I had a disturbing dream last night.  Disturbing mostly because of one moment in it that really shook me up.  And since I've woken up, I haven't quite been the same. I just feel "off," and I think that dream has everything to do with it.

Which makes me wonder what are dreams, really?  I mean, there's science written about dreams, and medical studies, and pop mythology and even science fiction written about dreams.  We've heard/read all of that.  It's your inner sub-conscious; it's the manifestations metaphorically of your feelings; it's a memory of a different life you're living simultaneously through your mind.  Blah, blah, blah.  This is one of those times when I wish there was no mystery to it and someone just had the actual, factual answer.  I want the definition of dreams to be as clear as two plus two equals four.

Otherwise, it just allows me to come up with stuff.  Like, what if dreams are actually a form of dormant (pardon the pun) ESP (Extra Sensory Perception) abilities?  Where you have picked up the mental "transmissions" of other people during the course of the day, but you don't process it because of everything else that happens while you are conscious. Then when you fall asleep, your mind sifts through those transmissions. And it plays them back.  Through the filter of your own thoughts and memories.  Which is why dreams seem real, because they are based on the real thought patterns of other people.  Hey, some may be the residual thought patterns of people that have recently died, too. 

I know, I know - some of you are saying, what are you smoking?  But, is it any more crazy than the theories we saw in "Inception?"  Or "Altered States?" 

I've been told I should keep a running log of my dreams.  Because you best remember them right when you wake up, it's writing them down the moment you wake up.  That can get annoying, but it might make for an interesting exercise in storytelling.  It's possible that reading the account of dreams as they unravel back-to-back, could make for a fascinating tale.  The question will be, how mired in true facts will it actually be?  And if they are what I just said they are, then my dream last night is even that much more disturbing. 

Off to the clarity of day...

If you believe in String Theory, then odds are you would embrace the notion that at this very moment, as you are reading these words, that at least 12 alternate versions of you are doing something similar, in slightly-out-of-phase universes running parallel to the one you are currently sitting in.  Think about it.  Twelve or so "you's."   What would they be like?  What kind of different lives would you be living?  One of fame and fortune?  Or solitude and destitution?  Are you cool, or are you a prick?  And have those versions of you made the same choices you have?

The cool thing would be to invent a machine (let's call Doc Brown about this) that could put you in that universe with that alternate you.  Because I think that's just as cool as time travel.  To see what your life would be like, if...

In It's a Wonderful Life, George Bailey gets the unique perspective of seeing what the world would have been like if he had never been born.  What if in this alternate universe, you were killed in a car crash that in this universe, you remember just narrowly avoiding because you were late for work and you crossed that intersection where the drunk driver barreled through the red light moments after you crossed it.  Or what if you broke up with that one person here, that in the other universe you never did - and you have children with them?! 

From a writer's perspective, reading about string theory is like opening a vault of stories.  Yes, the TV series Fringe is exploring those realms every Friday night on Fox at 9 PM, 8 PM Central.  But it's a narrow focus.  What is there to think about if you explore the idea of alternate "you's," could be cathartic for some... or a waste of time if the thoughts of things greater than yourself has little value to you. 

I'd like to think of String Theory a little bit like the alternate endings to the movie, Superman II.   How would your life be different if you were Lois Lane and in one hand, you knew that Clark Kent was Superman and you had to keep that a secret and your love for him cast away.  Or if instead, you had no idea of his true identity and you lived your life in hopeful yearning for his affection.  What is better? 

I leave you, thus, with this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZ0ggWsVi88&list=FLN-qclGqBzdGskhgE1eLHOw&index=1&feature=plpp_video

For today's blog, I want to share this gem I found on YouTube -- a couple of scenes strung together from "Play It Again, Sam" -- an early Woody Allen film. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNLd_HpyeBw&list=FLN-qclGqBzdGskhgE1eLHOw&feature=mh_lolz

There are lines in here like "I love the rain; it washes memories off the sidewalk of life."  Genius.

Enjoy.  I did.  This reminds me of some dating tortures back in the day...

Sometimes the hardest thing to figure out is what you really want.  You start life by just wanting to be fed. Then the concept of enjoyment comes in.  So you want to play.  Or watch something that brings you enjoyment. As the years settle in, you start to realize that you have to do things because you are expected to do them, despite what you want.  Like school.  Eating vegetables, or food that's good for you but not particualrly tasty.  Or the dentist.

The comes that thing called... decision. 

