Since moving here to Hoboken, I’ve found that my nights have gotten so much more interesting. It’s funny because it’s something I never noticed in Boston, and I don’t know why. Perhaps I sleep lighter here. Perhaps living in a new environment has made me more awake at night. Perhaps the loudness of the city makes me more alert during my slumber. Whatever it is, it’s different.

It doesn’t happen too often, maybe once a week. But when it does, it always makes me very entertained. I’ll go to bed next to Miss Possible, and we’ll both wander off into our own dreamlands. It isn’t until two or three in the morning when it happens. I first remember it happening when we were camping…

Miss Possible sits up in the tent and screams “OH MY GOD!” “What is it,” I ask, panicked. “Oh. Nevermind.” and she goes back to sleep.

The next night, the same thing happened. Miss Possible sits up “OH MY GOD!!” “What?!” I ask. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

Come to find out. Miss Possible talks in her sleep. Last night’s debacle was the best thus far, however.

Miss Possible: “I’ll take.. Johnny Carson” in a very conversational manner.
LTJ: “Johnny Carson? What?”
MP: “Yeah, Johnny Carson”
LTJ: “Why are you going to take Johnny Carson?”
MP: [more awake] “What are you talking about?
LTJ: “You just said you were going to take Johhny Carson, what are you doing? Playing Hollywood Squares?”
MP: “No I didn’t. You’re crazy. Go back to bed.”

Maybe I am crazy, but I doubt it. This has happened a number of times now, and I find it quite enjoyable, like I said. I need to find a way to get involved in the dream without waking her up.

Miss Possible: “I’ll take.. Johnny Carson” in a very conversational manner.
LTJ: “Johnny Carson? What?”
MP: “Yeah, Johnny Carson”
LTJ: “You don’t want Johnny Carson. He died a few years ago”
MP: “But I do, he’s the best choice”
LTJ: “Well, if you’re going to pick someone who’s dead, why not take Jim Morrison or Jerry Garcia. They’re probably more of whom you’d want, right?”
MP: “Jerry is here? Where?!”

You get the picture. I think this could be very entertaining, but I need to be able to pull it off so that she doesn’t wake up. Once she’s awake, the fun is over. The best part about this whole thing is that she remembers NONE of this in the morning. I’ve joked with her all day today about Mr. Carson, and she can’t recall any of this conversation. Either way, even if I can ask just one question it’s still fun — as long as I remember. Who knows what she’ll say tonight!

It feels like lightyears since I’ve dropped an entry on all y’all, so here I am.  Things have been good for Cool Jesus.  Since it’s been relatively slow this week (Swedish Girl is visiting Tropical Storm Cindy down in Florida and I’m doing my own "vacation" thing up here), why don’t I regale you with some random happenings of the last week or more…

Birthday karaoke (at a restaurant & pub called Sky…yes Sky)  was fun.  Swedish Girl went first among our group and knocked out "The Sign" by Ace of Base.  That got the joint rocking and inspired me to entertain the crowd Cool Jesus style.  Later in the night, I sang my version of "Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who.  I’d like to think I sang it the way Pete Townsend would have, had Roger Daltrey not been around.  When the DJ announced me and my song, there was a buzz from the crowd.  Most people had been doing contemporary tunes, so I think they appreciated a heavy classic rock number.  I’m not quite sure Swedish Girl shared their appreciation, as her critique included the words "emotional," "loud," and "animal."  But, hey, if Rolling Stone had used those same words in my review, I’d be a happy man.

