Discovering a horrific plane crash

I was with some people from work, going somewhere vaguely work-related when we saw smoke, emergency vehicles and lots of people up on an overpass. As we got closer, we saw that a massive passenger jet had crashed onto an elevated highway.

We walked up onto the overpass, among the police and ambulances, looking at what happened and vaguely wondering if we could help. There were bodies scattered on the rocks that surrounded the broken body of the plane.

Near the front of the plane many of the seats were intact. We walked up to the front row, where three well-dressed people in their 60s were still buckled into their seats. At first, I felt this horror feeling and thought they were dead. Then they started to move and fumble with their seat belts.

They were in shock, but could speak to us and move about. They were very gentle, with the nicest manners, thanking us for helping them, etc. At first, I attributed their gentleness to their state of shock. But as we led them away from the plane into some kind of room or building, it became clear that they were simply very genteel, refined people.

In the dream, I realized that I never wanted to fly again, after seeing first hand what a plane crash looks like.

I woke up still believing I was in the dream, thinking about how the passengers we helped were travelling first class, since they were sitting at the front of the plane.

Wine and the Concrete Banquet

Lots of wine was drunk tonight at the Second Concrete Banquet, but I couldn't tell you what vintage.

5 groupuscules met at 5ish at a park on the Plateau, just before sunset, in high costume.

We dressed as if the Queen of England would join us.

Each groupuscule was to make a contribution to the dinner's entertainment: Bacchus and lanterns.

We brought hot buttered rum: there was an October chill in the air, and that helped. The sky was a brilliant blue and the leaves yellow, gold and red. Until the sun disappeared behind the mountain.

Our geodesic dome helped create an atmosphere of sorts, and the Wild Children played there safely. For a while.

It will be even better, next year.

Les Palombrieres -- Complicated. Surprising. Lovely.

Okay, so first we bought a couple of acceptable bottles of wine at Costco. For the party tomorrow. And then we drank them. So today I went out and bought another bottle for the party tomorrow. An eleven-dollar bottle of French wine. The usual.

Golly. What a surprise. Admittedly we popped it, or rather, screw topped it, before the party tomorrow. But that's okay. Right? I mean, it was kind of a rough week...

At first sip, Les Palombieres (Tannat/Merlot, Cotes de Gascogne 2007) was... totally surprisingly absolutely delightful. It tasted like raspberries. So fresh. But not young. Kind of innocent... but not really. You know what I'm talking about.

It's like, they took a Merlot and then cuddled all the macho out of it. So that it's all sweet -- looking at you doe-eyed (blink, blink). And then you realize that it never was macho; it's something else altogether, completely original.

But after a couple glasses, it starts to get a little dull. You look for that spark, but now it just seems like all the others. What happened?

Matt Bisonnette head of business development at SSMU

Yeah, so where did THIS dream come from?

My old friend from highschool, and Brian Mulroney's nephew, was head of business development at SSMU. I chanced to meet him, walking into the student union building at McGill. (A lot had happened before this part of the dream, but I will relate from here...) So he shows me how SSMU had decided (on his advice) to intensify the student union by building housing up on top of the 3-storey enclosed area, that they owned (nothing like what is there now, in the real world, by the by..., but hey, this is a dream! whaddya want?). I could see where the forms were. He explained that he wanted to go up 8 storeys, but only got permission for 6. I was impressed at the foresite, and his business acumen.

Three Dee Tank Dream...

I dreamt last night that I was playing that 3-d first person shooter video game from 1980, Battlezone. But it was updated and full scale, so I was walking around inside a virtual reality of tanks and pyramids. Rocky was with me.

Domaine de la Janasse arrives fashionably late

This is what happens sometimes in the summer. A bunch of red wine drinkers get together; but it's sweltering, inside and out, so everyone brings white or rosée. And they all confess... they'd rather be drinking red, but thought something lighter was more appropriate.

