So it’s been a week since I last posted on this blog?  Yikes.  I like to think that rather than throwing out mediocre fare every day like many bloggers, I focus more on quality.  Today’s entry notwithstanding.

Over the weekend I had one of the stranger dreams I’ve ever had.  It was one of those dreams where even in the dream you’re not sure exactly what is going on.  This dream was like a cheesy movie.  What was unclear in the dream was whether the dream was simply like a cheesy movie, or whether I was dreaming about being in a cheesy movie.  If you think such nuance is irrelevant here, you’re pretty much correct.

I have had at least one other ambiguous dream.  I was a teenager and dreamed that I accidentally woke up at 4am and thought it was time to get ready for school.  I groggily took a shower and then realized it actually wasn’t morning, so I sheepishly went back to bed.  When I awoke at the proper time I was confused.  Because that dream ended with me going back to bed, I wasn’t sure if it was really a dream.  Maybe I really did take a shower in the middle of the night.  For several years I thought it would remain a mystery forever.  Finally I realized that if I had really done something that dumb I would have no doubt about it being real.  Teenagers are just gullible.

(Side note.  I recently heard about a few kids strategizing their tattoos for when they turn eighteen in a few weeks.  Let me stop and thank God this very moment that I did not permanently brand my body with anything that I thought was cool when I was eighteen.  I might have a tattoo of ZZ Top’s logo or, heaven forbid, Alf).

So in this cheesy movie I was among a group of friends in their freshmen year of college.  I was the mature, quiet guy in the group.  There was the gregarious, fast-talking, talented-but-always-on-the-edge-of-throwing-it-away guy.  There was the talented singer with a self-confidence problem guy.  Then there was a girl who was some kind of musician who was supposedly unattractive, but the movie people had obviously gone out of their way to try and hide that she was beautiful by dressing her up in frumpy, out-of-style clothes.

(Side note.  Clearly I would be one of the last people to accurately identify a woman’s clothing as either in or out of style.  The dream’s narrative simply told me that this was so.  Trust me).

The only real scene I remember in the dream involved preparations for some kind of talent show or concert.  The “evil” promoter was trying to exclude whatever band some of these kids (not me) were in.  I went to bat for them and in an emotional moment, challenged the promoter to turn the event into a competition wherein “our” band would have to get voted on by the audience in order to keep playing.

The promoter, confident that he would show us who was boss, took the challenge.  It was a momentous, tension-filled scene.

And then my subconscious threw a flag on the play.

I don’t remember the speech verbatim, but my character basically stood up and said, “This is stupid!  What are we doing here?  Isn’t it obvious what’s about to happen?  This lame band is going to show up and wow everybody and win the contest.  The promoter is going to get his comeuppance.  That girl over there is only dressed up to look unattractive and at some point soon is going to show up and be all pretty and we’re supposed to “ooh” and “ah” at her transformation because the only limitations that stopped her from being pretty were the ones she placed on herself.  I’m going to end up managing the college radio station until I graduate and the fast-talking guy is going to be the host of a popular radio show.  Seriously, is this the best dream we can come up with here?”

And then I woke up in bitterness and disappointment.  Not about having such a dumb dream.  I was disappointed that in my own wildest dreams, couldn’t I at least be the lead singer?  Just one time?