A couple of days later, we went to see "House of Wax."  It turns out that a hidden jewel of Quincy Center is the old movie theater that shows somewhat older movies for just $2.50.  I wasn’t really excited about seeing "The Interpreter," (how does Nicole Kidman still have a career?) so I allowed Swedish Girl to coax me into this horror flick, against my better judgment.  If you know Cool Jesus, you probably know that I’m a comedy and romantic comedy guy.  Horror is not my genre of choice.  But, I didn’t think it would be so bad.  Turns out I was wrong.  Dead wrong.  The movie was actually better than I thought it would be.  And scarier.  Much scarier.  I jumped out of my seat so many times that I think Swedish Girl was just about to strap my arms to the chair (much like in the movie).  I needed several drinks back at home to help me forget about what I had just seen.  Now "Dark Water" is piquing Swedish Girl’s interest.  Lucky me.

Lastly, I promised you more information about the haggard old gypsy from whom Swedish Girl received a tarot card reading.   We were driving along Route 18 North after visiting J.Lee and Papi’s new house.  Somewhere north of Whitman and south of Weymouth, I hesitantly turned into a weed-infested, loose stone driveway after Swedish Girl excitedly noticed a sign touting palm readings and tarot card readings.  From the outside, the old, two-story, white house looked mostly dilapidated, with a twenty year-old paint job and a rusty truck on blocks in the driveway.  Swedish Girl had me walk up and ring the doorbell first in case a witch, or a bat, or a black cat darted out at us. 

Instead, a ten year-old boy answered the door holding a tiny, white, fluffy dog.  I asked about the readings, and he closed the door for a moment.  Next, his thirteen year-old sister answered the door.  Swedish Girl and I both thought she was the palm reader.  She asked us to step inside, but we chose to wait outside until we knew what was going on.  Finally, the haggard old gypsy came to the door, opened it, and invited us inside.  Swedish Girl inquired about the prices, and after some negotiation, she went first while I waited about ten feet away on a plastic slip cover-covered sofa in the living room. 

The house was nicer from the inside.  Still a mess, but nothing a good maid couldn’t fix.  I was cooled off by two operating air conditioners, two operating ceiling fans, and another two oscilating floor fans.  There was a giant screen television (about 60 inches), which I surmised had been purchased with money garnered from unsuspecting passers-by like ourselves.  After several minutes of friendly attacks by Snowball, the tiny, white, fluffy dog, I decided to check my voicemail (still have to call Captain Larby back) and stroll around the living room. 

That was when Swedish Girl’s tarot card reading concluded and I was summoned to the hot seat.  I had to let the old gypsy down by telling her that I wasn’t going to need a reading that day.  "Maybe another time," I said.  As we drove away, I asked Swedish Girl, "So, was that worth $30?"  "No," she admitted.  Ah well, we both knew it would make for an interesting story and you can’t put a price on that.

In my head I picture some punks gleeful over their latest destructive escapade. I am taken back to the Beavis and Butthead era. “Whoa, cool. You blew stuff up huh huh. Do it again.” But this isn’t some kids blowing up bugs with firecrackers. It’s NASA.

Now I know large numbers — ludricous numbers — aren’t supposed to faze us anymore. I mean, think of the Iraq war cost, but $333 million does seem like a lot of moolah that could go to other more pertinent issues affecting mankind.

And I quote: ???I can???t believe they???re paying us to have this much fun,??? exclaimed Don Yeomans, a Deep Impact mission co-investigator for JPL. ???The impact was bigger than what I expected.”

Yes, yes. Blasting a very large probe into an even larger hurling rock is very important. I agree. In fact, I think I had fun with similar experiments as a child. And one in particular, that I fondly remember, is the wonderful ripple effect of skipping a rock on the surface of a pond . . .

I feel similarly about the nature of the universe. Especially when speaking on such large scales, at such ludricous speeds. All in the name of science. Couldn’t leave well enough alone.

I quote: “It???s clear that the ejecta was still coming out, at least after the [impact] event.” Certainly.

And anyways, I’m not the only one harping on the subject. This rant is particularly interesting because 1) It’s an intelligent analysis of the issue and 2) The name of the blog is Fantastic Planet, one of the best movies ever [Good, weird scifi. And even better we can learn a thing or two from the Traags whose science experiment with those peskies bipeds from Terra went horribly awry].