And everyone politely sips white wine. Or rosée. And it's lovely. But as the night gets darker and cooler we start to get more honest with ourselves. Now we earned the right to drink red. And red is poured and relished and things get considerably more interesting.

And that gets me to... ohhh... delicious. Domaine de la Janasse, vin du pays de la principauté d'Orange. On first sniff, first sip, it was like crackly caramel and blackberries and chocolate.

And the talk gets weirder and more intense. And we can once again claim our rightful place as dedicated red wine drinkers.

Hangover dream & the "POW" tattoo

Golly, there was a lot going on in my brain in the early hours.

I dreamed that I was getting a tattoo.

I remember explaining pop art to the tattoo artist, talking about Lichtenstein and how wanted a cartoonish "POW" on my arm.

Funny that my pre-dawn hangover intruded... in my dream, I was taking Tylenol to try and feel better. Despite reminding myself that I had popped an Advil mere hours earlier.

Wine, wine, wine, what you mean, but never say...

A tribute. A tribute. Tri-bute. Brandy: no, wine. Wine. Yes. Wine and Dreams.
I had a dream last night.
I was at City Hall.
We were invited.
Invited to present the housing plan to the committee.
City Council was meeting in the big room.
During the meeting, the committee broke out.
Four or five members of council met in a side room to discuss housing matters.
The GRTs were presenting: old familiar.
Three of us were to present: new, dynamic, focussed, different.
Our turn came.
Attention on our team of three.
Not sure who was going to present.
My colleague started: "I want to begin with a comment. Many people right now are looking for a place to rent. An affordable place....blah blah blah."
I thought: NOT the time for this speech. Not the time.
Suddenly, the committee was called back to Council.
I felt we had lost our opportunity to make the case.
I regretted not speaking out first, taking the lead.
I felt I knew better how to present our case:
Mega-hospital. Community. Bridge. Mutual benefit. Etc.
I woke up to Mr. Nibs hammering gently on his door.
It was 643.am.

Guest Blogger Dave: Bill The Red

I tried a 2006 red wine from Vignoble Riviere du Chene St-Eustache, Quebec, Canada, called "William" (from now on called "Bill"). I'm horrible at describing the flavour of wine. I'm like the guy in the film Sideways who says, "It tastes pretty good to me". Anyway, "Bill" tasted like my memory of the first time I tried Valpolicella. It ("Bill") had a bit of an edge/tartness and "muskyness" to it - one that would compliment red meat (cooked, preferably). It seemed to cleanse the palette with a slight lingering aftertaste. I would have this one with food, but something different - richer and fuller for political philosophical after dinner discussions. It cost under $15 Canadian ($13,80 to be exact).

lots of wine

Guests have been pouring in for days now and with them, loverly glass bottles green and labeled and corked. Too many to recall, really. A Kim Basinger (or was that a Kim Klein?...or a Cindy Crawford?) Anyway, a fine white wine, which improved remarkably with a little sejourn in the icebox. A hefty red fellow, for sure in a green bottle, that's all I remember. From Argentina, I think. I wish those recycling trucks didn't come so often. We drank Kim while watching Citizen Kane last night, oh that pasty faced genius. Our guests were also on Atavan, having been travelling, so the grey tones cast a strange light against our pale, numbed faces, gawking at the scenes before us.

Little Boy wine

A fine little 10$ bottle, very very subtle, was Dao (with an pinyata on the "a")'s Meia Encosta. Rich red wine taste and a true red wine colour, especially in the wineglass, this little number was selected by Imogen at the SAQ at Papineau and Mount Royal. So I says to her: "which one should Daddy buy?" and without hesitating, Imogen walks straight up to a pile of Meia Encosta, grabs one, turns her heavy lidded eyes up to Daddy and says flatly: "this one". So I bought it. She also selected a white Saumur (which someone adult confirmed will be superb: will report soon!) and a third bottle which we have already drunk, but for the life of me, can't remember....OH! yes, a Beaujolais. Forgettable, for sure. Anyway, after my first sip of the 2007 Meia Encosta, I blurted out: "it's a Little Boy wine!" Try some, you'll see what I mean!

