To dream the impossible dream

I *really* should have titled this thread "Only in Dreams".

The sex with Maraget Atwood.

Being me, the dream was of course about Radiohead.

I wandered through a store aimlessly. Finding nothing of interest at first, I walked down an aisle to discover miniature versions of Radiohead in clear plastic boxes. Inside, they were alive! I bought them and took them home with me. The little eyes staring at me all day unnerved me though. Little Jonny and Thom just stood there hugging each other and crying all day. Ed sat in a corner and hummed a tuneless imaginary symphony. Colin tried to tell jokes, but he would always start crying before he reached the punchline. And Phil just stood there, motionless and silent. I would have set them free, except that there was a warning affixed to the plastic box which claimed that setting the miniature Radiohead members free would kill them. They could not breathe the air. After many days though, I could not stand it, and I opened the box and hoped they would appreciate it. Ed, Phil, Colin, and Jonny immediately disintegrated into black dust. Thom, however, grew to life-size, grabbed me in his arms, kissed me on the forehead and said "I forgive you." He then also disintegrated. I then went online to discover that Thom Yorke had inexplicably died. Feeling that I was responsible, I could not move or eat for weeks. I too died, drowning in my own guilt.

Interpret THAT!

That was perhaps one the most coherent dreams I've ever had, in that it had a beginning, middle, and an end.
Pretty sad that so true to form, it was about Radiohead. Actually, I've probably only dreamed about them three or four times, which I consider amazing.

I had a dream last week where Shug Knight was trying to cap my ass for some reason, and this friend of mine -- George -- was driving my Bentley so we could get away from him. It was Ghetto-Licious.

Once woken by a phone call while dreaming about three (!) cuties. The first blonde and shy, the second blond and Reese Witherspoon-ish. The third dark haired and Katie Holmes-ish. That was a very nice dreem indeed.

The other night I dreamt I was a little kid playing football, and the pitch was covered with orange tennis balls and it was really hard to score goals.

Another dream I had, was one where I was at a music festival and it was 9 am in the morning I was the only person there, Madness and the Specials were playing on stage together, I remember really liking them. A little while later, I was trying to get back to the festival site, had to ask at a tourist information centre...eventually got there it was now packed and the stereophonics were playing I said "oh no it's the Stereochronics" and someone turned around and said "what?" "oh nothing"...Eventually, I ended up in my room, my house had been transported to the festival site, and I noticed some people I knew from school...and asked them to come in for tea. Then I woke up.

Last night I dreampt that someone threw my laptop in the sea. I know exactly what that means. However today I finished my deisgn for the differential and don't have to sit at the computer 24/7, except to do this of course.

Last night I dreamed that [no, no crap Smiths ref] I'd been expelled from school, and that Stephen Berkoff was my tutor. For some reason I was studying the history of plague. Then a fellow I know called Ben turned up and told me that the school wouldn't let me come back, ever. That's what vodka and lemonade does to my brain.

Dreamed last night that my mother had died, which says something pretty disturbing about my psychological state right now.

I seem to have forgotten the best ones. A classic was the one where I was fighting batman in my back garden, then there was the one about the giant onion/bulb thing in the lake. There was also the time I dreamt I was cheating on my girlfriend with Stevie T...that one was even more weird than you can imagine. The other night I dreamt that my girlfriend was going out with my brother, and he came home and caught us at it in his bed; quite confusing.

God, last night was a doozy! All this discussion of liggers had me dreaming that I was a ligger from hell... I, my friend Jane and her husband Stephen had all managed to blag invites to this very fancy party given by the Queen. Thing was, because the guest list for the party was completely set in stone, so in order to get in, you had to assume the identity of one of the guests who couldn't make it. Stephen got to be this Canadian journalist he'd always admired, Jane got to be some starlet, and I had to be DJ Phil from Boards of Canada. (I don't even know if any of them *are* named Phil, but that was who I had to be.) I remember me coming up with this explanation as to why a girl was named Phil ("It's short for Philipina, no, really! Do you know what a sexist field postrock is? I would never get jobs as a postrock DJ if people knew I was a girl!") but then I had to go out and buy flashy trendy clothes for the party. I was completely lost, and managed to accumulate a £35 taxi fare dashing around London trying to figure out what the hell I should wear.

But then I woke up right as I got to the grand hotel where the party was supposed to be.

I don't dream. Or at least - to pacify all of you who believe that everyone dreams - I don't remember them.

I do really like The Man From La Mancha though - and would prefer if this thread was about said musical. "To fight the unbeatable foe, to bear with unbearable sorrow, to run where the brave dare not go."

Ian Dury read from La Machna on a Carter USM album. Lovely.

Many many dreams about weird weddings. Last one involved me swanning round in big white frock, proud parents etc etc. The husband was a very vague, background-y figure. After the wedding I wandered up to King's Cross to get the bus home (obviously) and husband-figure followed me. I told him where he could get the bus back to his place. Can't I come with you? he said. I don't think that would be a very good idea, I told him very haughtily. And off he went.

Worrying.

A couple of weeks ago I dreamed that Turbonegro had reformed and hired a new singer to replace Hanky--Debbie Harry!! And they'd gotten a new look, too. They'd gotten rid of the denim demon gay biker thing and were all--with the exception of Debbie and Euroboy--dressed like Oompah Loompahs from Willy Wonka. It worked really well, they were so good! Still, they were stuck playing to a small, unappreciative crowd at Spaceland in LA , just like the time I saw them in real life.

Dude, did Otis take over your dreams freddy-krueger-style or something?

I would love to do "Man of La Mancha"! It's one of the few shows out there where I'd have a shot at the lead! ("The Sound of Music" is another one, but I was beaten out for the lead by one of my best friends, who later renounced his baritoneness for stratospheric tenordom. He's currently studying to become a Lutheran pastor.)

Well, Ally, if he keeps sending me dreams of this caliber, that might not be so bad. Ummm, I think. My rock fantasy dreams usually involve feeling uncomfortable and bored backstage, getting snubbed by Bobbi Flekman-style publicists and plotting my revenge, befriending the caterers, that sort of thing. Pretty blah.