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I realized yesterday that I'll soon be confronted with what will probably feel like a strong need to see the Star Trek Into Darkness film when it releases this spring. Which involves the extremely rare action for me of actually going to the cinema. But so formative to my geekiness was original-era Trek, that I tend to still pay attention when a new product comes out, even a weak TV series like Enterprise or a total disappointment of a film like Nemesis. The most recent movie-going that Jeff and I did was in 2009 when we went twice, for the Abrams Star Trek movie (because it was the new Trek movie) and for Avatar (because we were curious about 3D, which I did not end up liking that much).

I haven't even seen a lot of home video in recent years, but I have occasionally made a point of catching up on a few things now that I have streaming capacity on the TV (love ya, Apple TV!). For example, I recently saw the latest of the Nolan Batman films. It was too dark, by which I mean that most scenes were literally not adequately lit; too noisy, by which I mean that the sound design was bloody awful; and it barely made a lick of sense. This week Jeff and I watched Scott's Prometheus, the Alien-universe prequel-type film from last year. I find that I might just not be able to suspend disbelief and open my imagination widely enough to apprehend the preposterousness of this film. Is there going to be a good story ever again in SF film, or will it henceforth never be anything but visuals and noise? Last really good SF story in movie form I saw: Boyle's Sunshine which I happened to watch on DVD the same day in 2009 I saw the Star Trek movie. Then just yesterday morning (yeah, I have been lolling about ill with a nasty cold, wasting vacation days from work to recover), I watched Steve Miner's 2008 film Day of the Dead, which is a direct-to-video abomination billed as a "remake" of Romero's 1985 film. I happen to adore Romero's film, and while I know it's not everyone's cup-a-tea, when compared side-by-side with Miner's version, it is the deepest, richest, most nuanced thing ever. Holy fuck, was that remake bad! It has frak-all to do with the Romero film other than rehashing some character names, and is just generally horrible. But now, as I write this, I wonder how much worse it really is than Prometheus: it is a very low-ambition failure with no apparent effort exerted to make it good, while it looks like they actually tried really hard with Prometheus. I sometimes think I'd rather watch an undisguised piece-of-crap movie than an overwrought and pretentious one that makes no sense.

I wonder which one of those Star Trek Into Darkness will be? Because I bet it won't be great. The teaser trailer kind of tells me that already, and probably tells me everything I really need to know about it: random baddie endangers whole Earth for a probably totally-out-of-proportion reason/Kirk and crew narrowly save the day somehow after lots of exploding. I can probably just skip it and miss nothing important by doing so. But I know I won't because I still house a small ember love for that universe even though it's wronged me again and again and again. And, if nothing else, the current Trek cast is chockablock with cute dudes. So there's that at least: it will be a visual delight. One possibly better suited for homeviewing. Alone.


I was thinking about the prospect of this film last night while watching an episode of original Trek--the third season entry "That Which Survives." Ever since George Takei came out as gay, and I rewatch episodes of Trek with him in them, I have a quick sequence of thoughts kind of like this: He was totally gay when they were shooting this scene in 1967; that's so awesome; that so fuckin' sucks that he couldn't be out back then!; George Takei is awesome! and so on. While it's fantastic that he is out now--and very vocal in the rights cause--how awesome would it have been for a young kid (such as myself at the age that I fell in love with original series Trek) to have known that back then? To have even have been able to have considered it as a real possibility? Because I am a Trekker from way back, I have carried an ever-embiggening chip on my broad shoulder about the fact that this utopian sf concept, in its many hundreds of hours of TV and film, has never one goddamned time managed to get a gay character worked into the canon universe or even speak of the subject matter in a way that is in the slightest bit grown-up. I was stewing over that last night when I had this brilliant brainstorm: they should make new-Sulu in the new movies gay. It would settle my longstanding complaint and might be kind of a cool homage to original-Sulu actor Takei. Uh, but then this morning I found this recent article online by Dan Wohl where he makes much the same case that I was going to make here, but markedly less bitchily so. So go read his item and come back. Probably skip the reader comments, though, as a slight majority are beside the point or hung-up on some kind of weird geek hairsplitting about whether the Abrams universe is a full-on concept reboot (it is) or if it is an "alternate" or "alternative" timeline created from the "original" universe at the occasion of Kirk's birth (it is not; and I'll be happy to argue it in an extremely pedantic fashion some other time).