Meia Encosta: as in, don't cost much? Any helpers, here?

Weeds

I had been helping Kirsten weed her community garden, a distasteful task for me. I think we should use some late 20th century herbicide free techniques to keep the weeds down: black plastic garbage bags, carefully layered over the soil, but with holes to let the good guys out, a technique taught to me by Chris Wrobel, my farmer friend. But K likes to weed.

And last night, I had a dream that this weed came back. A stinging weed that she thought was strawberries: it had grown ginormous and I was tasked to get it out, which is how I learned it was a stinging weed. So I used a pitchfork. So here is this weed in my dream, and I pinned it against a metal grate with my heel and cut the roots off it with a machete. Very satisfying.

Metal grate: could this have been a visual import from Terminator Two, that took us four days to watch this past week? Remember the liquid metal man who could squeeze through grates? Can't wait to see Terminator Four. But I digress.

It was a great dream. Not exciting, but very satisfying.

Visiting an English enclave in Amsterdam

J and I were in Amsterdam. I was wandering the city, alone, at night and came upon a kind of village near the water. A bunch of smart and interesting artist/squatter types were living in some industrial buildings. When I arrived, they were having a neighbourhood party. A bonfire raged in the middle of the street. The overall feeling was of Christiania, circa 1996.

Oddly, the people in the village spoke English. They told me they were part of an English enclave in Amsterdam.

I went back to where we were staying. The next morning, I wanted to show J the village but got lost on my way to find it. We ended up at an elementary school. I thought I would take a shortcut by going through the school.

Inside, I watched a really cool teacher work with a group of kids. They were doing incredible things. A man saw us watching and invited us to have lunch with him. It turned out that he was the principal of the school. The teacher we were watching was his wife. We knew we wanted to send our kids to this school.

J and I had a wonderful lunch with him in his office next to the gym where the kids were playing. Then we went on our way. It was the school for the village I had visited the night before. J and I knew this was where we belonged.

Cocktails in the trees -- so lovely

I'm not going to tell you anything about this magic treehouse... you'll just have to check it out for yourself.

Meeting with the Queen, my ex and an elephant

One of my exes got a job at Canada Steamship Lines. I found out because I was walking past their offices (which are near where I work) and saw him and some other people looking out the window. Then, later, a friend confirmed that he was working there.

Then I was in a meeting room at Canada Steamship Lines. It was a kind of salon -- very Victorian, like a room at the British Museum where world explorers met.

I was... scantily dressed, lounging around in this room reading anthropology coffee table books. People began to gather in the room. The queen arrived. Not Queen Elizabeth, but maybe Queen Victoria. She was leading a geriatric pet elephant. Apparently, the elephant went everywhere with her. She was a little bit dotty, but was still an essential presence at the meetings.

Then my ex arrived in the meeting, along with some other people. I tried to blend in and not be noticed. But it was difficult.

Me and my platypus buddy

I dreamed that I had a pet duck-billed platypus that I carried around in my arms.

Blind men

A long and detailed dream last night.
It started with a visit to my friend's house in Geneva. He lived in a big rambling apartment. We talked. Somehow, we were on a worksite and there were some city workers taking measurements. But they seemed hesitant. We poked around at a doorway and found some very sophisticated wires. We figured they were looking for wiretaps. Alex realized he had information that could be useful. Suddenly we were in a spy movie. False information was transmitted by phone. The people who got the information died. Alex supplied the information to the right people. Suddenly we were all much older. I was an established photographer and, it seems, good with the ladies. Alex had been admitted into an old age home, but the nurses hated him so much they hid him in a back room and ignored him. Coming up to the front staircase of the old age home, the stairs were littered with women hoping to see some famous old man who was living out his last days there. I managed to get in by showing my camera. I learned that someone had given the old man a gift, but he was blind and wouldn't be able to see it. Everyone was sad about this. I remembered that Alex had the gift of being able to see with his hands. Maybe he could help out....I went to look for him... and woke up.

