This morning I dreamed I was looking through a scrapbook of my life, with each page covering the highlights of a 10-year stretch, although I don’t remember the details of what was to come. I got to about age 60 or so, then the book changed to become that of my 5-month-old nephew Gavin. I started flipping through, reading the course of his life and the major events that shaped/will shape it. The only specific I recall is that at age 18 his Life(Stop? Block?) popped out of his arm, causing a small bleeding wound. The implication was that all children were implanted with a tiny birth control device before puberty, which switched off and expelled itself at age 18, hence the wound. This was so ubiquitous that it had become a rite of passage, like getting your drivers license, signifying that the child was now fully an adult and was allowed to reproduce (personally I’d have set them for 21, but hey…).
I couldn’t read anymore and shut the book. It just felt so wrong to read about the limits of someone’s life when it had just gotten started; like reading the first chapter of a new novel and then skipping to the end to see how it turned out. Very unsettling.
Back in the real world, it was a pretty good weekend for being oncall. I had one page Saturday at 8am, because some dipstick knocked out the power to all seven firewalls in a test lab, and I had to reboot them remotely. That took 3 hours to finally get settled, which nicely made up for the three hours I missed on Monday when I left sick. My coworker Arshad covered Saturday for me, from 3pm to 8am Sunday, so I could go to Pam & Scott’s St. Pat’s party in Waterford. Luckily for Arshad, even though the pager went off a half hour before we left, it was a trivial issue and there were no more pages for the rest of the weekend. I wore my kilt and a tight green polo to the party, and got several compliments on the results of my time in the gym. One of our married friends, who’s a huge closet case, was apparently unable to keep his eyes off me the entire time, according to Aaron, and at one point was finally goaded by both his wife and Aaron to stick his hand up my kilt when I wasn’t looking, making me jump several feet in the air. Even though the party was fun, it was a bummer that Kurt & Cyndi couldn’t make it due to a very sickly dog. They always liven things up even more. Hopefully Cyndi’s annual 25th birthday party will still happen at Camp Fishtales in April. We all complained about how old and lame we were, since everyone was yawning by 10:30pm, and we headed home at 11. My excuse was being woken up early by the pager, but it’s still a pretty weak one.
Before the party we went to see V for Vendetta, and we were all very impressed with it. I cheated and had read about the original graphic novels online, so I kind of knew what was probably going to happen. This was actually a good thing, since when they got to the re-enactment of Valerie’s letter I could make a dash for the bathroom before I asploded from the 55-gallon drum of diet Pepsi I’d sucked down. The sound during the fight scenes and explosions was turned up WAY too loud, but that was just a theater problem. I did see why some critics complained about certain weaknesses with the movie, but I still liked it enough to overlook them. I think the events and message of the movie were almost uncomfortably relevant to the state of the U.S. nowadays, especially since the original story was written between 1982-1985. Almost prophetic, actually, although thankfully we’re not as far gone as the society in the movie. Yet.