It doesn't show.

I just had a dream that I was in a film making class. The instructor was Michael Hammond, one of my instructors from Madison Media Institute, who also wrote a book on synchronicity and recognising and acknowledging signs in our life. We were watching a film, and took a break. I was the first back to class. When I walked in, I took off my coat and kicked off my shoes. As I prepared to sit down, Michael says to me, "Jeremy, did you go to school?" And I know he means elementary through high school. "Of course, yes I did," I replied. "It doesn't show," Michael retorted. And I know he isn't insulting my intelligence. He's making a comment on my unconventional ways, my lack of traditional brainwashing. In an off-the-cuff manner I said to him, "You should read my book." Then the rest of the class came in, so it was hard to hear what he said, but I could tell he was explaining to me that he doesn't read books, and he's only read one book all the way through and it was like a religious experience for him. Then the class did some exercise in which we were somehow morphed into the young version of famous directors and had to answer questions from their perspective. I was a young Steven Spielberg.

Old friends, new times, new conversations.

My sleep was interrupted by a call from my friend Jared, who I haven't seen for several years. Jared is one of my best friends from high school and I've been friends with almost his entire family. He's been living in Chicago, walking dogs, DJing at a blue's club, learning to ride motor cycles, experimenting with welding in his art, and a lot more I will hear about in a little bit.

Jared is heading off on a Zen & the Art/Easyrider style cross-county motorcycle ride and I'm meeting him for a bagel and coffee before he heads out. I was supposed to go last night, but because of the snow, I babied out, as I didn't want to drive in the snow. I was supposed to meet him for breakfast, but I never got a call back. Why?

Apparently last night he and his brother had a vary wild night and got into a fight with some crackhead in a bar. He says he's ok. His jaw hurts and his brother had a cut on his nose from Jared's hand glancing off the crackhead and hitting him instead. Uh yeah, no thanks. Kinda glad I stayed in. Interesting note, last time I saw Jared he had just gotten into his Bukowski phase.

Coffee and bagel, here I come. This will be interesting to say the least.

**EDIT**

Ah, the ever amazing Jared! i often forget how confrontational he can be, how little shit he will take. He's quite the character, always excited about something, well, everything really. He is always ready to embrace life, whatever it is, from the highest to the lowest, and that is infinitely commendable.

At the end of his motorcycle jaunt, he will land in Los Angeles again, his third time living there. I think he's lived in most of the major cities in the country, always travelling, getting into adventures, living hte kind of life I imagined I would be living if the Universe hadn't rooted me here. I regret nothing, for I had no roots, no earth to speak of before, and I can see why the Universe felt I needed some grounding which came in the form of Ethan.

Jared and his brother, Orin, (I think that's how you spell it, oops!) were celebrities last night for ridding the bar of the crackhead. The crackhead was annoying everyone, running around saying, "I've only got $5 left, someone buy me a drink!" To which Jared replied, "You got $5! Buy ME a drink!" And it just escalated from there, with Jared and Orin coming out the better. They got all their drinks for free the rest of the night and the bartenders let them stay after close to finish.

Yes, exciting, fucking hilarious, but alas, not my scene. I haven't been in a fight since I beat a guy down for stealing $20 from me, and before that, decking a guy for calling my girlfriend-at-the-time a whore. That was something like seven years ago. My goodness, look how domesticated I've become!

Jared says I should visit him once he's settled in L.A. and I believe I will. It will also give me an excuse to meet some of the L.A. folk who read this journal. I've never been further west than Des Moines, Iowa, and by golly, I think that should change. I may be domesticated, but the nomad of my youth lives on.