The handful of attempts previously in the Trek canon of even approaching the topic of non-heterosexuality, as summarized in the linked article, were few, thin, disappointing and even offensive, and left behind not one single real LGBT character of any type. The TNG episode "The Outcast"--which was celebrated at the time as Trek finally addressing gayness--offends with its built-in assumption that gay people must certainly seek to live in a heteronormative roles in order to be happy. I feel about this the same I way I did several years ago when I was asked by an acquaintance to assess whether it is Jeff or me who is the "woman" in our relationship: extremely annoyed. Also, it goes a wholly unnecessary step further and includes in the "science" of the show a cure-the-gay therapy that takes care of the whole problem and gets those pesky gender non-conformists back in line. Then there was the Enterprise episode where the Vulcan mindmeld was somehow a stigmatized stand-in for either AIDS and/or non-conformist sexuality, but it was so light-handed and timid a tale that I wonder if anyone noticed. (You know how Enterprise could have tackled this rough beast of an issue? Put a fuckin' gay dude in the main cast of characters. Done.) Then there was the lame lesbian kiss episode of DS9, the TNG tedium where Crusher gets kinda squicked out when her Trill friend switched bods from male to female, and the good old evil bisexual chicks of DS9's "Mirror" universe. Egads. And that's about it. So timid has Trek been that even in the supposedly daring "The Outcast" every single member of the genderless race was, in fact, plainly and unambiguously female. I bet they could have mixed that up a bit, cast some small-boned boys among the women, maybe even had one of them be Riker's love interest. That would have been risky and cool at the time. Hell, it would be now! That was over twenty years ago! Jeeezus! No wonder I am so annoyed! There's been zero progress in twenty years!

I want Trek to start having a gay dude in the main canonical cast. Period. I will abandon further following of the franchise if it doesn't get one pretty soon because this future world that has every kind of humanoid-with-weird-forehead creature in it, but yet somehow does not have a single gay person, speaks to me less and less every time a new show or movie appears. And while I'd be delighted with any sort of LGBT person or genderqueer character or any relief at all from the hetero-conformism that is all we have been given so far, I am actually being very specific here in my wish that this character, when he appears, be specifically a gay male. Why? Because I like to think about it grossing the shit out of the ugly, typical fanboys of my generation. While some of them were/are lovely people, so many of them were also grotesquely immature sexually, creepily sexist, rabidly homophobic--and all of that from a cohort of people who should have counted their stars had anyone--female or male--ever wanted to kiss them. Ever. It is these people in particular, the yucky fanboys of old (who often made me feel like an outcast among the most outcasted of outcasts) who I want to see flock like dorky, aging sheep to a new Star Trek film and be presented with the blunt fact of a gay dude in the main cast. But, no, that's not all I want. I want this, too: that main-cast gay dude, in one scene, full-on makes out with his lover in such an in-your-face way that you see their tongues enter each other's mouths and you just know for a fact that they are both boned hard in their Starfleet uniform pants. That would get me back into Trek for sure.
While I don't get much TV or movie-watching done over the course of a year, I always try to cram in more during this great time of the year, Halloween! For the last few years, the cable/satellite channel Turner Classic Movies has provided the best--and really the only decent--Halloween movie marathon. I love the old 1930s and '40s monster and mad scientist movies, the luscious Hammer horror films, the quirky Roger Corman movies, and the wonderful Vincent Price-starring movies like The Tingler and House of Wax and House on Haunted Hill (the original ones--not the remakes!  Looking at you, AMC!). Jeff doesn't like watching these things, however, so I won't be seeing a lot of TCM's awesome programming today as it happens. The miracle of the DVR, however, allows me to capture some of it and string out the enjoyment over the coming weeks. Its red "record" light is on right now, probably grabbing up something like The Devil Doll or Tower of London. By the end of the day, it will be chockfull of gems gathered up over the last three days and nights, and that is what I will spend my falling-asleep-on-the-couch time late at night with.

