait in an even longer 2pm line :)

805 South B Street

San Mateo, CA 94401

(650) 401-6568