Dadecote, #4037

It's 7:40. I'm sleeping like a baby, dreaming of explaining modal metaphysics through the medium of a children's book. There's a possible world for little girls called Ethel, and it's full of fairies, a possible world called Jom-Jom for little boys, and it's full of baseballs, a pos...

The dream ends. The lights in my room illuminate. Dad has entered.

Dad: San [i.e., son], you should, eh, call ... John, at [business name omitted].
Me: Okay.

Dad dials the number. He gives me the phone.

I wait. I get John.

I tell John about my car's problem--oh yes, I remember now, my car has a problem!--and after telling him this, he starts telling me that he can't help me, not until Monday, because there are too many other cars. However, he takes a really long time to do it, so during the phone call, Dad says, "ask him whether he can fix your car."

Seeing as how he's telling me that he cannot, I refrain from asking him.

Eventually I tell Dad the bad news. So Dad says I should call John's competitor, Ed.

I call Ed. I get an answering machine.

I tell Dad that, according to the answering machine, Ed's business doesn't open until 8.

"Ok," dad says. And then stares at me.

About ten seconds pass, without him saying a word.

Also, he is in his underwear.

Oh, God, I thought. Is he going to stare at me until 8?

No. He talks.

Dad: You do not want to go back to sleep.
Me: Really? Because I didn't fall asleep last night until 4 am, so, I kinda thought I did.
Dad (laughing): No! You want to get ready.
Me: Well, I'm entirely sure that's correct, but you're saying it with a lot of authority, so I guess I do ...

And now I just wrote this blog post.

Which reminds me: UCLA, I know you didn't give me a fly-back, and in fact didn't give me an interview, but it turns out you want to offer me a job.