Happy dream: My favourite imaginary band of all time

I was in Calgary, and was scheduled to go back to Montreal. En route to somewhere... I stumble on this band playing an impromptu show in one of those characterless corporate alcoves next to an office tower.

I jump out of my bus, or taxi or whatever and join the small audience. The band is amazing -- these carnivaesque rock and roll people, playing music I can't remember clearly. They were a lot like one of my absolute favourite bands: Friendly Rich and the Lollipop People

Two lead singers stood on soapboxes, with their faces painted in grey and white, with scary, accentuated old man wrinkles. Behind them stood horn and accordian and guitair players, dressed in pinnochio marching band kitch.

When the song was over, a greyhound bus pulled up and the whole audience got onto it. They were taking us somewhere.... no one knew, no one cared. We were all having such a damn good time.

I remember thinking that I was supposed to be going somewhere. But I was too intrigued not to lose this trajectory.

The bus headed to the suburbs and ejected us all on a big green open space. The band danced and ahead of us, playing something spontaneous and ridiculous... from the circus. We all ran after them, waving our arms and encouraging them to keep playing. It was awesome...

When I mentioned my dream to J, he said it sounded a lot like the magical mystery tour. Perhaps.... but I was also watching Burning Man videos yesterday....

No more wine...

Kirsten announced at our annual post New Year's spa day, where we soak for a few hours with friends and then congregate around a few plates of hot and spicy food, while reviewing our new years resolutions from years past and making new ones for 2009, Kirsten announced grandly, and without prior consultation with her soul mate, the man with whom she shares a blog called wine and dreams, indeed this blog, this blog...Kirsten rolled up her tongue and said: I will stop drinking wine in 2009. I choked on a piece of spicy meat. What? So, of course, in solidarity, I have quit also. So we won't have many postings on the wine side of wine and dreams, this year, unless we break under the pressure. So far, so good. That was January 24th or so. No bottles have been cracked since. But we will certainly be breaking our vow in June, when we plan to get married again. That's right, we are going to tie the knot again on June 21st. Why not? is there anything in the rulebook that says you can't? It's kind of like getting a second mortgage with the same lender.

So many dreams, where to start?

Rather than tell you my dreams, and I have had many of them in the last little while, I will tell you Imogen's dream. A few days before, she had an accident with some (not very hot) macaroni and cheese. So this scenario played out in her dream. She woke up very agitated and said: "I had a dream. GHL-dlkaold macanoni elaosl face, my shirt aodldlldle hair...dhlslsod mummy ...in the shower dohhdood cold. Very cold."

Doing stunts in my very own fast car

My parents had bought me a new car to commemorate some kind of acheivement. Now you have to realize that a) I've never owned a car, b) my parents, simply, don't buy me thinks like that, and c) I don't drive.

So: I had this shiny, black Porsche convertible of my very own. While J and some of our friends enjoyed brunch in this European-type terrace space, I burned around alone in my new car. I got air on stairs. I drove really fast. I had a really super crazy good time.

Then I parked the car and joined everyone at the table. I was looking at photographs of myself driving the fast, black car. Imogen was in the passenger seat. We were flying through the air, our blonde hair waving in the wind.

Suddenly, J said: "I just heard someone drive away in your car. I think your car was stolen."

I used a cell phone to call the (get this) in-car phone. This car thief picked up. He thought I was someone else and explained how he had just stolen this amazing Porsche.

I said: "that's my Porsche and I'm going to call the police. No. I'm going to call my friends who are in a motorcycle gang and they'll do horrible things to you and get my car back."