I am at a conference.
I'm in a large meeting room space. People mill about, waiting for the session to start. A series of PowerPoint slides are shown on two large screens at the front of the room.
According to one slide, this a conference on Race and Class Issues in the Hermeneutics of Genomic Virtual Spaces.
It is being organized by my employer. My boss is supposed to give the first presentation, but she isn't there.
She has given me a copy of her PowerPoint slides so that I can give the presentation. But I am also aware that she has given the slides to six other people and told each of them to give the presentation as well.
I stand at the back of the room, rather uninterested and uninvolved in the whole thing.
An administrator from the university stands up and brings the crowd to order. As people take their seats, she begins to speak, going through my boss's presentation.
The crowd becomes restless, shifting in their chairs, coughing and looking over the program.
A couple of people in the crowd float away.
Then a few more. And a few more.
Soon, only five or six people are left in the room; the rest have floated away through the ceiling and disappeared.
I notice that the people in the room are strange - some are real people, while others are Second Life avatars.
The administrator stops the presentation, a little unnerved, and announces that the conference is canceled.
I walk out of the conference room. It appears that I am in some kind of high-tech hotel. There are little Internet kiosks scattered here and there and a few people - both real and Second Life avatars - wandering around or chatting with each other. Some have devices resembling iPhones or laptops; others have devices that look like something out of the 1960s version of 'Star Trek'.
Both the "real" people and the avatars have little "bubbles" that appear over their heads as they chat, indicating what they were saying, sort of like instant messaging.
There are walls made out of glass or some other material, from floor to ceiling, that allow me to see outside. The hotel is part of some type of large complex with futuristic buildings. Outside one wall, I can see something that looks like the Biosphere; going down the hall further, I can see buildings that resemble the Trylon and Perisphere from the 1939 New York Word's Fair. Beyond that is a structure that looks like the Eiffel Tower.
I continue walking and come to a large door with a space on it to place my hand - I put my palm on the device on the door and it beeps and blurps, opening automatically with other assorted technology noises.
I walk into a large, multi-story hotel suite as the door closes behind me. The place looks run down and dilapidated, much like it hadn't been remodeled since the 1980's. There are people there, but they don't seem to pay any attention to me. They look like tourists and have eighties hairstyles and clothing.
I walk up a flight of steps to the second floor of the hotel suite. I go around a corner and suddenly find myself in a small, dimly lit room.
"This way," a man says.
The man is dressed in a kind of uniform. There are other men around me.
We are all dressed in older-style suits and ties. We wear fedoras with a small card in the headband of the hat that reads "PRESS".
The man in the uniform is conducting a tour.
He directs our attention to a window on the wall. But it isn't a window - it's a one-way mirror that allows us to look into a large auditorium filled with people.
There are dozens and dozens of people in the auditorium - men, women and children of all ages. Each is dressed in 1930's clothing. They sit in the audience, listening to a man on stage addressing them. He is dressed in modern clothing.
The tour guide explains that these people all went to sleep in a kind of suspended animation at the end of the 1939 New York World's Fair. They are being updated on what had happened in the world since they had been asleep.
The guide notes that this group of people first went into suspended animation at the Columbian Exhibition in Chicago in the 1890's and they wake up during each world's fair.
For some reason not understood by scientists, they slept through the New York 64 World's Fair, Expo 66 and the Knoxville World's Fair.
The speaker in the auditorium shows them objects and technology of 2007, explaining how the things worked.
The audience seems interested, but not very animated.
The speaker tells them about advances in television - that there are now over 500 channels available and that there are big tv's that look like movie screens that hang on the wall of the average American home.
The crowd seems surprised. They talk to each other excitedly and enthusiastically applaud.
And then I woke up.
Showing posts with label media. Show all posts
Showing posts with label media. Show all posts
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Monday, January 1, 2001
Pinball DJ Hotel Wizard
I am sitting in the control studio of a small-town radio station.
I am researching some kind of book on AM radio and interview the DJ that is on duty. It is early evening.
The man is a little older, perhaps in his fifties. He tells me he is the owner of the station.
I wonder why he was working such an odd shift. Usually, a radio station owner wouldn’t be on the air at that time or wouldn’t do on-air work at all.
I ask him about it.
He tells me that he has broken up with his wife recently. He has joint custody of the kids and has to take care of them while they are on break from school.
We talk about the way radio is changing. He is sad that small stations like his are disappearing.
I stand on a hill in back of someone’s house. In the yard is a camping tent, much like one that would be used by a family at a campground.