That other channel that used to be a movie classics channel, AMC, used to many years ago do a totally respectable Halloween run, but that was a long time ago, back in the 1990s when AMC was still a movie channel with a "classic" bent. But AMC, like Bravo, a long time ago totally changed its mission and became a totally other kind of channel (remember when Bravo used to be an independent film channel with no commercials? No? Well it was!). That's fine if that's what people want, but for some reason they continue to offer something for Halloween that I can't imagine very many people want, namely reruns of recent remakes of those old Vincent Price movies, Predator 2, and the Halloween sequels from the 3 through 6 period. They're going to spend all afternoon today on Halloweens 3, 4 and 5. Those are not very good movies anyway, and what enjoyment one can glean from them has got to be totally taken away by watching them with commercial interruptions! Same for the remakes. The House on Haunted Hill remake is bad enough without suffering commercials. So yay for TCM for staying commercial-free and not running the remakes. 
I hate how so many people that I remember from the movies of my youth and coming-of-age are already dead. I just heard that we lost Corey Haim (same age as me) today. He, like that other Corey with whom he was often paired, had one of those long career declines as an actor that sadly started pretty much right after its teenage apex. Yeah, he had embarrassing personal problems that made tabloid news. He had the abortive attempts at career-reboot, even doing a reality show with Feldman. But I loved Corey Haim, and I will never ever forget the deep impression he made on me with his breakout role as Sam in the 1980's vampire classic The Lost Boys.


Way back before anyone that I knew personally considered the issue, and way before I understood much about myself, I took Corey Haim's character in that film to be gay. I do not know if this is generally accepted as "fact" nowadays, and haven't really heard anyone else talk about it. I didn't Google up any "research" on it either, because I figured I'd hit on a bunch of snark and stupid jokes which would anger me today. I don't know if Sam was gay, but that's the way I "read" the character when I saw the movie as a teenager, and I came away with that impression even while being still too naive to understand some of the indicators of it that the film now seems to be strewn with (stuff like the sexy Rob Lowe poster on Sam's closet door and some other set details like that). When I see Corey Haim as Sam, I see an actor who successfully played a teenage character who happens to be gay. Not a character where his gayness has anything particularly to do with what the story is about, but one who is incidentally gay. I have no idea if that was at all the intent, but it was the effect for me, and it's something that I don't think I have seen in any other horror genre film, and certainly not anything else from that era. 
I get a lot of my writing prompts from dreams. Both novels that I have attempted to write in recent times (my sf novel tentatively titled Shame and my NaNoWriMo novel Days of the Dust and the Diane Rehm Show) both originated out of events that happened in dreams, as have several short stories. So I should probably do a better job of documenting interesting dreams when they happen in case something useful happens during them. So I might just do that here in my LJ instead of trying to start a separate dream journal that I will forget exists and not bother returning to often enough for it to be useful.

Early this morning shortly before I woke for the day I dreamt the following:

I was in some sort of college setting that was compiled out of elements of Grinnell College (where I was student from 1989 to 1993) and the Saint Louis Art Museum (where I was executive chef from 1998 to 2003). Speculative fiction writer and well-known blogger K. Tempest Bradford was conducting a film/lecture series that consisted of episodes of Original Series Star Trek and the Planet of the Apes movies. I attended a screening of Return to the Planet of the Apes. During the film there was blurry sequence during which I had a quick, breathless sexual encounter with a dude who used to work for me as a busboy during the Art Museum days. Then events transitioned away from that and I was standing in a lobby outside the screening room speaking with Jeff. We were scheduled to attend a class taught by author and professor Samuel Delany. I told him that I had invited Tempest Bradford to come to the class as a guest speaker because she had a very interesting analysis of Return to the Planet of the Apes and the Star Trek episode "The Lights of Zetar" and I was sure that Professor Delany would be interested in hearing it. Next, we were seated in our "classroom," though it was located outdoors on the campus grounds in an area that looked like the central campus area in front of the Forum at Grinnell during an autumn morning. In this outdoor space, we were seated around the briefing room table from Star Trek, complete with the view screens as in this image of Kirk sitting at that same table aboard the Enterprise:

So we sat at the table and waited. I somehow knew that Bradford would be delayed. Professor Delany and my classmates (who were Jeff and my long-lost friend and co-worker Jimi from the Museum days) seemed impatient with the delay and I felt very much under pressure. I felt as if I were being regarded as a fool for having sidetracked the class with this Planet of the Apes/Star Trek business. Jimi kept looking at a pocket watch and fidgeting. Jeff looked at me with some amusement at my discomfort. Delany, however, did not seem to mind and made some remarks about Star Trek, including referring to some "lost episodes" (this is a perennially recurring thing in my dreams: ever since I was young teenager, I've dreamed that there exist lost episodes of original Trek that will one day resurface, and I am always very disappointed when I awaken and know it's still not true). Jimi seemed increasingly impatient for the class to end, and I pointed out that it was scheduled to last for another hour anyway whether or not my guest speaker ever showed up. "It's true," Delany said. Then I guess I woke up.

