I keep having odd dreams that are concluded by the appearance of Wil Wheaton, usually emerging from the back seat of a Toyota Corolla, wearing his old Star Trek uniform (but with his current beard and sense of humor). He always says something completely off the wall like “Hey, guys! Look at my new alligator!” and produces same from the apparently empty back seat.
So… last night’s dream found a group of my writer friends at a farm house beside a wide spot in the middle of the desert. The farmhouse had been converted into a diner on the lower floor and part of the storm cellar was used for the kitchen and storage. Said diner was apparently the only eatery for miles and it was owned and operated by someone I think was Joshua Palmatier wearing a knitted chef’s jacket with a yellow collar and stains artfully knitted into the design.
Chef Josh was having some trouble with his coffeemaker–which was a very bad thing indeed since it meant that all the writers had to make do without coffee! So John Pitts, Rhiannon Held, and a couple of other writers were trying to fix the coffemaker down in the cellar/kitchen While John Scalzi kept the rest company upstairs, telling jokes. The biggest problem was that the coffeemaker would only make coffee–and warm pre-cooked hamburger patties–if it were happy and it was only happy if it had semi-sentient chunks of green apples in its secondary warming tray (don’t ask me: I’m just the reporter here.)
Now, when I say “semi-sentient chunks of green apple” I don’t meant cut up bits of sentient fruit. What the coffeemaker wanted were chunks of green apple that had been chopped up so that they became semi-sentient and would, therefore, sing to him (yes, the coffeemaker was apparently male.) So not only did we have to fix the broken parts of the coffeemaker/burger warmer, but we had to figure out how to cut apples so the chunks became just sentient enough to sing.
We finally got the coffeemaker fixed, the apples were singing, and we had loaded the lower tray with burgers, we went upstairs to have breakfast.
And the house had been transformed into a McMansion sitting on a big green knoll of lawn. For some reason we all thought Scalzi or Josh could explain it, but they both seemed as puzzled as we were.
So while we were standing on the front porch staring at the green lawn and listening to the coffeemaker’s apples singing, a gold Toyota Corolla squealed up, skidding sideways into the trash cans at the curb and Wil Wheaton popped the upper half of his body out of the rear driver’s side window and called to us “Hey, you fixed the coffeemaker!”
We were all too stunned to reply (which is silly since I’m pretty sure Scalzi and Wil know each other well enough to be unfazed by anything as ordinary as a singing coffeemaker.) So we all kind of mumble “yeah… we got coffee….”
And Wil pulls out this weird wire contraption that keeps opening up into a sort of huge marionette that’s larger than the car, and he says, “Good! Because the robot needs gas!”
And that’s when I woke up, which I think is probably a good thing because I’m not sure how the robot was going to get gas, but I suspect it involved eating coffee-soaked burgers. My brain is doing strange things behind my back….