LIVING IN A DREAM . . .

Sometimes -- often, actually -- I see or experience things that make me wonder if I'm awake and actually seeing and experiencing them, or asleep and dreaming them. This weekend alone:

* I'm having lunch al fresco, outside a local Japanese restaurant on a Friday afternoon. As I nibble delicately at my salmon teriyaki bento box, I am suddenly set upon by a swarm of no less then four humongous bees. Not the fat jolly kind that won't really do you any harm, but the skinny mean kind that is willing to battle you for your California roll. Damn them. As I am swatting away with all my might, four big burly men, wearing construction-worker outifts, exit the Japanese restaurant deep in conversation. They walk by me and I overhear the topic of their mutual distress: these four burly construction-workerish men are feverishly discussing the best kind of balsamic vinegar and attempting to identify the prime use for it. In essence, they are trading recipes. I couldn't help myself. I stared. As a result, I also lost the battle for my lunch to the bees, but . . . the balsamic vinegar conversation was just too titillating . . .

* I'm strolling through Grand Central Station on my way to getting sunburned while watching the Yankees get drubbed again by the Red Sox. Damn them. As I'm crossing the main concourse at GCT, I notice to my left, a whole flock -- that's really the only way I can describe them -- of men dressed in white shirts and kilts, carrying enormous bagpipes, also strolling through GCT, just as I was. They weren't playing the bagpipes. They were just carrying them. They weren't participating in a parade, they weren't in a rush to get anywhere. They were just walking through GCT in kilts, carrying enormous bagpipes. No one else looked at them. I guess it was funny just to me. I stopped and stared, natch . . .

* Cheech and I are moving with the flow around the outer concourse at Yankee Stadium, trying to get to our seats, which were of course way towards the end of the left field line. As we swim in and out of the sea of Red Sox fans -- damn them -- I notice out of the corner of my eye, an Asian man. Now, there's just something weird about us Asians. Stick us in a room jam-packed with bodies, and we WILL find each other. We WILL make eye contact, even if we don't know each other. I don't know if it's a "hey, you look like me" thing or a "hey, the Asian community is so small, I probably know you" thing, but whatever it is, we always check each other out, just in case. So, I notice this Asian man, and then it dawns on me: I DO know him! Husband of a dear friend! Yang and Raimondo are there, so we have a joyous reunion -- we haven't seen each other in weeks -- then cruise along our merry ways, them towards the end of the right field line, and us towards the dreaded left-field foul pole. Alas, there is no pole. There is only an 11-0 spanking and a sunburn . . .

* Driving home tonight, I turn into a local street about two miles from my home. In the opposite lane, turning onto the street I was just on, is a golf cart. A GOLF CART. At 11 o'clock at night. In the street. With no headlights on. With no SEATBELTS, or anything ELSE remotely resembling a car, save for its four wheels and a steering column. What the heck? Banana and I looked at each other. "Was that a GOLF CART?" we asked each other. Why, yes. Yes, it was. What the . . .

* I have gone pale all summer long. Aside from the fact that it seemed to RAIN all summer, I realized that long gone are the days of lolling about in the outdoors. This summer, in particular, was truly busy -- work during the week, get home when the sun is weakening, spend my busy weekends indoors doing crazy weekend indoor things. Sun? What sun? But of course, it's September 6th. And of course I sat outside for four hours in the harshest heat of the day, in the section of Yankee Stadium that NEVER gets any shade or mercy, and roasted myself. Of course my chest, arm, shoulder, and face skin aged about 40 years this afternoon. Of course I'm the jackass who forgot sunscreen. Of course I go all summer as white as the driven snow, only to end up lobsterizing myself when autumn draws night. Of course I'll be only dummy peeling her way into October. Of course I'm sitting here right now, really jonesing for some aloe vera. Is this really me? Of COURSE it is . . .