I don't know if any of the elements in this dream have any particular "meaning" beyond just being the usual subconscious clatter of memories and desires, but I wonder if the relatively comforting thought of being back in college surfaces in dreams because of mounting real-world stress about what the future holds for me vocationally. I wonder if there's any way I could go back to grad school? Would I even want to? We're moving away from OKC soon, and even though I badly want to get out here, I think I am very worried about the next phase.
I guess this will be a nice fluffy topic for a lazy Sunday afternoon, a little subject to get me writing about something today. The other night J and I watched the Twilight film. I have not read the novels, and so will not be commenting on those here. I hear that they are both wonderful and terrible, but I have no firsthand info on that. This movie, however, is a real mixed bag.

I have to admit that I found the first few sequences of it engaging enough. I found myself having favorable feelings toward the lead characters, the human female Bella and the vampire male Edward. I appreciated Bella’s sassiness and her low-key disdain for things like prom and sports (“I told them not to let me play,” she explains to a boy whom she has bonked on the head with a volleyball). She pulls it off without being too goth and depressive and black-eyeshadowy about it. Also, I was a sucker (so to speak) for Edward’s lovely vampire-boy-next-door good looks and his aching, painful, unrelieved horniness (more on that later).

Anyway, Bella and Edward encounter each other in school and somehow—by sheer animal magnetism, I suppose—fall at once in love. But Edward tries to keep Bella at arm’s length because (we soon learn) he is a vampire and he fears that he will lose control and try to have sex—er, I mean try to drink her human blood. But she persists in engaging with him and it gets harder (so to speak) for him to resist. Eventually, after he has magically been present to save her life a couple of times, and after he reveals his true vampire nature (which she has already gleaned during a hilarious Google search where she hits on a lot of digitized ancient texts), they just both go ahead and confess their feelings for one another. More hilarity ensues when Edward brings Bella home to meet his family. The family is, in fact, a coven of vampires led by one Dr. Cullen. Together, they live in a beautiful woodland home. The doctor is the town physician and the others masquerade as his kids or perhaps foster kids, the sexiest of whom is Edward.  They gamely try to prepare some human food for Bella, and we learn that these vampires don’t eat human food, and that this particular group also abstains from feasting on human blood (they are vegetarians, as vampires go). Edward tours Bella through the house, leading her to his bedroom. “No bed?” she wonders aloud, not adding sotto voce, “I guess we can do it on the floor…” Yes, he doesn’t sleep either (no sleep, no sex, what do you do?) but he has a really fancy room and a nice stereo system.

This goes on for a bit and it’s all very nice and inoffensive until eventually Edward invites Bella to play baseball with his family. They evidently only do this as thunderstorms are setting in so that the storm noise masks all the sonic-boom racket that they kick up during their hyper-speed style of play. But now it all goes to hell. A trio of other vampires show up. We don’t know who they are, and the Cullens evidently don’t know them either and it doesn’t seem that it will go well at all. Indeed, when vampires who don’t know each other meet it is rather like cats meeting for the first time with a lot of hissing and posturing. Eventually the situation relaxes a bit and the newcomers suggest that they all play ball together in a friendly manner. But then one of the newcomers picks up a whiff of the human stench on Bella and realizes that the Cullen coven is protecting some tasty food.

Now...for some reason this requires a crazy cross-country chase, climaxing in Phoenix. The Cullens determine to protect Bella from being eaten by the Bad Guy by getting her out of town. She has to lie to her dad, hurt his feelings, pretend to run away from home in anger and disgust. These vampires must drive like freaking maniacs, too, because it appears that they make it from somewhere in the Pacific Northwest down to Phoenix in just a few hours overnight. 

Anyway, this whole sequence, the Chase Subplot (which I guess is intended to be the “exciting” part of the movie), seems utterly unnecessary. Here’s how the Chase Subplot ends: Bella gets herself ambushed by the Bad Guy in a dance studio that she used to attend. The Cullens show up to save her, but not before she gets bitten on the arm by the Bad Guy, causing the vampire’s poison to start coursing into her veins (yeah, the vampires are venomous as well). Edward then needs to save her by—get this—sucking the poison out of her arm. This poor kid. He has so badly just wanted to get laid (drink Bella’s human blood) this whole time and now he has a sort of frustrating half-chance at it, but must still keep it in his pants, so to speak, so as to preserve her humanity (virginity). But what he really wants to do right then is kill the Bad Guy. But Dr. Cullen tells him to get to work saving Bella and that the brothers and sisters will take care of the bad guy. So now Edward has to engage in this agonizing form of half-sex with his human girlfriend while being coached and warned to pull out by his dad. Good grief. Talk about a boner-killer. Meanwhile, Edward’s siblings dispatch the villain by busting him to pieces and setting him on fire. 

