The other night I dreamed that we were playing an extended set in some auditorium. For some inexplicable reason we began playing "Going to California." Even more bizarre was that I was singing it, hitting every note and even ad-libbing in a convincing fashion.

It all came crashing down when I reached those "Seems that the wrath of the gods Got a punch on the nose..." lines when suddenly I realized it was my normal voice, the one that I would probably sound like if I were to attempt to sing the song during my waking hours. I stopped the song and asked for the house lights.

As they came up to my horror I saw that there were only six people left in the auditorium, and they were people that I knew. I began to apologize profusely for my singing but somebody called out that it was OK because nobody had been able to hear anything for the last hour anyway.

I then looked down and realized that my "Microphone" was actually the 4-D-Cell mag Light flashlight that I keep by my bed. The dream jumped ahead to after the show when we were packing up our gear and I was stopping a stage manager from walking off with our hi-hat.

I woke up with a sense of anxiousness as though there were actually music gear nearby that I was supposed to be packing.

Labels: Dreams, Music

Last night I dreamed that Dennis Leary and I worked together as sportswriters. We were in a press room (The old-school kind that you see in movies where it reeks of cigar smoke and scorched coffee) He looked lost in thought so I asked him what he was doing and he responded, "Thinking." "That's too bad," I said, because I've been busy idea spawning."

"Idea spawning? Isn't that just another way of saying that you're thinking?"

"No," I said, "Idea spawning generates far greater and significant concepts than mere thinking. It is the pastime of kings and great men."

"Well I have a deadline coming up, so maybe you could help me 'spawn' an idea right now."

At that point I began to lay out the idea for an article where he would issue a call to bring cheerleading in professional sports to a higher standard, where participants are judged for athletic prowess rather than looks, complete with judgeable statistics and some sort of a playoff tier. I meant it as a gag but pretty soon he was rubbing his chin and nodding.

I awoke at 5:45 to the sobering realization that my alarm was set for 5PM instead of 5 AM.

I'm not really sure why I remembered this dream or what it even meant.

Labels: Dreams

Last Friday night I dreamed that I was Sir Ian McKellan and that I was at a public swimming pool, attempting to rent a towel.

The towels were $.50. As I sifted through the pockets of my trousers, I found a quarter, a nickel, a dime and some assorted foreign coinage. I unsuccessfully attempted to persuade the attendant to accept three francs in lieu of the dime I was short.

"My dear boy," I heard myself saying in Ian's good-natured voice. "A franc is worth far more than a dime. And you may have all three."

The attendant shook his head and motioned to a paper cup full of cast-off pennies, from which I began digging out the ten cents that I needed.

Labels: Dreams

For the last two nights the same dream:

The wife, child and I are in some type of industrial building that has been converted into residential lofts. We are being pursued by four hellhounds, large sinister dogs that look like a cross between a great dane and a german shepherd with charcoal grey teeth and red glowing eyes. They stalk us slowly with hackles raised, letting out gutteral growls, woofs and howls. As they systematically block our escape routes without attacking, they force us through corridors that we do not wish to travel. It is clear that they are making sport of us and positioning us for the kill.

We finally panic and bolt into one of the lofts with the hounds in pursuit. The two exit points are an elevator and a doorway at the top of a long flight of metal stairs where we came in. The wife and child take shelter behind the door to the loo and I find myself perched on a timber jutting out from the brick wall, twenty feet or more above the hardwood floor. We are trapped.

I take stock of my situation. The wife and child are safe behind the door for the moment. One of the hellhounds guards the doorway to my family and another sits on the landing, staring me down with a continuous growl. The other two hounds pace back and forth below me, waiting for me to fall. Normal science not applying (This being a dream after all) I am able to maintain my position forever and the scenario is effectively a stalemate.

The two hellhounds below me manage to trap themselves in the elevator. Seeing no alternative, I jump over to the staircase to confront the hound that is guarding me.

As my feet come down on the landing I see that The hellhound is actually a Lhasa Apso. It does not so much charge as it does waddle up to me. I promptly boot the thing like an NFL placekicker, into the brick wall on the far side of the loft. It lands behind a credenza (I have no idea whose place this is) with a thump.

The last hellhound covers the distance in a flash. It has also changed, this one still carrying the german shepherd traits but now looking more like a black lab mix. His teeth are white and his eyes are a puzzled brown. He is a juvenile pup and unsure of himself or my authority. I command him to SIT and he obeys sheepishly, as though he expects to hear a terse word over the slipper that he has been chewing on while I was out.

I call my family out and we pass by the pup unmolested, and the dream ends with us letting ourselves out of the building.

Aside from the fact that I had the same dream two nights in a row, it was hardly remarkable. And what I thought about as I shaved this morning no more so, but nevertheless here it is: That when confronted straight-on rather than surrendered to or evaded, the Hobgoblins of the mind tend to undo themselves on their own, be far weaker than they appear and are subservient to the authority of reason.

Labels: Dreams

I dreamed about my mom last night.

