Programming, at least for me, is 75% perspiration and 25% inspiration. While the phrase is somewhat cliche, albeit with difference percentages, the concept is effective. Several years ago I began keeping a dream journal.

Nothing quite as colorful or lame, no offense to the World Federation of Unicorn Lovers. The impetus is the afore mentioned 25% inspiration. A solid number of my programming projects have been solved in a dream. I'll wake up some night, in the middle of a huge project, and the answer will just be there. Writing my thoughts at the time is the only way I remember my solution.

What the fuck does this have to do with anything? Nothing except it lets me segue in to other dreams, the pants on head retarded kind. I learned early on that I don't have normal dreams, at least not that I remember.


Let me regale you with the latest: I'm visiting the estate of a old-moneyed family. You know the type:

Chris is with me and we're "touring" the compound. Half way through the tour the family invites us to attend a ceremony in the garden. After wandering through the Labyrinth we arrive at some sort of church set next to a giant pool. As I'm sitting there during the ceremony someone hands out packets of coffee beans. Dry coffee beans that the priest grew himself. (Oh yes, these are the details from the dream.) For some reason it made sense to me, in the dream, to put the beans in the glove box of my car.

On my way back to the gathering I notice the oldest son is waiting for me. He tells me that I'm not welcome and we get in to a fight. After kicking his ass I proceed to swim back to the gathering. As I get to the end the water drains out and I'm standing next to a pool. In the pool the elder man of the family is dead and his wife is telling everyone it's my fault. It's then that I notice Chris is holding the priests staff and on the tip is a slight bit of blood. For some reason this is the evidence we need to prove we didn't kill the old man. The wife freaks out and I hit her as well.

At the end of the dream she(the wife) explains that her family lives forever. The do this by submersing in a Lazarus pit, the water I was swimming in on the way back to the ceremony. The wife has grown tired of permanently being in second command (since no one dies) so she plotted to kill her husband. That's when I wake up.

The morals of my story: Don't fucking eat before you go to bed, be damn sure not to read sci-fi, and avoid moneyed lazurus pit dunking weirdos.

In a sad note for gamers everywhere Gary Gygax has passed away. For those not in the know, Gary Gygax is the co-creator of D&D, the nerd equivalent to the "Face that launched a thousand ships." Say what you will about the social acceptability of D&D, Gygax's vision ushered in the modern world of gaming. In fact I'm chatting with Gwas right now about the effect of JRR Tolkien vs. Gygax. We agree the Gygax had a greater impact but that Tolkien started it all. I'm pretty pleased with my response: "Sure. JRRT was the impetus, GG was the [Public Relations]."

To steal from Penny Arcade: Gary Gygax, Rolling In His Grave. Perfect.

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