Dumb Dream

Last night, while I was sleeping, I dreamed of a big face-off between genre fiction writers and realist writers...in a bowling tournament.

The genre team was composed of Dean Alfar, his wife Nikki, Yvette Tan, Chiles Samaniego, Sean Uy, Luis Katigbak, Tin Mandigma, Joseph Nacino, Ian Casocot, and every other spec. fic. writer/reader I know of.

Natch, to balance it off, the realist team had Butch Dalisay, Sarge Lacuesta, Maryanne Moll, Exie Abola, Janet Villa, F.H. Batacan, Danton Remoto, and believe it or not, F. Sionil Jose without his cane, and N.V.M. Gonzales and Nick Joaquin very much alive, along with all the other realist writers whose work we've all read and enjoyed.

(My apologies to the writers who have done both realist and genre work, or for those who write realist genre (like F.H. Batacan), for putting you in one team or the other, but that's the way it went while I was sleeping)

In my dream, the tournament was a big event, with banners, giveaways, trophies,...even a raffle with door prizes and cheering squads! And everyone was walking around in those multi-colored bowling shirts--either one size too large or one size too tight--that professional comedians always love to make fun of. The dream would have been more pleasant if it had been the girls wearing the tight shirts, but sadly...

The genre team used all their magic, hocus-pocus, scifi mumbo-jumbo, and what-not when they tried to knock the pins down. So there were magic-spells cast by the fantasists; the scifi people wore technological wrist supports that looked like something Optimus Prime would have; and the horror writers just tried to scare the realists into rolling their balls into the gutter.

The realist team had none of these things. BUT...they had Paeng Nepomuceno as their coach. The Paeng. That offset any magic spell or scientific claptrap the genre team had.

I think I know why I dreamed this dream. First, my wife and I had just bought a Nintendo Wii for my kids as a Christmas present, and bowling was one of their favorite games, so we've been spending a lot of nice family time knocking down virtual pins. Second, one of my brothers met Paeng last year and had gotten his picture and autograph for me; the signed photo sits on my bedside table. Third, my high-school friends had invited me last week to join an alumni bowling tournament, which I declined because I don't play anymore (bum knee, painful story, don't want to get into it); day one of that tournament was last night, and I think I miss my old friends.

Near the end of the dream tournament, the score was close and everything had come down to the last frame, when (bad story trope coming--you've been warned) I woke up.

Or rather, I was woken up...by my wife.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Urmph, yes, yes."

"You were thrashing about a lot. Couldn't sleep well? Nightmare?"

"Yes. Come to think of it, very much a yes."

"Well, next time you have a bad dream, try not to wake me up."

I stayed awake a bit after my wife went back to sleep. I didn't want to risk revisiting the dream tournament. ;P