LO2

I dreamt that playing cards and women were directly connected in some way.

Then, about a hour after I woke up, I came to the realization that Kenny Rogers' song "The Gambler" is actually about women...

"You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run..."

Interesting thing is that it took me another hour to make a connection between the dream and the Kenny Rogers epiphany.

Note: I should start a "sleepyblog." put a PC right by the bed and put all my half awake thoughts (blurry-eyed spelling mistakes and all) into something for all the world to see. Possibly fun, probably a very bad idea.

Odd British woman that sold pretzels in the mall wanted the PDA "With the Jamaican sounding name." Of course, I didn't work in the store we were in, but that didn't seem to matter, as she seemed to be quite impressed with my knowledge of PDAs (which, for the record, isn't that great out of the dream world).

I've forgotten most of it, but it mostly involved scientists at NASA putting George Burns in a space suit.

In 2002, Bill Clinton got Jerry Inzerello, an executive at the Paradise Island Casino to raise $1 million to buy drugs for AIDS patients in the Bahamas (where the casino is located, and the location of the second highest AIDS rate in the Western Hemisphere). Shortly after, Ira Magaziner, Clinton's social policy consultant, had a team of management consultants review the spending of the $1 million by the Bahamian government, at which point they discovered that they were going through two middlemen to acquire generic AIDS drugs at the cost of $3,500 per patient per year. The team made one call to the manufacturer, cutting out the middlemen and lowering the cost to $500 per person per year within days, and eventually to $138. The same amount of money that treated one person a year before now treats 25, and if no review committee came in to check on the spending, potentially thousands of AIDS patients would be dead because some businessmen were trying to make a buck.

Some people make me the fuck sick.

(I know, I know, you're thinking "Why is LO2 talking about serious shit? where's the gadgets and funny pictures?" just allow me to digress a little. I'll talk about toys again soon. Well, after my rant about Lisl Auman...)

Been a little busy. I'll do a big update soon. In the meantime, here's a funny picture (it might take a second):

I'm coming out of the bathroom at Treff's (a local bar), which now apparently exits into Scruffy Murphy's (another local bar). Jeff, this guy I know (He was the only member of his immediate family not to be on the most current season of PBS's Colonial House. That's true, not the dream) tells me that he has a gift for me, and hands me a head. It's a maroon colored wicker bust (but it's more like the top 2/3 of a head) set around a plastic mold (of the original head?) with the word "Austin" imprinted in the gray plastic of the mold that forms the bottom of the sculpture. Figuring that this was a good time to leave the bar, I head for Common Grounds (a local coffee shop, where I happen to be typing this entry) to get some coffee and peruse the deeper meaning of wicker life models. My rumination time is cut short when I discover that Victoria Beckham (aka Her Hotness Posh Spice) is sitting alone in a near empty Commons, having some tea. Naturally, I want to flirt with the wife of one of the most famous soccer players in the world, so I begin to head on over (God knows what I would say). Unfortunately, Jill (the owner of the coffeehouse) stops me halfway and insists that I go to the back room of the shop and keep an eye on Nick Nolte (who, surprisingly, did not arrive with Victoria) to make sure that he doesn't break anything. My pleas to hit on my second favorite spice (Geri Halliwell, aka Ginger Spice, has been at number one since she went solo. Have you seen her lately? Rowr!) went unheard, and I was forced to supervise a surprisingly placid Mr. Nolte. I didn't even get free coffee out of it.