MythBusters, rockets, and "urn-ale" climbing

Standing on a long dock/boardwalk over a small lake, watching Jamie and Adam from MythBusters shooting some sort of handheld rocket launchers (the rockets launched whereby being somewhat light and unthreatening). At first, it is more like a filmed scene -- indeed, I watch the two of them launch rockets in reverse -- the rockets find their way back to the launchers, and then the vertical smoke trail finds its way back to the rockets. Then I see them do it again. Adam's little rocket lands in the water behind him, just off the side of the dock. Jamie's lands very close to his own feet. Adam quips that this may be the first episode where they experiment on their own blood.

Seems filming has stopped now, we've walked off a little to the right, and Adam is talking to me and a friend about the background to that episode. Jamie had the idea of setting up a small monorail along the dock to which the rocket launchers would have been attached. One of Adam's assistants (not from the real show) mentioned how it would have been difficult to set up the monorail without buckling the dock because of the shape of the planks. Adam said they had actually worked out a solution to that, by fitting mounts below the railing that were the same size as the planks. In any case, the monorail idea had been scrapped. Adam also mentioned offhand that the show's photographers took way too many pictures, that there were so many photos from the show that would never see the light of day.

Then we headed off further down the dock towards land. Hopping. I hopped down the slope of the dock onto land, then started hopping towards our destination, over a pile of junk or two, and slowly uphill, with my friend (and possibly the MythBusters crew) following behind me. For some reason, the song "Civilization" by the Andrews Sisters and Danny Kaye (featured in Fallout 3) was running through my head. Possibly because of the line "They hurry like savages to get aboard an iron train" -- thinking of the monorail idea.

The ground was grassy and was pretty wet. As we got further up the hill, the wet ground changed to snowy ground. Then we reached a part of the slope that was too steep to hop (or walk) up. My friend (I think a girl, but not particularly feminine, just sort of a pal) and I started grabbing tufts of snow-covered grass with our bare hands and slowly lifting ourselves up the slope, bit by bit. We were laughing and having a grand time. I was surprised every time I grabbed the grass and it managed to support my weight and not break in my hand. My friend said this was great "urn-ale" climbing. I told her this was the first "urn-ale" mountain I'd ever climbed. We continued to climb and grin and laugh.

In the background now, the music had changed to something Celtic-sounding: It was fast-paced, 6/4 time. Every beat had a high-octave major chord on piano keeping time, and there was a pennywhistle which started on a major third, and every half measure it flourished to a different note.

Bringing 90210 to Texas to win the girl... I guess...

So, I lived in Beverly Hills (90210, as we refer to it), and I think I go to college there. I was hanging out with my friend, and we were messing around with our hazardous gas evacuation procedure (something probably triggered by watching NCIS when Abby's lab had cyanide gas in it...). He tells me to stay behind the closed door where you can still see through the little window in the door, press myself up against it, and hold out my ID badge. So I did, then when I came out, I was like, "Did it look like Stargate?" At least I thought that's what we were going for.

We went back to do it again, but this time, the door had become the (wrought iron) gate of my friend's mansion, and his fiancee came up, asking if I was somehow implying that their marriage was doomed to failure. I wasn't exactly sure how she reached that conclusion, but it looked like they wanted me to leave. Behind my friend and his fiancee, on the other side of the gate, I briefly saw this girl with long black hair and (face? still working on who she reminded me of), who I must have known at least somewhat. My recollection was that she was sort of a bitch, in the broad sense of the term, but that I liked her for some reason.

Later, I had taken my posse from college and we had all gone to Texas to catch up with that girl. We walked into a local food establishment, and went into a back room where not many people were actually eating, and many people weren't even sitting at tables. Several were simply standing up against the side wall near a back door. It was winter, so everyone was wearing boots. Sure enough, the girl from earlier was there (for convenience, let's call her Monica), except that she had dyed her black hair to a dirty blonde. She was one of the ones leaning against the side wall, hanging out. One of the girls next to her was the sister of another friend of mine (we were trying to recall what his name was later... Dave? Wayne?). His sister lived (or went to school?) in New Zealand but was going to school (or visiting? or studying abroad?) here in Texas. She also lived in eastern Colorado? The details were getting kind of confusing. There was another girl leaning against the wall too, near Monica. I didn't know her name but thought she was exceptionally cute.

