Ok, here’s my contribution to the mundane and the pointless.
Just had a Navajo taco, a beer, a nap, and a dream.
Background: I’d been listening to various tracks of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” on YouTube the week before last, as I was interested in the differences in performance of it, particularly during the long guitar solo by Jimmy Page. Last time I listened to Stairway I was in my 20’s, not much younger than Page.
Possible contributing factor: My sister always served Basmati rice for dinner at her house, claiming it was the best.
In my dream, today, I am lurking at the edge of a casual dinner party, and overhear a policeman (!) telling a group of 30-something middle class guests that about ten years ago an old style of 60’s rock had made a completely unexpected comeback 30 years later due to the rice cookers being used by better dinner party hostesses.
It seems that some quality of the timing or rhythm of this style of rock was perfect for timing the cooking of a type of dinner rice in a popular steamer. This new generation came to appreciate the music by using it to produce perfectly-cooked rice at social gatherings. I nod silently from my position as eavesdropper, saying to myself that I can see exactly how that works and how interesting it is that it happened that way. I wake up.
Symbolism is the language of the subconscious and of dreams. I defy anyone to make any symbolic connections here, or even indirect sense to the narrative in this dream.
Crisis (I saw what you did there with your name) - rice cookers take what 30 or 45 minutes or something to cook the rice. No way, even in the live drawn out NY Song Remains the Same days, was Stairway close to long enough for perfect rice. I mean, maybe, if you had the right rice cooker and the right kind of rice and played the right version of Hairway to Steven a couple of times, then it might work. But who would do that, even in a dream?
So, ya, just posting to say I don’t think the dream premise makes any kinda sense.
Your’e younger than Page? Fogey. I’m just younger than Johnny Rotten and in the old days we just cooked rice in a pot on the stove and at dinner our demon cat would stare in with glowing eyes. This put us kids in the mood for a good Zep song, but we were punks and were disappointed that Rotten didn’t show up for dinner.
…if he were to die and I overtook him in age would that change? It’s an interesting question (wholly separate from rice cooking) whether in “outliving” my father I’m now older than he. Perhaps this enters the realm of linguistics or philosophical debate. Or, perhaps it’s just sloppy thinking on my part.
Same as a regular deluxe taco, but Navajo fry bread is substituted for the tortilla.
Navajo fry bread is similar to pita bread, but larger in diameter (think of one of the BIG French berets), with more leavening and brown in color. It is fried in oil in a pan, and is a favorite food of the Navajo (I’ve seen them for sale in Navajo country in Arizona).
Tasty as can be, greasy, and politically incorrect as far as diet is concerned, I am sure. They are common in the Southwest, where I am, and are often for sale at any local public gathering, like a county fair or car show. People fry them up while you watch, either as fry bread or as a full Navajo Taco. I got mine at a local burger joint that just started offering them.
Great with a cold beer on a hot day, but inclined to produce dream experiences out of the ordinary, apparently.
My rice cooker cooks, enough rice for three people, in under 15 mins, and keeps it perfect for up to 8 hrs.
Plus, rice cookers, are the wonder they are, because they require no timing whatsoever. Just measure the rice and water, and push the button. Come back anytime in the next 8 hrs and have perfect rice.
Who knew dreams could be filled with such inconsistencies?
Considering the chemistry I used to indulge in while listening to Zepplin back in the good old days, a couple three cups of fresh rice would have been greatly appreciated.
Seems obvious to me. Policeman = authority figure (probably accepted daddy figure). Rice cooker = womb. You as eavesdropper = secrets.
I think that your mother had a fling with one or more members of Led Zep and you are, in fact, the child of one of them. Hopefully not John Bonham, as that would be a rough way to find out that dad is dead.
I would bet there is in this a reference to another Led Zeppelin song, “Kashmir.” No telling what great insights into the history of rock a Navajo Taco, a beer, and “Kashmir” might have produced in the dream state given the apparent inspiration of “Stairway to Heaven.”