I’m at a college and I am talking to the dean (an older man) about information architecture and tagging. I tell him the term used now is “folksonomy.” While I am talking to him he turns into a younger man who starts flirting with me. He tells me he went to Harvard in a tone that implies I should be impressed.
I am staying in a dorm that is not unlike a hotel, with a large grand lobby and security that checks your ID before you get to the elevators. I go back to my room and I fear I have lost my keys. I go to the college bookstore and start looking around for them. I am reorganizing the book bags and backpacks when a salesclerk comes over to help me. I tell her I am looking for my keys.
I get a small knife for my keychain. It is just like the Cryovac penknives my father used to have, but it’s only about an inch long. I get it because they will let me take it through airport security.
I run into the young dean at the bookstore and he takes me back to my dorm in his car. He’s not quite sure where to go and he makes a wrong turn. We drive down a residential street with tiny houses on it. They are shaped like normal houses with shutters and a roof, but they appear to be only one small room. He says he doesn’t understand why students would live in a dorm room when they could have their own home.
I tell him I keep a blog on the internet where I write down all my dreams. He seems surprised and interested so I give him the address.