So, the posse (of however many people) has all come into the room, some of them standing on the stairs that turn up to the second floor. People ask where we all came from, and someone in the posse says, very deliberately, as if he has to try to remember each number as he's saying it, we're from "9.. 0.. 2.. 1.. 0." Monica asks what we're all doing here. I hesitate, and one of the guys from the posse gives me a look of encouragement. I tell Monica, "I came here..." I hesitate some more, already regretting what I'm going to say next, because Wayne's sister and the other girl both seem like such great opportunities -- I look them over again, and continue: "... for you." Monica looks surprised, but soon turns out to be impressed, and agrees to go out with me. My feelings are muddled. She mumbles something about breaking it off with someone else, but I figure that's a minor detail.

She asks me if I want to go with her to another place, or, on second thought, what about bowling? I agree that bowling would be cool. She heads out into the front room and I go with her, but as we reach another side exit, I realize that I am no longer wearing my boots. I must have taken them off while we were talking. I go back to the back room and find them, and start putting them on. I'm really annoyed by how long it takes to put the first boot on, having to retighten the laces before I can tie them. Plus it's a little cold and the laces are a little wet, so that's tricky for my fingers too. Then I go to put the right boot on. I stick my foot in, and realize that it feels too soft, and then notice that it's totally not my right boot at all. My boots are mostly leather brown, while this boot has some blue nylon cushioning near the ankle. So, I walk around the back area, looking for someone who has the other boot with blue cushioning, figuring they probably have my right boot. I do find someone who has the wrong boot, and they hand me what they think is my boot, but it's a little bigger than mine, and has a different logo on it.

I get more annoyed, and walk back towards the front area, and as I'm passing into the front, I look back down and see that my correct right boot is on my foot now, which is a relief. I chat a little bit with a couple closer friends from the posse. One of them mentions that if we want, we can take some items of Wayne's sister's from Wayne's mansion, because she doesn't want to move all that stuff back to New Zealand. That's about the end of that dream.

Pop folk boater friends apologize for milky clothes

I find myself piloting a very small yacht through an icy pass that goes right by/under a major intersection (i.e. the traffic light in the next dream). I see a bunch of clothes sitting on the boat, and they're all wet (and milky?). My friends, two members of some famous 60's pop folk band or another, had written an apology note for the clothes and offered to turn themselves in if I wanted to press charges. I wrote back saying I obviously wasn't thinking of pressing charges.

I started pondering about the prison system in the area. I think if they did go to prison, it would be on the coast of Lake Superior, probably. Seemed like during this season the Great Lakes are mostly oil, but soon they would be changing to milk. That would be unbearable.

Icy hot Ethiopia

I and a few others (I forget who, exactly... Neil? Rachel? Crystal?) were getting ready to set out the next day for a little spot on the Ethiopian border which had apparently been continuously inhabited by humans since forever. The people there looked kind of like Boa Sr of the Bo tribe.

The spot was situated along a small river, on otherwise reddish-rocky, barren looking land. It sat between two sheer rock walls, perpendicular to the river, at least 30 or 40 feet high, and the land at the base of the walls sunk down.

For some weird geological reason, the temperature in that spot could range from normal summer day temperatures (70-80°F) to sudden, short-lasting drops into the -40°F range. In our preparations, we had to make sure we had clothes to cover most of our skin, but didn't chafe, since too much friction or movement when exposed to that temperature could cause serious skin and joint damage.

That sounds like icicles!

"That sounds like icicles!"
"Yes... it sounds like icicle soup."