You are asked to decide things like, what kind of clothes you want to wear.  What classes to take. Who you want to make friends with.  To take drugs or not.  To drink.  Who to have sex with for the first time, if that is even a decision you get to make (but want to make). Soon, if you are so inclined, you are deciding what college to go to.  What major to take.  What career option you want to pick looking forward. 

Often what happens is that in the scramble to make decisions - to look for the things you want, and the things you are expected to do, and to find a niche in the world that will bring you money - what you really want becomes buried in a very grey sea.  Some people poo-poo that, believing they know with absolute certainty what they want.  Others, have no idea whatsoever. 

Today, I don't know where I fall in that spectrum.  I have been at both ends of it.  I have known exactly what I want.  And I have been clueless.  The powerless feeling of the latter is unsettling.  And right now, I am feeling a little unsettled.  But not because I don't know what I want.  I believe I do.  But I have never faced the situation where what I want, may not be the best option for me and for the people I care about.  Where what I want makes it all worse in the end, despite what feels all good now.  To the degree of it being life-changing. 

I am like Rick Blaine at the end of "Casablanca," who doesn't want to let Elsa go, but who sees the greater good in having her leave with Victor Lazlo. Of course, I think he's wrong - he is making himself and Elsa more miserable and it's only Victor who makes out in that scenario.  Or does he? After all, he's now with a wife who really loves someone else.  Maybe Rick's decision makes them all losers.  Maybe the famed ending of "Casablanca" is really flawed and a cheat if executed the same in real life.

Suddenly, I see it in a new light...

What about you:   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pa-dGYjSq5k

Maybe at the end of the day, the only answer is... do what you want.  And don't apologioze for it. As long as you're not setting out to purposely hurt someone. 

My thought for today...

A Sunday sports round up

SOCCER

I attended my first ever soccer gmae yesterday.  It was at The Home Depot Center in Carson, CA, the home of the Los Angeles Galaxy.  We were running a little late, and arived at the 31-minute mark (in the first half).  I had to be told what that meant.  You see, I'm an American football fan and I get clock windng DOWN during play, not wonding UP.  Interesting.

The Galaxy were playing the Portland Timbers, who I was told are not as good of a team as the Galaxy.  But when we arrived, the Timbers were winning, 1-0.  We soon caught the Galaxy score on a goal from one of their best players, Brandon Donovan.  My date and tour guide into this whole new world of sports is from the Pacific Northwest and she was rooting for the Timbers.  Thus, we immediately decided a couple of beers were in order in case this turned into a Galaxy rout. This is the view from our seats:

Later, even tho I had no rooting interest in either team, the Galaxy did score again to take the lead.  And right at the 90-minute mark (basically the end of timed play), that soccer legend that even I have heard of - David Beckham - scored a goal right in front of us.  The place went wild. 

The final sore was 3-1, galaxy.  I would not be at all adverse to going again.  Oh, and this is me and my soccer trainer at our seats:

The next stop for me to a sporting event I have never been to: hockey! 

BASEBALL

As for my favorite baseball team, the Texas Rangers, they are 7-2 after nine games and leading their division. The thing is, they could be 9-0 and undefeated, except their closer has blowng two ninth-inning saves where the Rangers had the lead.  Their closer is a great reliever named Joe Nathan, who is recovering from major arm surgery that kept him out most of last year. 

Texas Rangers pitcher Joe Nathan

This is his attempt to come back from that surgery, and he has the track record to prove that he's an elite pitcher.  But those two blown games may be an indication that his arm has not come all the way back.  The Rangers may have to re-think him for the closer tole, as they have other good candidates in their bullpen to fill that role.  There will not be room for giving up a lot of wins in thet division - the Angels are better this year and will give the Rangers all they can handle going down the stretch.

Okay, kids, that was my Sunday sports report! 

More storytelling the next time we meet.

Thought of the day: There is no Tomorrow without a Today

The rains in Southern California have stopped and with a new morning has come a screamingly bright day, full of sunshine and some nippy winds. 

Today, I'd like to reference a short documentary on YouTube that tells the story of the Women Air Service Pilots of World Warr II.  Yes, women flew for the military then - over one thousand of them - but their story has not reached the mainstream as much as you would think. 

I bring this up because later this month, I will be unveiling a project that very much speaks to those women and that time period.  I've started a Page on Facebook to promote it: www.facebook.com/AThinSliceOfHeaven.  Check it out.

