Visiting Danny Rudolph at Stanford--a Dream
Like I said before, I try to once in a while include something in this blog that gives it a human touch. So here's a dream I had September 29 about Danny Rudolph and Stanford. I think it proves what some deny, that men are able to have complex non-sexual thoughts and feeling about other men:
I was in the big main room of a library on the Stanford University campus. The room was about 25 yds long, 15 yds wide, with a high ceiling, the ceiling was about 30 feet above the ground. The lighting inside the room was dim for some reason, it was a gray light, a light like dawn or dusk. there were big light brown tables on the floor of the room, not alot of bookshelves. At one end there was a second floor without walls, you could see books and people up on this balcony like floor.
Most of the people in the room seemd to be short white clean shaven young men wearing granny glasses with those circular frames around the eye. I was sitting at one of the tables. I began talking to one of the young men sitting at the same table. I boasted to him about how a CBS announcer, said that I was a better soccer player than Brazil's Ronaldinho, who is considered the best player in the world. This was stretching the truth a bit. Actually this radio announcer at a station that used to be affiliated with a station that is now affiliated with CBS, said that Ronaldinho is a more amateurish player than me (I used to have this habit of leaving little speeches on media answering machines, which I guess resulted in some of the media taking an interest in me and my blog and web pages).
Again stretching the truth, I told the young man at my desk, that Danny Rudolph, now Dean of the Stanford Business School, and I were best friends prior to college (actually I did not have many friends who were much closer to me than Danny, and vice versa, this was more true maybe in grade school days than in high school).
Then again some would say that people do not lie when they talk in their dreams so maybe I was getting at some kind of hidden truths in these "stretched" statements.
Then I saw this young clean-shaven white man with straight light brown hair, his hair hanged down over his forehead bang-style, he wore circular-framed granny-glasses and a blue sweater, and a purplish brown suit and tie type jacket over his sweater. He was standing up, I was sitting down, I reached out and shook his hand. I thought he was Danny Rudolph. He looked confused, he did not recognize me. It turned out he was Danny Rudolph's son, not Danny Rudolph.
Then it was time for the people in the main room of this library, to leave the library and walk over to Dasnny Rudolph's house for some kind of event. We were all told to go in a certain direction and follow a guide to Rudolph's house. We all left the library and began walking down this wide road, as wide as a four lane highway, that had very few cars on it, in the direction of Danny Rudolph's house.
The light outdoors was the same as the light in the library, a dim gray light. As I walked in the direction of his house, I was thinking to myself, you are worth nothing before you go to business school, then after you go to business school you are worth millions, this despite the fact that you learn nothing at business school.
The light inside Rudolph's house was the same as the light in the library and the light outdoors, a dim gray light. Inside it looked like a middle class house. I walked down a narrow hallway with a low ceiling, the walls were painted a light yellow color. At the end of the hallway to the left there was an opening that led to a small rectangle shaped area about the size of a closet, this rectangle shaped area led to other rooms that I could not see.
The opening into this rectangle shaped area was partially blocked by a light brown colored couch in a state of disorder with the pillows that went with the couch lying on the couch, not set in the positions in the couch that they are supposed to be set in. there was something charmingly informal and middle-classish I guess, about this disordered couch, stuck in a place where it should not be.
As I was about fifteen feet from this couch, one of the short clean shaven white young men wearing granny glasses approached the couch ahead of me--at the end of the hallway where the couch was on my left, there was an opening to my right, he approached the area where the couch was from the opening to the right of the hallway. He said something to the effect that poetry was a good thing.
In a whiny sickly tone of voice, mocking myself, I said, "I write really good poetry (true?) and I got a 93 on my GMAT (true--I did this in a sleep deprived state after studying only for a couple of hours for the test)". As I got to the corner where there ceased to be a wall to my left in the hallway, where the couch was, someone wearing a dark blue sweater who was hiding at this corner, to my left, grabbed me by the shoulders--he was laughing, and started shaking me.
His grip on my shoulders and the way he shook me, reminded me of Rudolph, it reminded me of the captain-like, intense faux-macho aspect of his personality--and indeed, it was Rudolph! At this point I woke up and the dream ended, but I was sorry that the dream did not continue, I was enjoying it.
