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August 1, 2005
What I Dreamt When I Fell Back Asleep at 4:15 am After Waking Up at 2:45 and Working On a Paper
I was walking on a farm set on some rolling hills. A hearty young woman with pigtails¹ and her grandfather or older uncle are unloading manure from a flatbed truck. Numerous metal rakes are arranged in the same direction on the ground, tines up. They appear to be using them to measure the depth of the fertilizer they are applying. I walk behind the two of them as they walk away from the truck and rakes. I overhear the woman say "After the wedding, _______ and I will . . ." Grandpa, the woman, and I are in a model kitchen of the sort you might see in a Home Depot. A small stream of milk flows from the bottom of the fridge. I listen in on their conversation as I mop up the milk and pretend to check out the cabinetry.
— [sneering] Like in that movie you were in. . .
— I wasn't in any movie!
— You know, that thing with what's his name, Har-Mar. . .
— You mean the Har-Mar Superstar video!
At this point I interject "I know that video! Har-Mar is great!" We converse excitedly about Har-Mar and I say "He used to live just across the road here."²
— Really?
— Or his mom did. His dad died. Or his folks split and he lived there with his mom and step-dad.³
The three of us leave the model kitchen and adjourn to the main house. From the window, I see on the other side of the fence three Border Collies on the bed of a flatbed truck. They are barking at the three dogs with us. "Those are real cattle dogs" I point out. And though the Border Collies barked and jumped around with some vigor, they remained on their side of the fence until a cat crept up from behind them.
¹ An older version of a friend's niece from Fargo, perhaps.
² I have no idea where Har-Mar used to live, though I hear he now resides in West Hollywood.
³ At a friend's house last night, I heard tell of a young girl whose father died.
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