MC Malayalee?

No, I'm not trying to follow in the footsteps of that once popular, baggy-pants-wearing, jumping-like-a-Mexican-jumping-bean star MC Hammer. I'm not even hoping that people will make the connection with that once-funny-but-now-downright-god-awful Indianized rendition of "Welcome to Atlanta" by MC Vikram and Luda-Krishna. Don't know what I'm talking about? Consider yourself extreeemely lucky.

This dream begins with a restaurant, a somewhat spiffy, fine dining kind of place. And everything's all quiet, quite exceedingly so...just so that you get a picture of the place was like. Where you usually hear the gentle clanging of cutlery as metal meets ceramic, there were no such sounds here. In fact, you couldn't even hear the people breathing, let alone any conversation. It was more like a hospital than a restaurant, come to think of it.

And there I sat, enjoying my pasta, I think it was. But I couldn't shake that feeling of things being too, too quiet. It just felt unnatural...unnaturally uptight, even. So I decided to break the ice, and in true Jax fashion I decided that something needed to be done.

The first thing I did was to emit a noise from the back of my throat, like a sort of precursor to an audible laugh. It's the kind of sound that a person makes when they want to indicate to the other person/people that they think what was just said was ridiculous at best, and just plain dumbassedness at worst. That got a couple of people at the table nearest me giggling. That was cool, almost like a licence to continue with what I began doing. But what was I doing? Oh yeah, I was breaking the silence that I felt was unnerving.

Before I knew it, I was going from table to table making fun of what people were eating; telling them what it looked like and how I wouldn't eat even if they paid me to. And there was the occasional observation about how waiters in restaurants manage to always keep their cool, kind of like those guards or people you see at carnivals who challenge you to make them laugh without touching them. It kept going on and on, and the audience, now pretty much done with their meals, seemed to be listening to me and enjoying whatever I was saying. There were a couple of hecklers in the beginning, but I think that mob mentality ultimately gave way to their individual, stuck up points of view. Wow, I sound like I'm defending myself in reality too!

Then, pretty soon, it was all over. And I sat back down on what seemed to be a couch in the waiting area. The first words out of my mouth, and for whatever reason, were, "I wish that Myoung-Hoon Lee were here." And although I woke up a little while after that, I couldn't shake the whole feeling of 'why' after having made that statement. I seem to remember that in my dream I kept imagining how he would have gotten so many more people involved with the humor and all that...but why was I wishing he had been there? For those of you wondering who he is, he was a classmate of mine from Kodai School. A Korean guy who was like a wall in terms of size and possibly proportion too, and damn, daaaamn funny!

But I woke up with a good feeling, or feeling good, rather. It felt nice to have made people laugh, and I guess because things worked out well in the dream I had no real reason to feel otherwise. As a first shot at self-analysis, I'd have to say that I was influenced by this post on Avi's blog. But that still doesn't explain the mention of the "Krazy K" as he called himself from time to time.