It is a rural area, sort of like East Tennessee or the mountains of North Carolina.
A black woman is there. We know each other. She reminds me of Weebe, for some reason, but it isn’t her.
She tells me she is spending the weekend there for some type of gathering. A woman connected with the event lives in the house and is allowing her to stay in the tent in her yard.
We step into her tent as we continue talking. It is decked out with all kinds of furniture it is more like the room of a house than a weekend camping tent.
She is annoyed with the woman in the house.
“I’m trying to stay away from her,” she says.
I walk outside the tent. The woman who lives in the house has just come into the yard.
She is rather dour. She tells me about all of her problems. I have never met her before.
She tells she has a “no good husband”.
“I’m going to look for him,” she says.
She walks up a hill in back of her house. I follow, curious where she will go.
Soon we come to a large hotel. It resembles the one in “The Shining”. We walk inside.
The hotel is crowded with people. It looks like a cross between a hotel and a bizarre. We pass a check in desk and chairs in the lobby and then booths and tables where people are selling things.
I look around, watching people mill about.
I have lost track of the dour woman.
I walk around the lobby, watching the people talk and buy things from the vendors.
At the far end of the lobby is a room that looks like a gambling joint. It has blackjack tables, slot machines and roulette tables. It is crowded with people.
I see the owner of the radio station, gambling on a rather odd machine.
The machine has a glass front and reminds me of the machines they have in convenience stores and truckstops with all of the coins in them. The player stands in front of the machine and looks down in it, through the glass top.
The man keeps putting money into the machine, over and over again. Once in a while, he wins and a few coins fall out of a slot.
I talk to him as he plays and ask how he is doing.
I know that he is the “no good husband” the dour woman is looking for.
He continues playing, getting a little more lucky with the machine. However, it still only spits out a few coins.
Another man comes up to him and talks to him as he plays.
“I’m getting more lucky,” the radio station man says, “I can almost feel when it’s going to pay up.”
“Perhaps you should follow the yellow brick road,” the other man says, “You’re so lucky, you’d probably get rich there.”
“Yeah,” the man says, “maybe I will.”
The radio station owner walks away from the machine towards a road.
Through the gambling joint and leading out into the hotel is a road. It is made of tile, not yellow bricks. The tiles of the road have odd shapes and are in colors that no one else seems to have wanted.
I follow the man as he walks on the road, through corridors, into rooms, through hallways, through the kitchen.
Finally, we come to a set of big metal double doors painted brown. There is nobody else around.
He knocks on the door three times.
The doors open.
We walk into a strange kind of empty room.
It is full of bright, colorful light -- very warm, calming light that pulsates in red, yellow, green, bright blue, white. The room seems infinitely large, with no ceiling or walls.
We walk for a few moments further into the room. We see a man there dressed in shabby clothes.
"You must be the wizard,” the radio station owner says.
"Yes," the other man replies.
"I feel really lucky today," the man says, "I can almost feel when I'm going to win."
"Yes," the wizard says.
The wizard motions towards his right. In the room is a large pinball machine, several stories high. It has bright blinking lights and is filled with all kinds of levers, switches and shiny metal balls.
"Go ahead," the wizard says, motioning at the machine.
The man takes a token out of his pocket.
“This is the only one I have left,” he says.
The man grasps the token in both hands and closes his eyes.
"C'mon, baby," he intones.
The man drops the token in the slot of the machine.
The machine springs to life, emitting all kinds of colored flashing lights and strange metallic sounds and bells.
The lights and sounds keep building, louder and louder ...
The machine burps.
Literally, the machine just lets out a big belch and sits there.
The man is disappointed.
"It's okay," the wizard says. "You've found your heart's desire anyway."
Then I woke up.
I am researching some kind of book on AM radio and interview the DJ that is on duty. It is early evening.
The man is a little older, perhaps in his fifties. He tells me he is the owner of the station.
I wonder why he was working such an odd shift. Usually, a radio station owner wouldn’t be on the air at that time or wouldn’t do on-air work at all.
I ask him about it.
He tells me that he has broken up with his wife recently. He has joint custody of the kids and has to take care of them while they are on break from school.
We talk about the way radio is changing. He is sad that small stations like his are disappearing.
I stand on a hill in back of someone’s house. In the yard is a camping tent, much like one that would be used by a family at a campground.
It is a rural area, sort of like East Tennessee or the mountains of North Carolina.
A black woman is there. We know each other. She reminds me of Weebe, for some reason, but it isn’t her.
She tells me she is spending the weekend there for some type of gathering. A woman connected with the event lives in the house and is allowing her to stay in the tent in her yard.
