The punchline.

I find myself at a rally for the union of stand-up comics.  It’s being held in an open field in a park.  A long catwalk-like raised platform cuts through the center of the crowd, with a mike stand placed at the end.  A comic jumps onto the stage, takes the mic, and begins speaking, but it is clear from the start that the crowd is unimpressed by his statements.  The crowd grows angrier with each of the speaker’s attempts to appease and entertain the crowd.  Finally, the mob, growing into a frenzy, begins throwing their torches towards the stage.  (At this point, I realize the crowd is holding torches – think angry pitchfork and torch-wielding mob.. but without the pitchforks.)  Except.. instead of throwing them, they are chucked high up into the air and come falling down like rain.

People began scrambling through folding chairs to avoid getting hit by the falling torches.  One hits the grass which instantaneously sets it ablaze. I flee with a girl friend (who I don’t recognize) from the field, and as we run, we pick up three bunnies, two are black, one is white, in an attempt to save them from the growing fire.  We release the rabbits out onto a long black road that is running alongside the park.  We then begin to fly, somehow flapping our legs to gain a higher altitude.  At this point, I realize another person has joined our group.  I don’t recognize him either, though in my dream, he seems to be a friend I know.

We head towards a dormer window in the back of a house a little ways away from the park, attempting to reach a restaurant that is located there.  Since we are expecting to meet Jiminy Cricket there, I begin singing ‘When You Wish Upon a Star.’  Unfortunately, when we come through the window, we see another cartoon cricket sitting at a small round table.  He is a strange doppelganger of Jiminy; more crudely drawn, a little more sinister looking.  He’s with another crudely-drawn friend.  However, it is quickly revealed that despite their evil looks, they are in fact harmless, and were stand-up comics also trying to escape the fire.

The degenerate.

A NY Times headline piqued my interest this morning: In Port, Familiar Flavors (Like Blood Stew) Far From Home.”  Blood Stew Port, I thought.  That sounds disgusting.  I didn’t think that existed, much less was indigenous to any particular place.  Turns out, it’s an article about cruise ships coming to port in Brooklyn and the Filipino employees on the ship enjoying the plethora of Filipino food options in the Red Hook area.  Figures.  Another English fail on my part.

The end of the week.

Summer Fridays must be a New York thing.  Only in the city would people make up something that simultaneously allows them to take advantage of the nice weather the very short summer season brings and gives them yet another excuse to drink.