Dreeeeeam....dream, dream, dreeeeam

Lots of things about getting older have left me...well...wondering about things. And by “things” I mean a terrifying debilitating fear of death, dying and pain. Things just hurt or ache or protrude, when they didn’t used to.

Still...this is no place to ruminate on our impending shortening mortal coil. One apparent perk of growing older? Trippy-ass dreams! Like the ones I’ve been having. No clue on earth what the hell they mean, and I’m tempted to leave ‘em well enough alone.

But I won’t.

Pat:  Christian...get this.

One night recently, I dreamt that I was in a house in Canada, just doing regular house-y things. Doorbell rings. Snoop Dogg--wait...a 5 foot tall Snoop Dogg--stands there holding a box.

“Hey Snoop,” says me.

“Hey man, here’s that box you needed,” says Snoop, handing me the box.

“Thanks, Snoop. Thanks a lot. See ya’,” says me.

“Here Maggie...here’s your shirt for school,” I continue, as I pull out the red and white basketball jersey that Snoop brought her, and which looks like it will fit more like a nylon mesh dress.

“Thanks daddie!”

And off she goes to school...in Canada.

Thoughts?

"Hey man, I'm here for your daughter"

Christian: Well, lucky for you I’m a professional amatuer dream-analyzer hobbyist. Were there any birds in this dream?

Pat:  None. Well, I don’t think so. They might have been in my peripheral dream vision. I mean, it was Canada, so there must have been a goose or an eagle or a puffin in there somewhere.

Whatcha’ got for me? And just so I don’t catch you off-guard, when you’re done with this dream, I want to move on to one I just had that involved waking up from a nap on a colleague’s couch to find myself getting spooned by said colleague. It was really weird going to work the next day.

Christian: Did this second dream have any birds in it? I’m going to be upfront with you. If your dreams don’t have any birds in them I’m going to have a hard time analyzing them.

Pat:  Nope. No birds, unless, again, peripherally. Only colleagues, a forested hillside, a winding road, and a bachelor pad with a couch in it.

Whatcha’ got for me?

Christian: Was the colleague male or female?

Pat:  Very male. Big meaty fella’. Fleshy mits for hands--at least I think so. In my dream I was awakened by his big fleshy mit on my shoulder. Tenderly, mind you. But still creepy. We call him “Mook”. In real life that is. It’s not really his name...but it should be.

Kinda' like this...

Christian: I think it’s a good thing that he was male. Otherwise, your wife probably wouldn’t be too happy with you dreaming about a female co-worker and you might also be at risk of some kind of sexual harassment lawsuit since you just publicly described a physical episode with an innocent co-worker.

Although on the other hand, this dream means that you are most likely gay, so your wife might not be too happy about that either. But let’s get back to your first dream.

You say it took place in Canada? That’s interesting since we all know that Canadians make you feel uncomfortable. Is it possible that you are feeling guilty about how you feel about our friends to the north? Or perhaps deep down you wish you were Snoop Dogg and that’s why you have him fulfilling your daughter’s parental needs and why he’s only 5 feet tall. It’s definitely one or the other.

Canada’s Snoop Dogg.

(source)

Pat:   Maybe. Never thought about that. But now he’s Snoop Lion, right? And I have always been afraid of lions, even though I’ve never really been threatened by them. It’s the manes, and the big teeth. And that ROAR! And the guy spooning me in my dream has mits like lion paws.

I think you might have tapped something. Go with it. Go now!

Christian:  Yes. That is what I meant. You must be scared of lions. Definitely what I meant. I totally nailed that one on the head.

But maybe it’s not lions you are scared of? It’s interesting that you said “It’s the manes, and the big teeth” because that makes me think that it’s actually the manes, and the big teeth you are afraid of. Hmmm?

Are you afraid of Prince?

Just look at that mane and big teeth. Rawr indeed!

(source)

Pat:  Yes. I have always been afraid of him. But that’s normal. I think if you’re not afraid (and weirdly attracted at the same time) to Prince then there’s something very wrong with you.