We step into her tent as we continue talking. It is decked out with all kinds of furniture it is more like the room of a house than a weekend camping tent.
She is annoyed with the woman in the house.
“I’m trying to stay away from her,” she says.
I walk outside the tent. The woman who lives in the house has just come into the yard.
She is rather dour. She tells me about all of her problems. I have never met her before.
She tells she has a “no good husband”.
“I’m going to look for him,” she says.
She walks up a hill in back of her house. I follow, curious where she will go.
Soon we come to a large hotel. It resembles the one in “The Shining”. We walk inside.
The hotel is crowded with people. It looks like a cross between a hotel and a bizarre. We pass a check in desk and chairs in the lobby and then booths and tables where people are selling things.
I look around, watching people mill about.
I have lost track of the dour woman.
I walk around the lobby, watching the people talk and buy things from the vendors.
At the far end of the lobby is a room that looks like a gambling joint. It has blackjack tables, slot machines and roulette tables. It is crowded with people.
I see the owner of the radio station, gambling on a rather odd machine.
The machine has a glass front and reminds me of the machines they have in convenience stores and truckstops with all of the coins in them. The player stands in front of the machine and looks down in it, through the glass top.
The man keeps putting money into the machine, over and over again. Once in a while, he wins and a few coins fall out of a slot.
I talk to him as he plays and ask how he is doing.
I know that he is the “no good husband” the dour woman is looking for.
He continues playing, getting a little more lucky with the machine. However, it still only spits out a few coins.
Another man comes up to him and talks to him as he plays.
“I’m getting more lucky,” the radio station man says, “I can almost feel when it’s going to pay up.”
“Perhaps you should follow the yellow brick road,” the other man says, “You’re so lucky, you’d probably get rich there.”
“Yeah,” the man says, “maybe I will.”
The radio station owner walks away from the machine towards a road.
Through the gambling joint and leading out into the hotel is a road. It is made of tile, not yellow bricks. The tiles of the road have odd shapes and are in colors that no one else seems to have wanted.
I follow the man as he walks on the road, through corridors, into rooms, through hallways, through the kitchen.
Finally, we come to a set of big metal double doors painted brown. There is nobody else around.
He knocks on the door three times.
The doors open.
We walk into a strange kind of empty room.
It is full of bright, colorful light -- very warm, calming light that pulsates in red, yellow, green, bright blue, white. The room seems infinitely large, with no ceiling or walls.
We walk for a few moments further into the room. We see a man there dressed in shabby clothes.
"You must be the wizard,” the radio station owner says.
"Yes," the other man replies.
"I feel really lucky today," the man says, "I can almost feel when I'm going to win."
"Yes," the wizard says.
The wizard motions towards his right. In the room is a large pinball machine, several stories high. It has bright blinking lights and is filled with all kinds of levers, switches and shiny metal balls.
"Go ahead," the wizard says, motioning at the machine.
The man takes a token out of his pocket.
“This is the only one I have left,” he says.
The man grasps the token in both hands and closes his eyes.
"C'mon, baby," he intones.
The man drops the token in the slot of the machine.
The machine springs to life, emitting all kinds of colored flashing lights and strange metallic sounds and bells.
The lights and sounds keep building, louder and louder ...
The machine burps.
Literally, the machine just lets out a big belch and sits there.
The man is disappointed.
"It's okay," the wizard says. "You've found your heart's desire anyway."
Then I woke up.
Tuesday, February 22, 2000
Hazel Barbershop Television Land
I’m standing in the living room of a house.
Music from Fellini’s "Juliet of the Spirits" plays in the background.
Shirley Booth is in the living room with me. She is dressed as Hazel, the character she played on the television program in the 1960’s.
“I’ll get your briefcase, Mr. G,” she says.
She leaves the room and quickly goes upstairs.
"Hazel?" I think, "Where did she come from?"
I suddenly hear laughter in the background.
Canned laughter.
I look around, puzzled.
I can't see where the canned laughter is coming from.
The doorbell rings.
I walk to the front door and open it.
A man with a television camera on his shoulder and a woman are standing there. They’re both dressed like the poorest trailer park trash you can imagine bad teeth, bad breath and everything.
The woman has a photo in her hand. She sticks it into my face.
The photo looks like Andy Griffith, dressed in shabby clothes like the people in front of me.
“Well?” the woman asks.
It’s as if she expects me to say something. I’m dumbfounded and just stand there.
"You're the sheriff. Ain't you goin’ after him?"
I look at the photo again.
