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We all know some pretty ridiculously self-delusional types, but I like the idea that it’s a necessary evil, in the strict ontological sense that a being simply cannot know itself, like the architectural flaw of the eye that cannot see itself. Theory goes that without it we’d all realize we were pathetic mediocre slobs full of faults, possibly even terrible people, incapable of change, etc. Then we’d all just give up and kill ourselves. But there is something fascinating about this blind spot.

I had a dream last night that I pulled up to Dunkin Donuts drive-through and David Foster Wallace was working the window. He very routinely handed me my order, two donuts – one glazed, one chocolate cake- and a coffee, and then conspiratorially asked if I had anything else for him. I reached into the glove box and pulled out a large manuscript and handed it through the small window. He looked at it skeptically, leaned forward and whispered, “No, you know, I mean for the bank. ” And so it turns out that in this particular post-apocalyptic dreamscape all the world’s banks had collapsed and now Dunkin Donuts would “hold your money” in mafia-esque black market accounts, because after all we need someone to hold our money. Are we far off from this (not the recently deceased writers working at Dunkin Donuts part)?

I’m all for studies and research and anything in general that makes sense where there formerly was none, or tosses some long standing, ill-begotten misconception out of the window, but I find all this happiness research stuff kind of silly. Um, The World Database of Happiness…are you kidding me? Now I’m a big fan of the InterWebs, and the varied geekness you may find on said webs, including dorky databases, but I really hope they were being ironic with that name. I doubt it however, because the website is so horrifyingly 1996 that the author wouldn’t have- wait a minute….the whole thing is a great big giant ironical culture jam! Perhaps the Yes Men are behind it.

But seriously, isn’t it fucking obvious safe to assume that people will be relatively happier with more wealth, with more health, with more freedom, with more leisure time, but that these things in and of themselves do not guarantee “happiness?” Didn’t we learn this boring lesson over and over again in all those bad novels that we had to read in high school? What more is there to say? And I’m suspicious about these psychological polls because they are fallible and people are also fallible (and they lie, conscious or not!), so let’s stick to measuring things that make sense, like blood pressure. I know this: the smiley checkout lady at CVS will be happier than I will ever be, and good for her. But I don’t envy her line of work, or to be honest, even her smileyness. That’s right, I’m Scrooge, bitch!

Now I am going to pitch my new show for some Big Ass network. It’s called, “My Fucking Head is a Supernova,” and it’s about this guy (you could say it’s semi-autobiographical) that has these awesome powers, perhaps caused by some unknown event in the past, an accident in the laboratory with giant magnets, that start off kind of goofy, but then culminate with the supernova head. It works like this: every time someone pisses me off, my fucking head turns into a supernova, and absorbs that person, physically, quarks, electrons and all, into my subconscious, where they are refabricated. Once in my subconscious they have to forever live in my world, and play by my rules, deal with my crazy vampire dreams, etc. Only when they have figured out what they did wrong will they be released and re-refabricated in reality. But I’m still undecided if anyone should get out. The whole process is very much involuntary, like Bruce Banner turning into The Hulk, I don’t want to hurt these people but… I can’t help it. I’m thinking a cross between Smallville, Heroes, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, none of which I have seen except for bit’s when I’ve been too hungover to change the channel. Ok, not entirely true, I used to watch Buffy sometimes.

Then in the season finale I piss myself off and banish myself to my own subconsciousland. Oh, the horror.

If you steal my idea I’ll kill you.

Frequent man.under.stress contributor and former book reviewer, “chilly,” or in the preferred Taoist nomenclature, “chi-li,” began podcasting interviews with friends and acquaintances, the unsung celebrity of the everyman sort of thing, some time ago. Well now he’s expanded the service into a full blown blog, complete with the continuing series of podcasts, PLUS, psychedelic arcana, all things Asian and much, much more. And so far he’s out of the gate and running, with sometimes more than one daily post. That’s more than I can say for my sorry ass. When Chi-Li is not slurping a Starbucks mocha frapp in the comfort of his Tarantino shrine, we can assume he’s hard at work finding interesting things for you to contemplate. So check out and bookmark The 10,000 Things.

It started off with a dream taking place in the forest, a familiar mountain biking place it seemed, and in fact I was looking for “new trails.” At that time, I spotted a Zebra right there lounging about looking way out of place in a forest. The Zebra saw me and slowly began to approach me, in a feral, menacing way. I freaked and ran. The Zebra freaked and chased me. It was horrible to be chased by a Zebra.

Of course I thought the next morning about what it means to have a zebra lurking around menacingly in your subconscious. This site says:

To dream of a zebra, denotes that you will be interested in varying and fleeting enterprises.

Awesome. Tell me something I don’t already know.

Last night I had a couple of odd ones. First was a variation on the supernatural powers dreams I often have. Usually I am a vampire in these dreams, which I prefer, because I have always preferred sexy, powerful vampires to the rest of the mundane supernatural folk. Well, last night, I was some kind of warlock dude in training. I don’t like the “in training” dreams so much because I don’t have unlimited powers. I could fly, and had superhuman strength, but all these abilities were shaky, like the Greatest American Hero. I would often fall or just drop when flying. There was some woman that was after me, and she was pure evil, and we battled at some point, but mostly I think I tried to escape when we encountered one another. I was no match, and damn, she was EVIL. I think she might have been “undead.” There were other evil folks, and I think I killed some of them, but I do remember it was hard to die… So someone you think you killed was just temporarily out and would be real pissed when they found you later. Everything seemed to take place in old theatres.

In the third dream I was either the new front man for Coldplay, or I was Chris Martin. Either way it’s a lame dream, I know. I was walking down the street with an acoustic guitar playing their latest hit single and people were following me around singing along, like that U2 video. Jeez, you’ d think I want to be a rock star or something, but I really don’t. No one would take you seriously. Look at Bono.