And check out this video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6ztL3v4dBU&list=FLN-qclGqBzdGskhgE1eLHOw&index=1&feature=plpp_video

Tonight, I attend my first ever professional soccer (excuse me, footbal) game!  Details of this grand virginal journey to follow.

Friday the 13th has never been particularly scary for me.  I happen to like the number 13, and it's somewhat of a lucky number.  I was born on the 13th. 

I also happen to like the number 8.  A lot of significant milestones in my life have happened not only around that number, but the half or double of that number (4 and 16). 

Assuming you all are into numerolgoy, which I am not.  But I can be superstitious.

I'm writing a lot right now.  More than I have in a while.  There's an e-book I am penning, which you have seen the very first couple of pages of (in my earlier blog); there's a web sitcom I am developing, and I'm writing two motion picture scripts. I have gone back to my roots, which has been writing, while I pay the light bill doing the management thing.

I am also about to launch a short video trailer to a passion project.  Going to do the YouTube route and see how it is received.  This is a picture of me directing this trailer (I'm the director-wanna-be in the baseball cap!).

A short blog today.  It is grey and cloudy and soon to be raining outide. A great time for storytelling with a mug o' hot chocolate in hand.  And also to think. 

I have opened a book today, but the pages are missing. 

Till next time!

Buenas noches!  (Because it is currently night here in Burbank)

I promised you a short story at the end of my last blog, so I think I should deliver on that promise.  The thing is, I think I'll have you read it in "parts," like episodes of a TV series.  I've been writing a science fiction story for a while (me, a science-fiction story? Go figure, right?).  So I will turn the next few blogs into "story time" and if anybody out there reads this, I'd be more than happy to get feedback.  because I'm thinking of fleshing this out into an e-book! 

By the way, before we get to the story, some headlines in Ralph's world:

The Rangers are 4-1 after beating the Mariners tonight. Woot!
I made a pretty darn good halibut dinner for my lady tonight. 
I am very close to wraping a labor of love project that you will soon read about, and I'm super excited.
Mass Effect 3 may be the second best XBox game I have ever played (The original Knights of the Old Republic was hands down he best).

And so now, without further ado, her is:

The Journey of the Antares Nova - Part I

Fuljencio “Brick” Martinez did the math in his head, as he was given to do in these situations, and realized he was about to die.

Probably.

Then again, he had been known to prematurely predict his own demise on many occasions before, and fortunately had failed to be correct each time. He was half amused that he chose now to think about the questionable value of pessimism, but it did occur to him that he should really try to be more positive. He made a mental note to come back to this thought… if he managed to survive this predicament.

At his feet, he was surrounded by three open crates of plasma-wave weapons.  Sentry rifles, blasters and plasma grenades.  Enough to arm a platoon of Republic marines.  Not that they would wind up in the adept hands of that much-respected military arm of the government.  No, these weapons were earmarked for one Saloub, The Crimson Knife.  Entrepreneur, businessman and crime lord (or so he liked to call himself “lord,” while others might be more inclined to use the word, “scum.”)  Saloub had hired Brick to be his intermediary in a transaction of some importance.  The battle of crime bosses on Saloub’s world of Manas had been in a stalemate for decades, with nobody taking the upper hand despite years of escalating body counts.  Saloub was bound and determined to change that.  What better way than to upset the balance of power, and tip the advantage in his direction.  Which meant he needed weapons.  Bigger weapons than the ones his rivals possessed. And who had these?  Why, the Republic marines, of course.

Brick wiped off some of the sweat clinging to his nervous palm by rubbing it against his military leggings.  Despite having been out of the marines for years, Brick still wore some of the trappings of his former life.  It was that life that filled part of his resume, and why Saloub hired him to find the weapons.  Who better to raid a Marine installation than a former marine who knew all about their layout?  But Brick had not left the marines in the best of terms, and having access to their bases and assets was practically impossible.  So Brick hired his own contractor; his own intermediary.  A black market arms dealer named Tulop.  Tulop was a thin, wiry man – half-human and half-Kreigan.  Kreigans lived in a planet of light gravity and thin atmosphere.  As a result, their chest cavities were massive, crafted that way over eons of evolution to make home for a large set of lungs that groped to breathe the thin Kreigan air.  In short, Tulop was an imposing figure.  And he stood tall over the cache of weapons that he had acquired for Brick.  He was framed on either side by two full Kreigan bodyguards, each taller than Tulop and sporting blasters on low-riding holsters.  Brick was in the middle of a transaction that had suddenly taken a sharp turn down a very bad road.   

