R.I.P., Bruce W.

I had a dream last night that I was driving a convertible to Dana’s house. I had taken along my video camera for some reason. When I got there, his house was really small and he had a bunch of children. They were very poorly-behaved, like the rugrats in “Raising Arizona.” You know, “You take the diaper off your head and put it back on your sister!”
Dana’s wife wasn’t Tina, it was some Pentecostal-looking woman with really long hair pulled back in to a severe bun, and a full-length denim skirt.
At some point, Dana pushed my camera and tripod over. I yelled at him to stop, that he would break it. He laughed and acted like it was really funny. Then, after I’d righted it, he shoved the camera right off the tripod and it smashed into bits on the floor. I remember shouting in the dream that it wasn’t funny and he needed to pay me back as I’d just bought the camera. He said he’d like to see me make him.

I wrote him to tell him about that but haven’t heard anything back. I recognize all the themes in the dream: the videcamera was in it because Charlie had been asking me to tape his game last night; I was driving a convertible in the dream because Kate and I had been looking at scarves and I said I imagined myself in big Jackie O glasses with a scarf; visiting Dana was a part of it because Charlie is trying to talk me into going to his next game which is in a city where Dana works.

In terribly depressing news, one of the dancers at the Vogue committed suicide on Friday. Bruce, a guy who seemed to always be in a great mood, hung himself in his apartment while his girlfriend was there. If you know him, the Patio is having a benefit tomorrow night, Monday July 19th, where all the proceeds go to his family to pay for the funeral. Kate and I put some money in the donation bucket at the AlleyCat and Charlie and I may go tomorrow to the benefit. If you want to donate and can’t make it, contact any of the bars in Broad Ripple.


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