Ok, so here’s my main gripe with the Chase Subplot: WTF? Why didn’t they just do this back on their home turf and save themselves all this violence, danger, deception and wastage of gasoline? If the way to deal with the Bad Guy was simply to kill him and burn him to ashes, it seems they could have just done that straight away. It ended up that he wasn’t particularly hard to defeat once the Cullens made up their minds to defeat him. What was the staff meeting on this plan like?...EDWARD: Let’s kill the muthahfuckah!  DOC CULLEN: No. We must first lure him to Phoenix and then kill him there.  EDWARD: Oh. Well I guess that makes sense…In fairness, I know that they thought they were just getting her to safety, but their plan was so easily thwarted by the Bad Guy that it seems like they should have seen through its flaws with their own vampire powers (they do have a clairvoyant among them, after all, though her powers are only good so long as no one changes their mind about what they are going to do). But, as J pointed out to me, “They needed something to fill forty-five minutes of this movie.” Maybe it’s more plausible in the book. I don’t know.

Eventually all this foofaraw and huggermugger winds down and the young lovebirds get to go to the prom together, cutting a rather stylish swath through the crowd of their less-special peers. Then, finally, Bella avers that she would like Edward to do his thing and turn her into one of them.  He’s wanted it so badly. She has said yes. It’s time. He’s going to do her right there on the dance floor.  And then, noble and stupid boy that he is, he backs off just before the moment of climax and suggests that she just be happy living a long normal life with him. God. Damn. It, I thought. I guess we’ll just be relying on the good old right hand tonight, Edward, you freak…And that’s easy for him to say, long normal life indeed! He’s an immortal being who will not age and die. He’ll be sexy and seventeen forever, just as he has been for a century already, but she will (if she remains human) grow old. Even if she retains her good looks and charm into old age, it will eventually become awkward for her to appear anywhere in public with for her forever-young old man.  “Is that your son?” someone will ask at Walmart. “My word! He’s gotten so tall!” Hmmm.

Well, I guess that even though I didn’t love this movie, I have to give it some credit because I had a lot of fun today writing this little review of it!

So the other other night, Jeff and I watched Erik Nelson's film Dreams with Sharp Teeth, a biography of Harlan Ellison. Here's a decent review of it if you want more information than what I'll probably provide. J and I suck at watching our discs from Netflix anymore. Fortunately I had the sense last year to downgrade our plan to the one where you only have one disc in the house at a time. This one had been sitting here for at least two months, forgotten about. But the reason I don't cancel Netflix entirely is because I don't want to cut off completely the possibility of getting a film at home like this one, a film that I would never purchase my own copy of (I do not buy DVDs ever anymore, both because I can't afford them, and because I think that owning hardcopy media for films is going to look silly in a couple years, and because if I need it badly enough, Netflix can send me the disc or in some cases stream it to my computer) ...and which I would probably not find at a video store should I ever resort to going to one (again, a thing I have not done since the advent of Netflix and cannot imagine doing anymore).

Strangely, it was J himself who remembered that we had this disc sitting around and suggested we watch it. I had assumed that if I ever saw it at all, I would be seeing it alone because J really doesn't (or rather didn't) know anything about Harlan Ellison and is generally not that interested in such subjects. As it turned out, he was fascinated by the film and very much enjoyed learning about this author of whom he had probably never heard other than whatever references to him that he may have absorbed osmotically from me over the years. Since I already knew a lot about the subject, the content of the film was much as I expected, except I was impressed at how well put-together it was, the way it carried its narrative from start to end, how sensitive it was in places. It also featured a lot of great guests such as Neil Gaiman, Peter David, Dan Simmons, Ron Moore and (oddly I thought) Robin Williams.  J was both intrigued and horrified by the interior of Ellison's house, which is shown in some detail. He keeps our place quite tidy and organized and would never go in for the sheer amount of crap that Ellison has stuffed into every nook and cranny of his place. But the more he saw of it, the more J appreciated its eclectic charm, and he could some small similarities between it and something that we might do if we had the space and resources. While he himself is not a big reader of stuff like that, J has always been positive about my substantial collection of books and has never taken the attitude prevalent on the home shows that books are clutter and that your bookshelves need to be filled instead with snow globes and gold-framed photos of your smiling children and plenty of shit from Pier One. I haven't counted my own books lately, and have not been able to buy very many new ones in recent years, but I think I have perhaps 1500 volumes. I know the total is over 1000 but certainly less than 2000 (including perhaps 150 cook books which sit in another room). Ellison's personal library is said to include over a quarter of a million books. So while I own more books than probably 98 percent of the civilian population--and have alternately freaked out and pissed off people with the mass of it over the years--my collection compared to Ellison's is a total joke, and as a book owner I am, compared to him, a mere [fill in Yiddish epithet].