Tulop wanted more credits.  A lot more credits than what had originally been negotiated and agreed to. And not only did Tulop's two bodyguards look like they were itching for a good, ol' gun fight in case he didn’t get his credits, Tulop was also pointedly playing with a delayed-timer plasma grenade in his left hand.  There was a sneer on his face, and he had just raised the price of doing business five-fold. 

"We had a deal," Brick said, doing his best to show he was in no mood to re-negotiate.  Tulop slowly shook his head. 

"That was before my boys ran into a security garrison on Station Twelve that YOU said would not be there."

"I gave you the best intel I had at the time," Brick stood his ground.

"Not good enough.  Our deal was predicated on an easy extraction."

"Oh, please," Brick now sounded annoyed.  "You know full well that there are no easy extractions from Marine installations."

"Nevertheless, I lost some valuable men and equipment that I now need to replace.  And if you want these weapons, you need to pay the REAL price of their acquisition."

Brick was in a pickle.  He had to think fast.  Saloub had paid him half up front for the heist, but Saloub also thought Brick would be running this operation solo, and not hiring another party.  Brick not only didn't have the money to pay Tulop the extra amount, he had no way to authorize the increase with Saloub without exposing himself and his inability to get the job down on his own. 

"Come on, Freighter Captain," Tulop teased.  "One painless swipe of your card and you get your guns."  One of the bodyguards produced a currency card reader and held it out to Brick.  "Otherwise, not only do you not take the guns... I collect compensation for my lost assets the hard way."  Tulop's eyes rolled up to the freighter that Brick stood in front of.  "I'm sure your ship will yield some excellent capital."

"You're not touching my ship," Brick breathed, his nervousness turning to anger.

"Then pay up."

The next two minutes felt like two hours.  Brick was outgunned and outflanked, but he wanted to take the one chance in a thousand that he could draw his blaster faster than the two goons flanking Tulop, shoot each into oblivion, and kick Tulop in the arm so he could drop the grenade before it was armed.  It was like something out of a cheap holo-drama, but it was the best plan that entered his head -- and it was the worst idea he could have come up with.  Fortunately, before his fingers twitched perceptibly to his holster, chaos exploded around him.

There was a sudden flutter of wings everywhere.  A cacophony of distinctive cackles filled the air.  Brick jumped back; taken by utter surprise as a half dozen chickens ran and flew out of the ship from the ramp behind him, zigzagging their way over the cache of weapons and in between the legs of the Kreigans. They, too, recoiled in surprise and shock. Seconds later, he heard the recognizable gruff voice of Cook hitting a high note as he yelled, "My chickens!  Dinner is getting away!"

Brick was not slow to recognize the opportunity handed him, which he suspected almost immediately was not one caused by chance or serendipity.  He would commend Cook later. If they got away.  He drew his blaster lightning-fast, aimed it at goon number one, and squeezed the trigger. A bolt of blue energy speared itself into the alien's chest, knocking him down.  Now Brick began to run backwards, up the ramp of the ship. He swung the blaster to his left and aimed at goon number two.  Zwap!  A second bolt of blue plasma took the enemy down.  By now, Brick was half-way up the ramp.  His eyes caught Tulop.

Tulop had not reacted as quickly as Brick, but he was far from flat-footed.  He was flipping the trigger on the grenade.  Brick's eyes went wide.  He aimed the blaster at Tulop, but realized in an instant that it was too late.  The grenade had been armed.  Tulop tossed it toward the ramp, simultaneously turning and running clear of the explosion that was to come.  Brick flirted for a nano-second with the idea of firing his blaster at the grenade, and hoping to destroy it before the timing mechanism detonated it.  But before he could take such a desperate act, a blur swept past him, blocking his view.  It was Cook, jumping down from inside the ship, and swinging a long fly fishing net in front of him like some sort of eccentric battle sword.  Brick recognized the long device as an archaic tool Cook had used in their travels to catch underwater critters.  Now, Cook was using it to catch a grenade.  The long pole arced over Cook's head, until the basket at the end caught the deadly projectile.  The netting stretched to its limit.  Brick closed his eyes instinctively.  He waited for the grenade to blow. His wait lasted longer than he expected.  With his eyes closed, he missed Cook's quick flick of his wrists as he jerked the pole forward.  Cook was a brawny, broad man in his late forties, with the rage of a hundred burning suns seemingly fueling his always-renegade demeanor.  It was this power that must have helped him at this great time of need. Like one of those cricket players from the ancient land of Great Britain, he propelled the grenade back in the air and away from the ship..."