But...manes. We might be onto something here. Manes really only live on big animals (and David Coverdale). And they’re scary. And Maine is one of our northernmost contiguous states, and we don’t really need to talk any more about latitudes, do we? And The Maine was the damn catastrophe that got us into World War One way back when people who are now dead were living. And Mook teaches history!

Damn. You’re good, man.

Travel Series Amsterdam: The Good, The Bad, and The Porn

Today is the first installment of a new travel series here at PCPPP. In this series we will pick a travel destination for destinying to and discuss. Today we’ll be talking about the European city of Amsterdam. Pat and I traveled Europe together along with another friend while we were in college and Amsterdam was one of the first cities we visited. So without anymore hesitation let’s begin!

Christian: When you think of Anne Frank and her triumphant yet tragic story of courage under duress in the most dire of times, you probably don’t think of hardcore porn. I do!  

Because there is a lot of it all over Amsterdam. Especially if your accommodations happen to be located in the center of the Red Light district. For those that are unfamiliar with what a Red Light district is, imagine it just like Dr. Seuss’s Whoville but replace all the Whos with whores.

That’s a lot of whores.

(source)

And of course Anne Frank’s story happens to also take place in this famed city, although well before all the porn and whores showed up in such great abundance. I’m assuming.

I’m sure there is more to this city than pornography but man was there a lot of it there. What are you thoughts Pat?

Pat:  Embarrassment and shame.

Christian: Go on.

Pat:  Here are my memories, in perhaps chronological order:

-Heineken

-Fried dough pastries

-Red lights and hookers (very polite, I might add)

-“Coffeeshops”

-The smell of urine

-Police and pot smokers (very polite, I might add)

-A museum (Van Gogh?  Rembrandt?  Art?  Sex?)

-Many more pastries at later and later hours of the day

-Maybe some tulips and clogs and windmills

I think I’ve learned that, as a country and a city, Holland and Amsterdam, respectively, have a lot more to offer the interested tourist that my dumb-ass noticed when I was 21. Wanna’ go again and seek redemption?

Christian: Well I don’t know if you are aware of/remember this or not but I did go again. And I must say, the second trip where you weren’t there was a lot better!

It turns out there’s a lot more to Amsterdam than just drugs, pornogrpahy, and whores. There are museums, restaurants, pornography, and beautiful parks! It was like I was visiting a completely different city.

Let me give you a side by side example.

First morning - 2nd trip to Amsterdam (without Pat):

My cousin and I had taken an overnight train from Paris so we actually woke up on the train at the train station. We walked to a nice little cafe and had a pleasant breakfast outside in the gorgeous weather overlooking a beautiful park.

First morning - 1st time to Amsterdam (with Pat):

Woke up on a gray well-stained mattress that was laying on the linoleum floor of a run down medium sized room, outlined with bunk beds against every wall. The only other person in the room was a scraggly looking dude who was sitting on another well-stained mattress a few feet from me. As I sat up he immediately asked me if I had a spoon he could borrow. “Sorry, I don’t”, I answered, feeling a bit guilty that I wasn’t able to help a fellow traveler eat his nice morning snack of... yogurt maybe? Mmmm! Or possibly a hearty bowl of scrumptious soup? Yum! Or perhaps some heroin he proceeded to melt over a portable bunsen burner and then shoot it into his arm with a hypodermic needle? Deelishh-wait, what??!?!  Since I didn’t have a spoon for him he melted the heroin in a gum wrapper. It also rained that day.

Now I’m not saying that the second trip was better because you weren’t there Pat, but I’m also not saying it wasn’t not worse because you weren’t there (<- Maybe insulting, maybe not).

Pat:  Hey. It was NOT my idea to stay at Bob’s Youth Hostel. If ever the name of the place should hint at it’s reputation, this was the time. And we were the cheap-ass naïve Americans. And that shithole was SCARY!

I forgot about the heroin thing. I think psychology classes everywhere might have a great example of repression right there.

