oozing substances

It turns out that at some point, I kept a dream journal. Here's an excerpt:

01.29.2005
I dreamt that I was in New Haven, at Yale again, only this time the quad that Explo was in (the same quad as before) was much larger, and the buildings were much bigger. It had a much more urban, and less closed-off feel. On one side there was this hall that was for the arts, a big two-story building with spiral staircases on either side that lead up to the second floor.
I started climbing one of the spiral staircases, and discovered that the steps were as high as my chest. On top of this, the part of the step that should be level was at a steep angle, so climbing this staircase was more like climbing a mountain. There were lots of people casually walking down the steps, but nobody going the same direction as me. Difficult climbing.
As I got closer to the top, there was a groove in the stairway that looked like it would offer better leverage for climbing, so I kept trying to get in it, but there were all of these people on bicycles going down the groove at breakneck speed and almost running into me. I narrowly averted being run over by bicycles a few times before giving up the groove and settling for climbing the hard way to the top.
When I got to the top, instead of being on the second floor of the building, I was just outside, on a road, with town to the left of me and the quad from which I came down a level on the right. Like I was on the second floor of the town, or something.
There was a fenced-in lot at the end of the road, and I just jumped over it, floating through the air until I landed softly at the other side. This happens to me a lot in dreams, this jumping extraordinarily high and then just floating to the ground, not flying exactly, just gliding.
The path goes into the woods, and there's a cat inside another fence. Like a mountain lion or something. It talks to me, talking about how it had more food and space to live before we developed the whole forest, then jumps over the fence to attack me. I jump into the air.
So I find myself in the air battling this cat, swatting it whenever it comes too close, only now it's not a cat, it's a stuffed animal on a string, waving around in the air like it was tied to the ceiling, only we're outside in the forest. And instead of a normal stuffed cat doll face, it's got this stuffed doll version of a bloody mess of a clawed-out, shredded-to-pieces face. Like it had been attacked in the face, but a stuffed animal. Like somebody had designed a stuffed cat to look like it had had it's face chewed off. Then the dream ends.

What do you think that means?

I watched that movie Art School Confidential last night. I watched it so you don't have to. Let's just leave it at that. You don't want to watch it. At least, you don't want to watch it if you like artists, or art school, or people, or art. If you don't like any of those things, you'll identify with Terry Zwigoff, who made the whole movie seem like he had a grudge against artists, or maybe just people. I've never seen so many vapid, unmoving characters all on the same screen vying for my attention. I don't normally scoff out loud at movies, but there was some scoffage. Maybe Boston's getting to me. Steve Buscemi was allright, though. I guess.

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