Strange dreams

I’ve been having some strange dreams lately. Last night (or was it this morning?) I dreamt I was packaging women’s shoes in a large shipping carton. I was retrieving them from my own closet. Now here’s the weird part (?)… they weren’t even my size! There were a helluva lot of shoes, too. All paired, as far as I can remember. I remember this one pair in particular, a set of sandals of the roman lace-up variety, all in red fabric, save for a wicker-looking sole-thingy…

… I just realized something. Most of my dreams feature exactly one character — me — and have no sound, but run in full, vibrant color. Oh, and I always know it’s a dream while I’m having it, but I go along with it anyway.

Consumer Angst

Finally, someone gets it.

[Edited to protect the verbally-inept, i.e., me]

Err… ever get to wondering why some things which seem so crystal clear to you completely escape the attention of others? Like, ambient noise, for example: some people are just better at tuning stuff out than others, like me. Well, having intrusive advertising in everything from the pen I write with to the side of the building I live in, poking at my senses relentlessly from dawn to dusk, well, it makes me irritable. Even though I’m a media junkie I find that I watch TV less, browse the web less, heck, even go out less, just to avoid the onslaught. (And I don’t even live in a big city! Imagine what I’d be like if I had to install myself a couple billboards down from Times Square?) Yet, no one aside from a couple of cranky designers makes much fuss over this. Jesus, doesn’t it bother you that you have to flip through about three hundred perfume samples before you can get to your monthly Cosmo Quiz?

We put a man on the moon (32 years ago, even!); surely we can devise a better way to make commerce?