I've been having some truly bizarre dreams. To be fair, the whole house is sick, and my go-to survival strategy involves unhealthy doses of NyQuil (If I ever drop a mix-tape my rapper name would be Lil' Quil). But let me tell you—whatever sorcery Dextromethorphan (DXM) is working, it’s cranking out the kind of hyper-real dreams that linger.

 

The most vivid one yet... In this dream, someone was explaining to me—very matter-of-factly—that theatres exist because they create the ideal conditions for transporting people to other dimensions via sound and visual stimuli.

Then, I'm sitting in this dark theatre and hear a male narrator introduce "the process" before these binaural sounds begin playing over the speakers. The screen is completely black, but I become transfixed, staring blankly into this black void as these tones play. Suddenly, the exact point I’m fixated on stretches, like it's being pulled away from me, and the whole room starts expanding at warp speed. I sit in this state for 10-20 minutes, almost as if I recognize some meditative benefit to it all. I then get up, walk out of this theatre setting, and into a long hallway where I encounter a staff member of whatever building I am in – they are clearly surprised that I was in the theatre – I walk down the hall further and exit through a museum and wake up completely confused.

That's it. Just needed to document this weird dream.

Three Nights at the St. Regis Punta Mita: A Study in Leisure and Decadence

There’s a point in every well-executed vacation when you start believing you might have "made it." For me, that moment happened roughly 15 minutes after stepping onto the St. Regis Punta Mita property. Someone placed a chilled margarita in my hand. Another person took my bag. A third welcomed me with a warm, but not overbearing, “Señor Jeter, welcome home.” Home? If this is home, then Denver must be Arrakis—where water is a rumor, warmth is a memory, and survival is the only goal.