The conversation was one-sided and brief.

"Don't worry about your life -
Everything is going to work out fine."

"Take good care of my grandson."

"The food here is great."

"See you soon."

She looked young and thin, like she did in her wedding pictures. All the age lines were gone from her face, except for her laugh lines, which were profoundly deeper.

When she moved she didn't walk. She ran, like the wind.

Labels: Dreams, Life, Mom

OK, A more typical dream for me goes something like this:

We bought an older house and were fixing up the kitchen. We were replacing some bad sheetrock and I was installing a shade on a window. My wife was on the phone with her sister, who was complaining about her job. She works as a clinical laboratory scientist (for real) and in the dream her boss had her assembling a large chart for the wall which contains all of the terms and definitions that they use in her office. It was a huge chart, as big as a door. The thing was that the chart was actually a giant jigsaw puzzle and it was taking her forever to assemble it. The worst part was that while she was doing it they would only pay her minimum wage, because the shareholders in her company would never approve paying someone her salary 'just to assemble a jigsaw puzzle.'

Then the alarm clock went off and I was left to ponder this injustice as I shuffled off to brush my teeth, never knowing why we had bought a house with crumbly sheetrock in the kitchen.

Labels: Dreams, Family

The other night I dreamed that I was sentenced to die by execution. I was sitting in the most bizarre prison cell, bizarre in the sense that there were no walls or doors, just four posts and a ceiling. It reminded me of pallet racking in a warehouse.

As my sentence was read to me (I missed the part about what crime I had committed), I learned that I was to be put to death by injection of a drug that would sit in my body dormant until I fell asleep, at which point it would activate and I would die peacefully.

I walked out of my cell and was greeted by a doctor who stuck a syringe in my neck and injected the drug. I was released from prison to enjoy my last day on planet earth.

I went to my job, where oddly enough I was still employed despite my stint in prison. I talked to my clients and attempted to schedule meetings, conference calls and launch dates. It was all pointless because I was going to be dead tomorrow. There was nothing I could do for them so I left work.

Next I found myself in a church meeting, where we were discussing budget items, missions funding and the building program. Again I found there to be little I could do, because in a few hours I was going to be dead.

I went home to my family, kissed and hugged both my wife and child. I felt a dread, as I realized that I should be doing something for my son, writing him a letter or making a video, so that he would have something to remember me by, something to know me by when he was older.

That evening I cooked my last meal - hamburgers on the grill. The air was moist and warm on my face - It was summer, and it had just rained. I closed my eyes and I could hear the sizzle of the meat, the droning of crickets, some kids playing ball down the block.

I found myself walking, down a sidewalk with tall brick buildings rising up on either side of me. To my left, I noticed a narrow opening, through which I could see a lush green courtyard. I entered the courtyard and took delight in the majestically perfect grass, the vivid flowers and the well-manicured trees. Suddenly the entire space was filled with a bright light as the sun broke through the clouds.

I continued to admire the beauty of the plants and the trees, now bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. I turned toward the sun and could see a brilliant rainbow, crossing over the sun like an inquisitive eyebrow.

I stood there in that lush green courtyard for the longest time, marveling at the work of God's hand. And I did not fear the coming night.

Labels: Dreams, Life, Writing

Lately I have been getting better doses of sleep. By and large the child sleeps throughout the night- in the evening after he has given way to slumber you could drive a marching band on a parade float powered by a four-barrel Hemi with an overhead cam and glasspacks through his room and he wouldn't wake up. In the morning when it's time to get up he will actually turn away from me and pull the covers up over his head.

But there is a window between Midnight and 4AM where he will kick his covers off, get cold and then start to whine. If one of us doesn't go and cover him up within a short period of time he will slowly escalate, whipping himself up into a larger and larger froth until he is comforted. This behavior has long since been understood by us and has caused us to hone our subconscious auditory reflexes to the point where we can sense his distress, tend to his needs and (generally) return to our bed without waking up. By "generally" I mean that in this condition we are vulnerable to diversion.

I woke up at 2AM last night in the bathroom, brushing my teeth. Apparently I had decided to get a jump on getting ready for work. I groggily returned to bed, where within 30 seconds another whine came out of the baby monitor.

Wife: "Did you check the baby?"
Me (Uncertainly): "Um, yes?"
Wife: "Was he wet?"
Me: "Huh?"
Wife: "Did his diaper leak?"
Me: "I don't think so..."
Wife: "Did you check?"
Me: "Um, yes?"

More whines from the baby monitor, more insistent this time. The wife lets out a heavy sigh, gets out of bed and shuffles down the hall, muttering. And returns a short time later, with minty breath.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that throughout our conversation I was having a dream that she was Curious George and that child was actually a large pineapple wearing Buddy Holly glasses. That sort of thing never translates well to rational speech and I'm short enough on credibility in this department as it is.

We fell back to sleep facing each other and dreamed of creme de menthe sea turtles, crawling across turquoise beaches.

Labels: Dreams, fatherhood