Dream Log: March 4, 2002

I think it was because I was watching the movies The Naked Gun, and Airplane!

I was on a plane to Los Angeles, to hopefully see Kevin Smith at the comic book convention in San Diego. Why? I guess it was because of watching Chasing Amy.

Anyway, I was on my way back, the plane was landing at Long Island Macarthur airport. The plane trip was OK most of the way, I sprang extra for a First class seat. Very comfy, spacious.

The plane is coming in for a landing over Long Island. Normally the plane lands rear wheels first. This time the nose was tipped forward. I remember thinking What the Heck? All of a sudden, we were low enough to see the people on the ground. I looked out and saw the plane's wing just graze the control tower. I suddenly started to panic, as I thought the plane would hit, as the other wing started to break the windows of the terminal. We hadn't even had the wheels touch down, and I thought we were going to smash and roll.

Strangely, I wasn't too afraid, like I knew it wouldn't get that bad. I felt the front wheel hit the ground first, how odd. All of a sudden, I heard a terrific smash, and the left wing came right off. Immediately the rear left wheel dropped the 15 remaining feet and hit the ground. Hard. The right side didn't touch down, and the plane seemed to lose steering.

I get up and sprint the 3 rows to the cockpit, and wrench open the door. In it i see Leslie Nielsen screwing up. I jump into the left seat (the pilot?) and try to steer the huge bemoth of a plane. It's swerving to the left, cutting a big arc towards the buildings, and in danger of rolling.

I can barely drive an SUV, so I wrench the stick to the right, making the wheels slam into the ground. Rumble. I slam the panels in front of me, oxygen masks drop down, the thrust reversers engage, the flaps aim down. I stomp the ground and find the brake.

The plane veers off the tarmac, down the grassy knoll. Why do they have a hill next to a runway? The left wheel careens into the ditch, and the plane rolls. I see the imminent slamming, and slip on the shoulder straps. Aah!

The left window smashes, glass flying past me, as the metal scrapes into the ground. We're still dragging along with inertia and momentum. After 12 white knuckle seconds, the plane stops. I hear fire engines speeding up to the plane, and I heave a big sigh.

I am walking through the streets of Melbourne, Australia; my home town. It's getting late, probably close to midnight, and I'm desperately in need of a beer. I decide to head to the backpacker district in North Melbourne, thinking that it'll be easy to find an open bar.

The area turns out to be like a ghost-town from a Western film; all looming, over-arching buildings, a certain unsettling silence in the air. A figure appears on one of the rooftops, a cowboy of sorts, dressed in white. He wields a baseball bat and a sack full of baseballs, which he begins hitting my way.

A run for cover in one of the bars, which happens to be the one he's standing on top of. "There's an idiot on the roof hitting baseballs at people" I begin to tell barman, still puffing from the short run across the street.

The cowboy appears out of nowhere, obviously having descended down the interior stairs. He approaches me, grabs my face in his huge hand, and begins grinding it into the surface of the bar.

I look up to try to envoke some kind of action from the other patrons, but they stare blankly at me.

"Am I just imagining all this" I ask them.

"Yes", they reply.

So I'm in David Beckham's house having lunch with himself and Victoria. We ate pasta and salad with a sun dried tomato dressing. "David needs a lot of carbs at the moment", Victoria explains to me. We finish the meal and David takes me on a brief tour of the house. He shows his rumpus room where there is a nice widescreen TV and a modest pool table. Next door is Brooklyn's playroom, full to the brim with expensive toys and Man Utd. memorabilia. I notice a distinct lack of Lego and to a lesser extent, Duplo. There are CCTV cameras mounted in the room. Apparently they had a problem with the previous Nanny whose "attitude was rather Victorian".

I insist that we go and see his car collection and he is only too happy to oblige. We go out the french doors at the back of the house into what seems to be the car park of a shopping centre. I see an Aston Martin DB7 and I ask David if it is his. He says it is and would I like to take it for a spin. I refuse. I spy a Ferrari, also David's. Then I see a beautiful new fully loaded Landrover. David explains that this is his favourite car and he feels safest behind it's wheel. The car has every feature available, as well as an expensive leather interior.

Next, a woman and her daughter pass by us with two bags of shopping.

"Mum, look, it's David Beckham. Who's that guy with him?"

This makes me feel a bit stupid but it doesn't bother me much. They approach and ask for David's autograph. He politely obliges. Then the mother explains that she is buying a similar Landrover to David's but couldn't decide on the trim for the interior. She was wondering if she could sit in the jeep for a few minutes to try it out for comfort. David, being the polite guy that he is, says "Of course, go on ahead."

The two women sit in the jeep and admire the masterly crafted interior. At this point the engine in the jeep starts, and before you know it, the two ladies are tearing off in David Beckham's land rover.

We give chase, but then they start to hurl their shopping at us. Cans of Heinz beans. One of them catches David square in the nose and he collapses on the ground, his face a bloody mess.

Then I awoke.