Before we proceed...remember that our trip back then was a long one, the result of lots of planning and youthful anticipation and friendship. And it was great...in ways. But it was also the trip where, on the plane ride over, our friend told me that whatever we did during the seven weeks, she just didn’t want to visit any museums or do any sightseeing.  

Oh. Okay.

So...yeah. We didn’t treat you to a very good first night/morning in Amsterdam. And I don’t think the second night was much better. But I bet you’re going to tell me about it yourself soon, yeah?

Christian:  My recollection is that some random saleswoman at a shoe store at the mall was the one that recommended Bob’s Youth Hostel to us. I also remember her not saying anything about the whores.

And no I won’t go into the drastic differences between my two trips on the second night. Because I’m not done comparing the first day!

First afternoon - 2nd trip to Amsterdam (without Pat):

We were tired from taking the overnight train and decided a nap would really hit the spot. So we moseyed over to the beautiful Vondelpark. It was gorgeous. Trees, sculptures, mini-lakes, and plenty of soft grass just begging you to lie down in it. It was a paradise. I found myself a shady patch of grass underneath a welcoming chestnut, and laid my drowsy head down. I fell asleep watching a couple of swans frolic in the sun bathed water.

Vondelpark is Vonderous!

(source)

First afternoon - 1st trip to Amsterdam (with Pat):

We couldn’t check into the room at Bob’s Youth Hostel until 12:00 that night for some ridiculous reason so we had to meander around the city as I battled sleep, having been awake for more than 30 hours at this point. We went into what appeared to be a alcohol serving establishment called the Hard Rock Cafe (<- familiar). Once we were inside we noticed that not only were we the only patrons in this tiny establishment but instead of rock n’ roll memorabilia covering the walls they were covered with menus for many varieties of marijuana (the Maui Wowie for you more scientific types). We sat down anyways and ordered some beers. As sleep was getting the best of me I put my head down on my arms that were resting on the table. Seconds later the bartender, who had gone to the backroom and was now heading back to the bar, slapped me on the back of the head, rather violently I might add and then wagged his finger at me. Also rather violently. I’m assuming he mistook me for a drug addict instead of a sleep deprived tourist and the last thing he wanted in his “pot bar” was drug addicts.

So again Pat, totally not your fault, but still, was it your fault? We’ll probably never know the true answer. However when I was there the first time with you we did go on the Heineken brewery tour which ended with all you can drink beer and all you can eat colored cheetos. That was definitely a highlight.

Pat:  Whew! I’m glad you’re able to see the upside of what was a wonderful--in very particular and hard to explain ways--adventure into adulthood and worldly travels.

Just be thankful you didn’t come along with me on my trip to Romania about 5 years after that Amsterdam experience. I had an old Roma (“Gypsy” for you less culturally sensitive folks) woman study my palm and read my coffee grounds only to smile, wink, and tell me that I would not live to see 60. Can’t imagine what would have happened to YOU on that trip!

Dis-Organized Religion

Awhile back our friend MOV from mothersofbrothersblog (be sure to check out her blog!) suggested we do a post on (dis)organized religion. She left this suggestion inside a comment she left on our post about the proper way to spell donuts. Should it be donuts or doughnuts? She suggested calling them “Holey Cakes”, but then said people would argue about whether they should be spelled “Holey Cakes” or “Holy Cakes”. Thus religion.

So MOV here’s our (dis)organized religion post.

To start I would first like to point out that between the two of us Pat is the more scholarly one while I’m more of the science fueled street fighting type. Therefore I will divert a lot of questions and the reciting of historical accounts to him.

Let’s start by first defining what organized religion is and what it isn’t. If a religion is considered not-organized it means they believe in wizards or something, right Pat?

Pat: Sounds good to me. I’m down with wizards.

What are you asking, exactly?

Christian: I’m asking you to define the differences between organized religion and disorganized religion. Duh.

Pat:  Oh. That’s easy. About one hundred years and ten thousand people.