So anyway, Jeff liked the books in Ellison's house even if he was less sure about the general ambience of clutter and tumbling heaps of stuff.  And, of course, he thought it was "bugfuck crazy" that Ellison still works on that goddamned Olympia typewriter.  Actually he has several back-ups: in one scene he shows Robin Williams his storage shelves where he keeps his back-up Olympias and explains that he stores his ribbons for them in a refrigerator to preserve them for as long as possible since you can't get replacements anymore. While I cannot imagine working on a typewriter anymore, I have a bit of nostalgia for this because I taught myself my rather Ellisonian two-finger (but fast) typing style on a typewriter similar to his when I was a young kid and I used that typewriter to produce most of the text for my Trek fanzine during the high school years. 

Watching this film, with all of its vintage and 60s and 70s and early 80s footage of a younger Ellison, being all hip and very much of his era, must have laid a lot of imagery and tone down into my unconscious mind, because I ended up having a dream that night that had a lot of this old-style counter-culture vibe to it, and it actually looked like somewhat grainy, somewhat yellowed film or video footage from the 60s or 70s. Ellison himself was not in the dream, but the people who were in it (mostly real people that I actually know from various points in my life in different guises) were mostly wearing big tinted glasses and had that 70s kind of haircut that groovy guys like Ellison always had back then.  I don't remember all the details of the dream, but it was set mostly in my home and most of the other people there seemed to be involved in writing and zine-editing and things of that nature. Then at some point my attention was drawn to a device that someone at the meeting or party or whatever it was had brought and was suggesting that we all try out. The device is strange to describe. It basically consisted of what looked like a coffin-shaped block of water or vapor somehow held intact (forcefield maybe?). It was explained that this contraption was a device for sexual pleasure that could be used either alone or with a partner ( a dude with big tinted glasses and wavy too-long hair explained this to me). The method of using it was simply to get undressed and get inside it. Though it appeared to made of water or some kind of gas, once inside there was no difficulty with breathing.  Once inside, this machine (if it could be called that) created a sensation of being embraced literally all over every inch of one's body at once and an intense sensation of sexual stimulation that would continue and escalate  until...well, until one is finished. As things go in dreams, it was not considered unusual at all that I took this thing for a spin in sight of everyone else as they watched and commented.

But now here is where it gets weird and uber-geeky: while I was engaged in my test drive of the liquid sex coffin, someone else remarked that the device was originally designed by--and I quote exactly from the dream dialogue--"That dude who wrote that story in Again, Dangerous Visions. You know, the one with all the jacking off." I woke up shortly after, somewhat dazzled by what I had experienced in this weird dream and totally needing to find out right fucking NOW what that A,DV reference could be. So, bleary-eyed, I went into the library and got the book off the shelf and started looking at the TOC and then I saw it: Ray Nelson's "Time Travel for Pedestrians." It's an interesting tale as I recall, with a very long but interesting intro by Ellison, but I wonder how well it holds up in modern times--haven't re-read it yet, but I will.  Anyway, for those of you who have read A,DV, you may remember it as this story where--I think, my own memory fades--this dude somehow goes into some sort of hypnogogic state that involves something he is listening to on a tape and  something he is looking at on a wall or something (and maybe drugs, not sure, don't remember) while he simply lies on a bed jerking off. As he pleasures himself thus, he goes on some sort of fantastic time-traveling adventure. I really don't remember it that well, and I have a feeling that it might be very much a thing of its era, but since it was referenced in a dream, I will re-read it.

And, in conclusion, that's how big of a geek I am: while having a sex dream, I remember stories from old sf anthologies.