I had a dream last night in which I stumbled into a little known hipster subculture centered on the construction and flight of archaic aircraft while dressed in pseudo-authentic period costume.
Among other things, I saw a linen-winged open-frame triplane in flight and met a young man in a vibrantly reimagined riff on the baby-blue service uniform of a Great War French airman. The high-collared tunic had rainbow piping and embroidered logos and symbols on the back, at the elbows, and at the shoulders and breast. This decoration combined the manner of astronaut flight suits, NASCAR track outfits, and the heraldry of motorcycle club colors.
In essence, the garment, as I dreamt it, was an argument that the Great War practice of personalizing pilots’ planes with distinctive unit devices and color schemes is the common ancestor of these more modern coats of manty colors.
Upon awakening today, I thought of you. I almost never remember my dreams, and the ones that I do remember are nowhere near as interesting as yours.
Last night I dreamed that I knew some people who lived in a sort of dreary California suburban ranch style house. For some reason they decided that they absolutely had to build a 60 foot tall steel wall around their house. The whole yard was filled with complicated iron work that was supposed to help support the wall. I went to visit them after the wall was built and they took me around the yard, climbing over the iron work. The wall left the house in shadows all of the time, and the iron work clearly served no useful purpose.
I remember thinking how depressing it was that these people had done this stupid thing. The dream was extremely vivid and realistic. I woke up remembering it and thinking, “wow, that was almost as good as a minor Mike Whybark dream.”