Life Is But A Dream

[Lemme tell ya about MY dream…]

[My boss was teaching an LSAT preparation class, and I was having trouble with the Games section, just like in real life, and was getting more and more frustrated. He, in turn, was becoming angry at my inability, and, during an in-class exercise, I just looked at him, got up, and walked out. I had that feeling of impending doom and resigned freedom that comes with not finishing a final exam that would save your grade (another feeling with which I’m acquainted).]

[I walked out into a tropical resort. Strolling along a paved esplanade, I saw a deep blue swimming pool, surrounded by chaises longues, palapa umbrellas, and a bar. Standing around the pool and sitting in the chaises were John, our friend Leah, and the reunited members of Fleetwood Mac. I walked up and knew that Leah had arranged this get-together in conjunction with their reunion. Mick Fleetwood shook my hand, and I sat next to John, Leah, and Stevie Nicks, who was wrapped in a caftan, wore a big floppy hat and massive sunglasses, and sipped a mai tai. We engaged in celebrity gossip. We told the well-worn story of Belinda Carlisle showing up half-crazed at a friend’s house, nostrils encrusted with cocaine. Ah, we had a lotta laughs. Stevie was very open about her drug problems, but no one wanted to ask about the hole in her septum. She looked at me dolefully and said, “Drugs are bad.” And then I woke up.]

[Can a city’s temperature plummet fifty degrees in 24 hours? Yes, it can. I walked out the door this morning into a bracing, windy fog, an express direct from the Farallon Islands. Very good: all that hot air gets blown to the Central Valley, where they know what to do with it. And June gloom begins.]

Previously Next