I was in the big main room of a library on the Stanford University campus. The room was about 25 yds long, 15 yds wide, with a high ceiling, the ceiling was about 30 feet above the ground. The lighting inside the room was dim for some reason, it was a gray light, a light like dawn or dusk. there were big light brown tables on the floor of the room, not alot of bookshelves. At one end there was a second floor without walls, you could see books and people up on this balcony like floor.
Most of the people in the room seemd to be short white clean shaven young men wearing granny glasses with those circular frames around the eye. I was sitting at one of the tables. I began talking to one of the young men sitting at the same table. I boasted to him about how a CBS announcer, said that I was a better soccer player than Brazil's Ronaldinho, who is considered the best player in the world. This was stretching the truth a bit. Actually this radio announcer at a station that used to be affiliated with a station that is now affiliated with CBS, said that Ronaldinho is a more amateurish player than me (I used to have this habit of leaving little speeches on media answering machines, which I guess resulted in some of the media taking an interest in me and my blog and web pages).
Again stretching the truth, I told the young man at my desk, that Danny Rudolph, now Dean of the Stanford Business School, and I were best friends prior to college (actually I did not have many friends who were much closer to me than Danny, and vice versa, this was more true maybe in grade school days than in high school).
Then again some would say that people do not lie when they talk in their dreams so maybe I was getting at some kind of hidden truths in these "stretched" statements.
Then I saw this young clean-shaven white man with straight light brown hair, his hair hanged down over his forehead bang-style, he wore circular-framed granny-glasses and a blue sweater, and a purplish brown suit and tie type jacket over his sweater. He was standing up, I was sitting down, I reached out and shook his hand. I thought he was Danny Rudolph. He looked confused, he did not recognize me. It turned out he was Danny Rudolph's son, not Danny Rudolph.
Then it was time for the people in the main room of this library, to leave the library and walk over to Dasnny Rudolph's house for some kind of event. We were all told to go in a certain direction and follow a guide to Rudolph's house. We all left the library and began walking down this wide road, as wide as a four lane highway, that had very few cars on it, in the direction of Danny Rudolph's house.
The light outdoors was the same as the light in the library, a dim gray light. As I walked in the direction of his house, I was thinking to myself, you are worth nothing before you go to business school, then after you go to business school you are worth millions, this despite the fact that you learn nothing at business school.
The light inside Rudolph's house was the same as the light in the library and the light outdoors, a dim gray light. Inside it looked like a middle class house. I walked down a narrow hallway with a low ceiling, the walls were painted a light yellow color. At the end of the hallway to the left there was an opening that led to a small rectangle shaped area about the size of a closet, this rectangle shaped area led to other rooms that I could not see.
The opening into this rectangle shaped area was partially blocked by a light brown colored couch in a state of disorder with the pillows that went with the couch lying on the couch, not set in the positions in the couch that they are supposed to be set in. there was something charmingly informal and middle-classish I guess, about this disordered couch, stuck in a place where it should not be.
As I was about fifteen feet from this couch, one of the short clean shaven white young men wearing granny glasses approached the couch ahead of me--at the end of the hallway where the couch was on my left, there was an opening to my right, he approached the area where the couch was from the opening to the right of the hallway. He said something to the effect that poetry was a good thing.
In a whiny sickly tone of voice, mocking myself, I said, "I write really good poetry (true?) and I got a 93 on my GMAT (true--I did this in a sleep deprived state after studying only for a couple of hours for the test)". As I got to the corner where there ceased to be a wall to my left in the hallway, where the couch was, someone wearing a dark blue sweater who was hiding at this corner, to my left, grabbed me by the shoulders--he was laughing, and started shaking me.
His grip on my shoulders and the way he shook me, reminded me of Rudolph, it reminded me of the captain-like, intense faux-macho aspect of his personality--and indeed, it was Rudolph! At this point I woke up and the dream ended, but I was sorry that the dream did not continue, I was enjoying it.
posted by David Virgil at 1:17 AM
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