I certainly had a couple of weird dreams last night. The more ego-gratifying of the two took place on what looked like a giant dinner barge of some sort, with a grand promenade deck. It had multiple levels with three or four steps between them, and an admissions desk of some sort at the front. It was some sort of a testimonial dinner, and I was the guest of honor. There were people attending whose names and faces I haven’t thought of since about 1968, and there was much glad-handing and rejoicing. Go figure. Of course, maybe it was a premonition of death, and that was the reception to be expected at the gates of heaven (or hell, given what I recall of some of those people in attendance). Since I’m not fully recovered from the crawling crud, I suppose that argument has some merit.
The second dream was much shorter and weirder. I was standing next to the sliding glass door between the outdoors and the playroom, and looking back towards the middle of the house I saw the 40-pound Tigger-beast enter the interior wall and emerge outdoors on the other side. Immediately subsequent to this, a cat which looked exactly the same as one we’d given away in 1968 did the same thing. Anybody know a dream analyst?
Oh, and remember when I transcribed all the artist/title info on those vinyl albums into a spreadsheet? The result can be found here. Hold the laughter; look upon this list as an archaeologist would. “Ah,” the archaeologist says, “we’ve gotten down to the late 1960s-early 1970s era now. Hmm. From the quantity, I deduce that this was a profligate society, of less than fully discriminating taste.” “Save the editorializing for the scientific journals,” says the second archaeologist. “What I find interesting is the quantity of petrochemicals used in producing this material.” And so on…fill in the remainder of the conversation yourself.