Note to self: kick-ass eggplant and spinach linguine + a bottle of moderately priced pinot noir + a nightcap of Pernod = disturbing and/or strange REM cycles. Case in point: last night I dreamt about filling out a really long grant application that would have brought Nina Hagen into New Orleans’ public schools for a year-long arts residency.
It wasn’t an exhausting dream; I mean, I wasn’t hurrying to get the thing finished for a rapidly approaching deadline or anything. In fact, it was kinda fun because I had all this cool stuff from her agent (CDs, glossies, etc.) to use as supporting documentation for the grant. I was, however, a bit concerned that Nina wasn’t exactly a good fit for high school students. Not that that stopped me.
Then I woke up, meandered to the bathroom (after all the liquid I’d consumed, I’d worked up a good piss), and when I got back to bed, I told Jonno what I’d dreamt. He kissed me, applauding the integration of Ms. Hagen into my daily routine.
Silly? Yes. But so far, it’s the high point of my Friday.
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