On January 26, 2002, or sometime thereabouts, I was introduced to the concept of googlewhacking -- the passtime of placing two words in the google box with the goal of retrieving one and only one document.

Needless to say, I got obsessed for a few hours--trying to come up first simply with successful queries...

"pilpul gallimaufry" was my first success, and entirely unsatisfactory (the phrase is dull, makes no picture in the mind).

eventually I came up with "hysterical documentalists," and I was satisfied (maybe it's a joke only librarians are capable of laughing at; regardless, I was satisfied).

and so I turned to another time-and-time-again-honored google distraction: looking for my own name on the Web. And I came up with this:

Craig William Staub, 9/11 victim, eulogized by his widow.

don't get me wrong... I'm not freaking out, thinking that--oh my god--that could have been me in the tower, etc., etc. But it did bring me some pause. And I'm not quite sure why. Not to dishonor the dead, but, according to the widow's eulogy, I seriously doubt I would have even liked Mr. Staub.

but I'm typing this ramble out now--when I really should be reading about government documents or international information policy or cognitive vs. physical paradigms of information--because I've had some "death-thing" going on of late. Dreams, mostly.

several months ago, I had the first one. I was (in the dream) at dad's old house on Ticonderoga Circle, in the front room, lying down on the floor next to the big window while a thunderstorm flashed around outside. I saw something during a flash, two things standing on the front porch. They, the ominous thunder-born-shadow-things, giggled and then tried to act scary with ghostly voices. But I recognized the voices: Bay and Mer!

they laughed some more and I let them in out of the rain, and they laughed some more. I was so happy to see Bay (who in the waking world had been pissed at me for some time) and even happier to see Mer (who in the waking world will have been dead two years come this Easter). I knew in the dream that Mer couldn't be alive, and after a couple of minutes of joking around, it suddenly hit me that something was terribly wrong. Which is when I figured out Bay must be dead, too.

I buried my face in Mer's lap and sobbed while Bay explained how it happened. I don't remember what he said in the dream, but I do remember it had something to do with needles. I woke myself crying.

the next day I called Bay, just to make sure everything was ok. Everything was ok, Bay wasn't dead, and there were no needles involved. He did tell me, though, that every once in a while he'll have a bad dream about someone, and that he too will call just to make sure.

the next dream came a few weeks ago. I don't remember this one nearly as well, but I remember that Mer was present again and that this time, in the dream, my father was also present and also dead. I cried again, and was told or shown that there was some kind of carjacking--I think a brick was supposed to have killed him, or maybe bleeding from the broken glass.

I had the dream early in the morning, and called dad as soon as I woke from it--again, everything was fine, and there were apparently no bricks or broken glass involved (but I didn't bother to mention the dream to him; just called to check in).

And so last night I had another. This one was less focused than the other two; Mer was replaced by Laura McKee (who is alive and well, to my best knowledge) and her evil twin, the one with the mole (who has never existed in the waking world, to my best knowledge). The dying person, John, and this time I witnessed the accident: he was driving a cargo van in a mall parking lot that turned over, and his head caught an unlucky bounce. Again, not to dishonor the dead--even if only dead in dreams--but this dream was more comical than the others. The way John went in the dream was just stupid. Almost laughable.

I still haven't called John. I'll do that right now...

...

well, I called and left a message. And I talked to Julie, so I know he's not been in any stupid mall parking lot accidents.

but I don't think these death dreams are why I started writing tonight. I'm not really sure why I started... A few interesting and random things happened today, though.

I met with a professor to talk about a statement of purpose I need to be writing for a scholarship application. Of course what I was really after wasn't a critique of this unwritten statement, but instead purpose. And this professor did something I can't remember that I've ever seen before in similar situations. He didn't do the "so what do you want to do" tooth-pulling routine. Instead he threw out 3 or 4 pretty solid models for things I could do--things I could do that he was interested in. What really struck me as odd was the things he suggested were things that might actually be totally beyond my reach. If not outside my reach, then things I would never have suggested myself because I would fear them to be out of my reach. Definitely outside of my previous studies.

and, indirectly, he reminded me that I'm still a student. Thanks.

It should be noted that these two things--the death dreams and the fellowship application--have absolutely nothing to do with one another. There is no clever way you can read the resonance of the one into the other. They aren't really even of the same time frame. Regardless, they are presented together here.