there is nothing to see here

Lest I forget to share --

Last night I had the strangest dream. No, this isn't a Postal Service lyric. It was an actual dream where me and a bunch of folks my age piled into an auditorium, like in a high school, ostensibily. We were waiting for REM to play this small, private show. This was basically REM circa somewhere between 94 and 97, so everyone was still in the group, but it was after Bill Berry had an aneurysm and also before he left the band and before Peter Buck got arrested for beating up some stewardesses or whatever. Anyway, so in my dream, Peter Buck, Bill Berry and Mike Mills filed out first and then a few seconds later, Michael Stipe and of course he garnered the most hoopla. Anyway, so I'm in like the third row, and I'm really stoked but really cold, so he walks up to me and leans over the railing and covers me in this gigantic, comfy fleece blanket, smiles, and then starts the show! WTF? I won't even get into the number of Freudian daddy issues this brings up as well as the latent Christ imagery. Weeeyahd, no?

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