TO BE CONTINUED

Enjoy the day.  You deserve it!

After watching "Titanic" on the big screen the other night, in 3D, I realized that (despite whetever shortcomings the script had), the movie was a true work of filmic craftsmanship. It also reminded me that some of the biggest tragedies in history, sometimes are created from simple mistakes.  The lookouts on the Titanic that night (100 years ago this month, as a matter of fact) spotted the iceberg that would eventually sink a little too late to avoid a collision.  Or did they? 

Second Officer William Murdock was in command on the bridge when the berg was spotted.  The captain was already in his quarters.  Murdock ordered a "Full Reverse" on the engines and told the helmsman to turn the ship "hard over," meaning turning the rudder all the way.  That seemed on the surface like the right move - stop and turn to avoid the iceberg straight ahead.  But the Titanic was a behemoth of a ship; big and heavy.  Stopping on a dime and turning was not a maneuver she was going to execute adroitly.  A more exprienced seaman may have called for a different strategy:  "Full Ahead" and "hard over."  By speeding up, the momentum would have helped the ship turn faster, and therefore actually veer off before hitting.  Studies conducted after the disaster pointed to this maneuver as something that might have saved the ship. 

That remined me of  a tragedy I saw very much close up.  When I was growing up in Miami, Florida, an airliner plunged into the Everglades at night, not far way from my house while on final approach to the airport.  Everybody on the plane was killed.  The plane was flying in a circle around the airport because a light indicator on the landing gear instrumentation had gone off.  The pilots were certain the landing gear was down, for they knew what the sound of "down and locked" was, but the light was saying different.  So the co-pilot decided to go down underneath the cabin and look at the gear shafts with his eyes.  When he didn't come back, right away, the capatin put the plane on auto pilot to maintain its course and went down to check.  The touble is - when the captain got out of his seat, he accidentally bumped the auto-pilot control button.  The auto pilot turned off.  He did not notice.  While he and the co-pilot were trying to figure out what was going on with the landing gear, the plane nose-dived into the ground.  It was determined by the NTBS later that the light malfunctioning was a result of it not being screwed on tightly enough by the maintenance crew.  A tragedy, cause by two simple mistakes. 

I guess the moral of both those stories is that there is no such thing as a simple mistake, eh? 

In more lighter, trivial news --

The Texas Rangers started the season by winning 2 out of 3 games from the Chicago White Sox on Opening Weekened.  YAY!  The Rangers are the baseball team I follow, and I'm hoping they can beat nearly-impossible odds by making it to their third World Series in a row.  It has been a great ride the last two years, considering all the sub-.500 years I lived through when the Rangers basically, well... sucked. 

HBO's Game of Thrones has become a weekly viewing event at my home.  Great series.  And there are scenes of a sexual nature that could give porn a run for its money...

I'm still trying to try out the new "Lord of the Rings" card game I just bought, on the recommendation of co-workers.  The art on the cards is magnificent.  But will the game play as magnificently?   I've been playing a lot of "Star Trek Expeditions" with friends lately, and I'm looking for a new diversion.

Tomorrow, a short story...

This is Transmission #1 from StarBase 17. 

I am Rogue Leader, a fingers-to-chin ponderer of thoughts who dabbles in storytelling and sees the world as one giant novel.  Soon to be made into a motion picture.  I've spent over a half century on this planet and I've lived in three countries and at opposte ends of the United States.  I know enough to realize I don't know enough.  But that is the beauty of peeling back the layers of mysteries that life brings.  Discovering.  I fancy myself an explorer and adventurer.  I've traveled from Shang-hai in mainland China to the urban corners of Western Europe. I've seen a spacheship lunched into the heavens, and I've seen one land, too.  I've gone inward in my mind, sometimes chemically-induced, and I've pushed the envelope of my body in hardcore training.  Maybe you want to hear my thoughts, maybe you don't.  This blog will be about what I like, and what I don't like, and how I react to it.  It may be the way you react to things as well.  The stories here might may make you laugh.  They may make you curious.  Or you may wind up throwing something in anger.  This blog will be here for you to inhale.  Or to leave at any time.  I hope you enjoy the journey.