calling all dream interpreters
Last night I had one of the strangest dreams I can remember, I mean really whack (that word alone makes me nostalgic for the 90s). Here it is…
I was in a large auditorium, there’s a good chance it was my high school auditorium, but at one point it was outside in a log-cabin-type pavilion with picnic tables. You know, dream venues are kind of fluid. In this morphing locale I was participating in some kind of variety show by acting in a skit. In this theatrical wonder I was playing the part of Rush Limbaugh, but my vocal impersonation was of Rodney Dangerfield and I kept trying to crack bad jokes. I would start in the aisles, then make my way to a Letterman-esqe set where I took a seat and entertained the audience with a few one-liners (though the night of the second performance no one was laughing and we had to start over). Then it gets even more weird, if that’s possible, my guest came on the stage and took a seat–none other than Louis Pasteur, the 19th century scientist! Comedian that I was, my big joke was to act like I thought he was Santa Claus, which enfuriated him and had the crowd in stitches.
So there you have it, I think I need a brain scan.