It doesn't look like Andy Griffith. It looks like me.
"No," I say, "I’m not going after him. I really don't want to get shot today."
I hear giggles from the canned laugh track.
“What do you mean?” she yells. “He’s up on the hill makin’ moonshine and causin’ a heap of trouble! I heard he even stole somebody’s cat!”
There is laughter from the canned laugh track. The Fellini music becomes more prominent.
I seem to know that these two people do a kind of very low budget version of “Cops”, produced by trailer park trash.
I look out on the street in front of the house. It’s a typical sit-com suburban neighborhood with neat little houses and well kept lawns.
The bus from “The Partridge Family” passes by.
“Now you’re the sheriff ‘round here,” she says. “Ain’t you gonna do somethin’?”
The man with the camera focuses on my face.
“No, I don’t think so,” I say, annoyed. “Why don’t you go get him yourself? He won’t bother you.”
I close the door on them.
There is laughter and applause from the canned laugh track.
I think for a moment. I realize that the man and woman were Daisy Duke and Cooter from “The Dukes of Hazzard”.
Suddenly, I feel as though I am going through a tunnel, almost being propelled through some kind of portal.
I’m standing in the Cunningham living room from “Happy Days”.
Ritchie Cunningham is talking to his mother, Marion.
"Well, it's like this, mom," Ritchie says, "Think about it this way: What if Mr. Cunningham was a pimp, but Mrs. Cunningham didn't know about it?"
"Oh, I just don't know," she says.
There is more laughter from the canned laugh track.
Suddenly, I feel as though I am lifted through the portal again.
I’m standing in Floyd’s barbershop from “The Andy Griffith Show”.
Floyd, Opie and Goober are there.
Also in the room is Rob, the character from “Annie Hall” who was an actor in a television sit-com that convinced Woody Allen’s character to go to Los Angeles and work in television.
"I just don't understand it," Floyd says, "Aunt Bea has turned into such a whore."
"Well, times change," Rob says. Giggles from the canned laugh track.
"Floyd," Rob asks, "is there a tanning booth in this town?"
Laughter from the canned track.
I am sucked through the portal again.
I’m standing on the lawn in front of the “Hazel” house. It’s bright and sunny outside.
There’s no one around and I seem to have a moment to collect my thoughts.
“I don’t understand this place,” I say. “I just don’t know how to move around here.”
I look down and see a dog and cat run past me.
It’s Tom and Butch from MGM’s “Tom and Jerry” cartoons.
The dog and cat are like the cartoons, only three-dimensional and appear very real. They run around the lawn getting into trouble. They take tumbles and knock things over.
Tom runs up to me and comes to a sudden stop.
I hear the sound of screeching tires.
Tom looks up at me.
“You should have gone after that guy,” he says.
There’s something menacing about him that I don’t like.
He takes off after Butch again. They chase each other around, knocking things over and causing more havoc.
I hear cartoon music and sound effects.
Once again, Tom comes to a screeching halt in front of me.
"You know you should have," he says.
I look down at him.
"No,” I say. “I don't belong here. I don't understand this place."
"Of course you do," Tom says. "It's Los Angeles. You were born to be here."
Tom takes off again with the sound of a cartoon “ping”. He causes more havoc with Butch.
I suddenly realize that Tom’s voice sounds like Rob from “Annie Hall”.
As he runs through the yard, Tom screams at me to let him into the house.
“Oh no,” I yell, running for the door. “You’re not getting in here!”
I run into the house, quickly slamming the door behind me.
The door has a large window that covers almost half of it. I look through the window and see Tom running towards the door.
He’s unable to stop and slams into the door, smashing his head flat with a loud “thump”.
I watch as Tom slowly falls to the ground, his body sticking straight out from the door.
His smushed head makes funny cartoon sounds as it slides down the door.
Tom sits up, his head bobbing and weaving. There are little three dimensional stars and birds spinning around his head.
I hear a voice behind me and turn around.
“Here you go, Mr. G,” Hazel says, smiling and handing me my briefcase.
“Aren’t you late for work?”
Then I woke up.
Music from Fellini’s "Juliet of the Spirits" plays in the background.
Shirley Booth is in the living room with me. She is dressed as Hazel, the character she played on the television program in the 1960’s.
“I’ll get your briefcase, Mr. G,” she says.
She leaves the room and quickly goes upstairs.
"Hazel?" I think, "Where did she come from?"
I suddenly hear laughter in the background.
Canned laughter.
I look around, puzzled.
I can't see where the canned laughter is coming from.
The doorbell rings.
I walk to the front door and open it.
