Thanks, Rob.

Last night I had a dream where I was on a bicycle, being chased by a shadowy troll figure who was running after me with a knife. I pedaled as hard as I could, but every time I looked back over my shoulder, the troll seemed to be gaining on me. I'd lean in and pedal harder and harder, legs muscles burning, but I'd look back and the troll was still gaining ground.

Exactly at the point when I was exhausted and could pedal no more, I looked up to see my old landlord Rob up ahead, standing by the side of the alley with a beer in his hand. He gave me a head nod as I cruised past on the bike, and I looked back to see him stick his foot out into the alley. The troll tripped on Rob's foot and face-planted on the concrete. Rob hoisted his beer in my direction, and walked away. Dream over.

Guilty pleasure music on a Fizziday

I've been in a sappy mood all week. Sappy moods require sappy music, and I haven't been able to get this song out of my head:
A friend suggested putting on Mom Jeans when listening to this, and honestly, I really have no room to argue. Still, I like the song because of the daydream it brings to mind. My daydreams are a lot like scenes from a movie, and the scene I see in my mind's eye when I hear this song is more than a little cliché.

I'm driving in my car, top stowed, down the California Incline onto the Pacific Coast Highway. Of course I make the light at the bottom of the hill, and curve right out onto the wide-open road. The camera pulls back as I drive off into a sunny morning in Santa Monica.

Cheesy, right? I know. But I love it, and I will re-enact the scene when I get there in June. I can't wait. I miss my home.

Dream it, ya dreamer.*

It isn't often that I remember my dreams, but on the rare occasions I do they sometimes prove to be amusing. Last night's dream started out with me sitting in our living room with two handguns, facing the TV. There was an image of a dartboard target on the TV, and I was taking shots at it with the smaller of the two guns I had. Good fun! The shots didn't hurt the TV, so I switched to the bigger gun. To my surprise, the bigger gun was deafeningly loud, so I only shot the TV with it three times.

At the end of my shooting session, I got up and examined the TV - it was fine, but there were bullet dents in the wall behind the TV. For some reason, I was not concerned.

* This is a picture of Elvis' TV at Graceland that I stole from a fellow blogger. If it's yours and you don't want me using it, let me know and I'll take it down.