I have kicked off 2010 with some fairly unusual dreams! Or perhaps it just seems that way because it's been a while since I actually remembered my dreams on a regular basis -- for all I know I have dreams like this every night. I've been able to remember my dreams for the past three or four nights, though, and they've been long and sprawling affairs that continued when I went back to sleep after waking up for whatever reason.

Last night's dream began with me attending a comedy show with a bunch of my chat/convention pals. The show was hosted by Adam Carolla -- which is weird in and of itself because I never think about this dude. What made it even weirder was that the show had frequent intermissions, during which segments of some detective show starring the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles played on the auditorium screen. The Turtles were trying to get to the mystery of some corporation that, among other questionable features, had a talking, wall-walking, man-eating komodo dragon as one of its executives. It ate one of the recent hires during one segment.

Anyway, the comedy part was not funny at all -- which is pretty consistent with what I think of Carolla's comedy in real life -- so I ultimately left and ended up watching the TMNT segments elsewhere in the hotel on television. And somehow I ended up in the show as Donatello and then as Michelangelo. I knew I was watching the program on television, yet at the same time I could see the action in first-person and physically felt like I was doing things. At one point I was Donatello in 2K3 April's apartment -- which was quite nice; I commented that it was nicer than 1987 April's apartment -- and this huge badger thing crawled out from behind a radiator. And I spent the next 20 or so minutes trying to kill it, doing everything from kicking it to stomping it to strangling it to smothering it and still it kept squirming. It only went limp after I impaled it with one of Raphael's sai, but I still wasn't entirely sure it was dead.

And then, exhausted, I lay down on the floor for a nap and suddenly became Michelangelo, whereupon I began flirting with some random girl -- she might have been an old college classmate of mine in real life -- who happened to be in April's apartment and was wearing an entirely orange outfit. Orange collared shirt, orange skirt, orange stockings, orange boots. Michelangelo really likes orange.

Then I was back in the hotel and went back to the comedy show, which was still as unfunny as ever. I whispered this to whomever was sitting next to me, at which point Carolla stopped telling his awful jokes and proceeded to yell that I should just leave if I didn't like it. Apparently it wasn't clear that he was talking to me -- if he was in fact talking to me -- since 3/4ths of the audience stood and walked out. I left as well and resumed watching television elsewhere.

A different program was on at this point -- one of those shows with a rugged hero protecting a damsel who is actually quite physically capable herself but for a lack of experience and fighting prowess. Together they were journeying down a narrow path bordered by a black forest on the left and a river of molten lava on the right. Behind them, a stream slowly advanced, and in that stream marched a throng of deadly scorpions. As such, they were forced to keep moving forward.

Again, I found myself both watching and starring in the program -- this time I saw through the eyes of the hero and felt myself engaging in the running and strenuous activity necessary to climb the various obstacles in order to remain well ahead of the advancing water and scorpion army, though the hero's words were not my own. I began to think at length about digging a trench to divert the water into the lava, such that it would cool the river and provide me with a wider stage upon which to engage the scorpions, as I reasoned that I could defeat them with the necessary room to maneuver. As the water and scorpions were moving slowly enough for us to outpace them fairly easily, however, I ultimately decided against this plan.

Eventually the damsel and I found ourselves crossing a ledge, gripping the windowsills and shutters of an old white house for support. The damsel was taking great care not to damage the dilapidated estate, while I -- though not intentionally meaning to do so -- was pulling off wood panels and shutters left and right in my advance. Finally, we reached a fence that we could overcome to reach a wider path -- and whereas the damsel was able to slip between the posts with ease, I was forced to vault over the fence. When I attempted this, the entire fence came crashing down and I ended up on top of the damsel.

She berated me for destroying this ancient marvel of carpentry, and here I became fully aware that I was watching a program because it was the hero -- not me -- who responded to her. He suddenly accused the damsel of being so harsh to him because she did not want to admit her love for him. "You feel you cannot love a man who is beneath you," the hero said -- then rolled such that the damsel was atop him -- "because he is beneath you." And then, moving her aside and standing, he proceeded to explain how her views of class and gender roles prevented her from freely exploring her feelings and desires, whereas he was not just an invisible man to her proper society -- he had transcended this to become an invisible human. And, in doing so, he had become truly free and would gladly permit her to straddle him.

As he spoke, I kept seeing closeups of her twitching red mouth.

Upon considering and accepting the hero's words, the damsel seemed ready to disrobe at that very moment -- but then the water and scorpions appeared and the two were forced to resume their journey.

And then I was awake. Very odd stuff indeed!