So drink, drink, drink and be ill tonight

I'm pretty good at remembering my dreams, but I'm not perfect. The last part of that sentence may come as a surprise and disappointment to you, but it's true. And not being able to piece together the random parts of some of my dreams into a complete, entertaining whole is only one example of my imperfection.

I'm getting off track (another imperfection). Back to the dreams: Let me try to think of an example...um...OH! Last night, coincidentally, I woke up in the middle of the night, remembering only pieces of a dream I wanted so badly to remember the whole of. But I couldn't remember anything other than being on a city street at night, in a spot that looked like if Farragut Square existed in London, and I came across a superstar band playing on the sidewalk. The only person I can remember in this band was Johnny Marr, and he was playing drums. The band was playing "Back In Black" and it was so exciting to me, that I found myself dancing down the street, playing a complex, fast-fill rhythm on my thighs...with two big cast-iron skillets.

I wish to hell I could tell you who else was in the band or why they were there or what was said to me by the two women on the street who looked at me like I was crazy, as though they hadn't seen someone on the streets filling the night with the intoxicating, exotic rhythm that only thigh skillets can bring.

Maybe it was a confidence thing: I wanted to show the world that I'm a better drummer than Johnny Marr, which I almost surely am.

Anyway, if any of you happen to be DVR-ing my dreams, I'd love a copy of that one.