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For those who haven't figured it out yet, this
column mostly deals with things to do on weekends.
And there's no doubt that many of you dutifully go
out and knock yourselves loose doing all these
strenuous and dubious activities. But really, when
you get right down to it, what is the greatest
benefit of a weekend? You got it: Sleeping In.
Rolling over and pounding the other ear instead of
getting with some cockamamie program. Snoozing away
secure in the hope that the six o'clock alarm will
never ring. Knowing you don't have to shave when
you do get up. Sleeping, that's living. And, it
would seem, so little to ask of life; merely to
sleep, perchance dream a little. But there are
those that actually interfere with the simple and
uninalienable pleasures of sleeping in. What sort of fiendish scum would do this--wake
you before you are ready to go-go? Set pitfalls in
the path of the beautiful dreamer? Let's examine
several of these foul forces, devious devices, and
eye-opening conspiracies--preparatory to calling
for their speedy and brutal annihilation. Let's make it clear that we're not talking here
about merely waking up in rude circumstances. That
can be easily arranged. The easier you are, the
more likely you are to wake up rude and rueful. I'm
reminded of a story of a guy who was jumped by a
huge bear (this was in Alaska, where such
encounters are more frequent than around here). He
was able to pull out a handgun, which he emptied
into the charging bruin, which fell on top of him
and died. He was knocked out by all this, of
course, but later revived to find himself buried
under a half ton of bear meat. How's that for a way
to come to consciousness? I'm sure you've had similar experiences
yourself. Like pretending to be asleep until
someone gets up and leaves, for instance.
Bedfellows make strange politics. And early
mornings are bad times for sobering sights. The
ultimate, of course, is the dreaded coyote-ugly
bedmate; someone sleeping on your arm so ugly that
you'd chew off the arm rather than risk waking
them. But enough of these analogies to wildlife.
We're after culprits, here...outside agitators with
no percentage at all in the knitting up of your
raveled sleeves. Disrupters, preemptors, agents
provacateur of insomnia--Dreambusters. Take the simple alarm clock. Take it and bash it
up against the wall. Good show. These ugly little
devices, handy enough for ticking away the moments
that make up a gray day, have forgotten their place
in the scheme of things. They are trying not merely
to tell time, but to make time, to arrange time,
and with alarming frequency to seize the time. Are
you, a human being and the crown of creation, to be
ordered about by a tiny (albeit noisy) pack of
gears or quartz? I would certainly hope not. There
are plenty of ways to put an uppity clock in its
place. Most can be learned at any sufficiently
hard-nosed martial arts dojo, many can be purchased
over the counter along with the requisite
ammunition. Or you can be creative: feed the clock
to an alligator, stick it in a Polynesian dancer's
navel, put it in a Russian Easter egg, run a few
mice up it and see who salutes. Just don't take any
crap off it. Let it know that you will view any
outbreaks of wakefulness with alarm. The simple doorbell, while not as intrinsically
treacherous as the phone or clock, can be coaxed
into the ploy, made an unwitting instrument of the
CALSDL (Cabal Against Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie).
I'm sure you've experienced the following example
of such behavior. You slowly claw your way into
some form of consciousness, seeing without really
comprehending that your clock said 5:25 right
before you obliterated it to bits. You're not
really integrated enough to grasp that it's
Saturday morning, your stomach and mind are
flitting queasily away from memories of Friday
night--just three hours ago. You dribble half your
furniture over to the door and open without
thinking (And why not, you've been doing everything
else so far without doing what anyone would call
thinking). There stand two drab women and three
snot-nosed brats, chattering into your reamed ears
that they are Jehovah's Witnesses. Eyewitnesses at
that. Not an innocent bystander in the bunch. They
hold a newspaper up to your parboiled eyes and what
is splashed across the frontpage in red, 24 point
type? "AWAKE!" Talk about fast-breaking news, huh?
Their other paper is called "Watchtower" by the
way...the same one Jimi Hendrix warned you against
all along. These people are a menace. Best way to
defend against them is sleep nude and always answer
the door naked. This can occasionally produce side
benefits. Another little household hint is to keep
a stock of Hare Krishna, Mormon, and Satanist
pamphlets by the door to pass out to such
disruptors. But hey, we're talking a sorry state of
affairs, here. We're talking rude awakenings. Your television set, which you generally regard
as a pal--a bit pushy, perhaps, but essentially an
entertaining, jolly good fellow--can get wicked on
you. For instance, you nod off during Horrible
Horror Theater and the National Anthem. You are
blowing yourself some sweet Z's when a piercing
tone brings you springing alertly to your lips.
Just in time to hear them say they are leaving the
air. But not to worry, they'll be back at 5:30
tomorrow morning. With a test pattern. Thus giving
a rude awakening to some other fool. Telephones are the worst yet. They can turn on
you with no warning, jangling your entire nervous
system just to sell you phone service. People call
you up to tell you you're the wrong number and
don't even tell you what the right number is. They
enlist you in a sad and wide-eyed lottery of the
lost. You can't be too careful with phones; they're
like having a little doorway into your world where
any deranged somnophobe can pop by and weird out
right into your ear. They are surrealistic by their
very nature, as we can illustrate with this telling
anecdote. Your waterbed, specially ordered a month
ago, finally splashes down in town. Therefore
setting up a routine fiasco in which you grovel up
from sleep to mug the phone in time to hear,
"Hello, this is Dreamland." Hello, this is Dreamland. The study of rude
awakenings approaches the understanding of dreams.
Since we are Americans, this treats of--need I say
it--the American Dream. The American Dream is, in
many ways, merely to be allowed to continue
dreaming. But the slumber party is being crashed.
If this seems frivolous, let's not forget that the
two-day weekend was first dreamed up right here in
America. Earlier and elsewhere people slaved 6 days
then went to church all Sunday. Sleeping in may
indeed BE the American Dream. And as the rude
awakenings remind us, it is not a right but a
privilege to be defended as zealously as any other
perc. What other use is being part of a privileged
class, eh? As an American you have a right to the American
Dream, so guard it carefully or you might just wake
up one fine day and find yourself wide awake. Don't
laugh, sleeping in is very political. Every four
years we have some yo-yo coming on with the latest
variation of "Wake Up, America!" Sometimes he
offers the smell of coffee, other times nothing but
the bleak shores of consciousness, as though it was
all a good thing, and somehow better for you than
snoring off. Forget these terrorists. The first
sign of a fascist is a desire to raise your
consciousness. Let's keep our heads,
everyone--consciousness sucks. No cause for snooze
alarm. Do not go gentle, fight against the dying of
the night. Extremism in the defense of 40 more
winks is no vice. Guns don't kill people, but
dropping by before noon on Saturday certainly
should. Tune out, turn in, drop off. Dare to dream.
Only trouble is--gee whiz, you'd be dreaming your
life away. And the only way to deal with trouble
like that is to sleep on it.
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