A man with a television camera on his shoulder and a woman are standing there. They’re both dressed like the poorest trailer park trash you can imagine bad teeth, bad breath and everything.
The woman has a photo in her hand. She sticks it into my face.
The photo looks like Andy Griffith, dressed in shabby clothes like the people in front of me.
“Well?” the woman asks.
It’s as if she expects me to say something. I’m dumbfounded and just stand there.
"You're the sheriff. Ain't you goin’ after him?"
I look at the photo again.
It doesn't look like Andy Griffith. It looks like me.
"No," I say, "I’m not going after him. I really don't want to get shot today."
I hear giggles from the canned laugh track.
“What do you mean?” she yells. “He’s up on the hill makin’ moonshine and causin’ a heap of trouble! I heard he even stole somebody’s cat!”
There is laughter from the canned laugh track. The Fellini music becomes more prominent.
I seem to know that these two people do a kind of very low budget version of “Cops”, produced by trailer park trash.
I look out on the street in front of the house. It’s a typical sit-com suburban neighborhood with neat little houses and well kept lawns.
The bus from “The Partridge Family” passes by.
“Now you’re the sheriff ‘round here,” she says. “Ain’t you gonna do somethin’?”
The man with the camera focuses on my face.
“No, I don’t think so,” I say, annoyed. “Why don’t you go get him yourself? He won’t bother you.”
I close the door on them.
There is laughter and applause from the canned laugh track.
I think for a moment. I realize that the man and woman were Daisy Duke and Cooter from “The Dukes of Hazzard”.
Suddenly, I feel as though I am going through a tunnel, almost being propelled through some kind of portal.
I’m standing in the Cunningham living room from “Happy Days”.
Ritchie Cunningham is talking to his mother, Marion.
"Well, it's like this, mom," Ritchie says, "Think about it this way: What if Mr. Cunningham was a pimp, but Mrs. Cunningham didn't know about it?"
"Oh, I just don't know," she says.
There is more laughter from the canned laugh track.
Suddenly, I feel as though I am lifted through the portal again.
I’m standing in Floyd’s barbershop from “The Andy Griffith Show”.
Floyd, Opie and Goober are there.
Also in the room is Rob, the character from “Annie Hall” who was an actor in a television sit-com that convinced Woody Allen’s character to go to Los Angeles and work in television.
"I just don't understand it," Floyd says, "Aunt Bea has turned into such a whore."
"Well, times change," Rob says. Giggles from the canned laugh track.
"Floyd," Rob asks, "is there a tanning booth in this town?"
Laughter from the canned track.
I am sucked through the portal again.
I’m standing on the lawn in front of the “Hazel” house. It’s bright and sunny outside.
There’s no one around and I seem to have a moment to collect my thoughts.
“I don’t understand this place,” I say. “I just don’t know how to move around here.”
I look down and see a dog and cat run past me.
It’s Tom and Butch from MGM’s “Tom and Jerry” cartoons.
The dog and cat are like the cartoons, only three-dimensional and appear very real. They run around the lawn getting into trouble. They take tumbles and knock things over.
Tom runs up to me and comes to a sudden stop.
I hear the sound of screeching tires.
Tom looks up at me.
“You should have gone after that guy,” he says.
There’s something menacing about him that I don’t like.
He takes off after Butch again. They chase each other around, knocking things over and causing more havoc.
I hear cartoon music and sound effects.
Once again, Tom comes to a screeching halt in front of me.
"You know you should have," he says.
I look down at him.
"No,” I say. “I don't belong here. I don't understand this place."
"Of course you do," Tom says. "It's Los Angeles. You were born to be here."
Tom takes off again with the sound of a cartoon “ping”. He causes more havoc with Butch.
I suddenly realize that Tom’s voice sounds like Rob from “Annie Hall”.
As he runs through the yard, Tom screams at me to let him into the house.
“Oh no,” I yell, running for the door. “You’re not getting in here!”
I run into the house, quickly slamming the door behind me.
The door has a large window that covers almost half of it. I look through the window and see Tom running towards the door.
He’s unable to stop and slams into the door, smashing his head flat with a loud “thump”.
I watch as Tom slowly falls to the ground, his body sticking straight out from the door.
His smushed head makes funny cartoon sounds as it slides down the door.
Tom sits up, his head bobbing and weaving. There are little three dimensional stars and birds spinning around his head.
I hear a voice behind me and turn around.
“Here you go, Mr. G,” Hazel says, smiling and handing me my briefcase.
“Aren’t you late for work?”
Then I woke up.
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