I suppose you could count any religion that uses a professional Franklin Covey™ organizational system to manage its business as “organized” as well.

Is that what you were wondering?

Christian: So are you saying that to qualify as an organized religion you have to have at least ten thousand members and have been around at least one hundred years? This would mean that Scientology isn’t an organized religion. To me those guys seem pretty organized. Too organized if you ask me.

Did a google search for Scientology and found this. Apparently they even

now have their own air force! Scary.

(source)

Pat:   Oh, for god’s sake (pun maybe intended...not sure yet)! Three back-and-forths into this post and you’re already trying to get me in deep with the Scientologists? C’mon, man. Do you want a blog-partner, or is this your attempt to finally go solo by having me offed by the underground Hollywood mafia?

I defer to the Germans when it comes to Scientology. Their government does not recognize them as a religion. Or at least they didn’t as of the last time I checked in with the German government. I assume they still don’t, as it’s not very German to change your mind on something within a decade. And I don’t necessarily agree with them (<-- intentionally vague there), but if I’ve learned one thing so far in this life it is that you’re best advised to not mess with official German governmental declarations.

Oh, no you di'in't! (but say it with a German accent!)

Christian:  Are you suggesting that you might get “offed” by the Scientologists if you bad mouth them? I’m guessing that would definitely make them organized so I guess the question is more are they really a religion?

I did some more research into them and found out that not only do they have their own Air Force but they also have the last army of Samurais.

(source)

I can see why you might not want to offend them. But for now let’s put aside your safety and answer me this; what qualifies something as a religion? Is it just the believing in a higher power or does the love I have for a nice carpet qualify as religionous?

Pat:  Do you pray to your carpet? Do you look to your carpet for moral fortitude and guidance? Do you ritualistically cleanse yourself--sage smudge or water bath--before treading on said carpet? Do you read the fibers of your carpet to decipher the history of your carpet and it’s people?

If so, then...heck, sure, sounds like you’ve got a religion. If not, then good...you’re not a freak. Like the Scientologists. Are freaks.

There. I said it. It felt good, but you need to know that if you don’t hear from me again, it’s YOUR fault for pushing me to the point of publicly discrediting and mocking Scientologists. And please send the authorities to look for my family, as Xenu probably took them to another planet in the Galactic Confederacy.

Christian: So scientologists also believe in my carpet? I’m confused. Granted it’s a pretty awesome carpet but I don’t recall Scientologists being into carpets. But to be honest as long as they don’t get any dirt or food on it they can believe in my carpet as much as they want.

OK, let’s put aside Scientology and Carpetology for now and move on.

Pat, can you explain which is better for society as a whole, organized or disorganized religion, and why? Do they both have their pros and cons or is one inherently more beneficial to a diverse society?

Also, if you could keep your answer to three words or less that would be great.

Pat:  Vague at best.

Christian:  Super! So what you are saying is that they both have their place in society whether they believe in carpets or have their own army of last samurais.

Well, this post has been very informative for me. I hope it was for you too dearest cherished readers. Next time we promise to tackle a less serious topic. Assuming Pat is still alive.

----------------------------------------

Editor’s Note: Christian here. I just wanted to give a shout out and thanks to Kianwi over at Simply She Goes. She participated in the April A to Z challenge writing about nostalgia and memories from her childhood. She made it into a game/contest allowing people to guess her age based on her posts with one lucky guesser receiving a box full of nostalgic prizes. It was pretty fantastic.  

But guess who guessed right and won? That’s right, this guy. Oh and who has two thumbs too? Wait. I was supposed to say that first. I meant guess who guessed right with two thumbs? This guy.

Still not right.

Anyways, I’ve scheduled an appointment with my doctor to see if I’m clairvoyant or something. I’ll keep you posted. Big thanks to Kianwi for the prizes, they are awesome. Both my kids and I love them. And be sure to go check out her blog right over here and tell her Barack Obama sent you. That will sound a lot more impressive than telling her we sent you.