tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251218182024-03-06T23:14:48.633-05:00Inside my head...This blog is dedicated entirely to dreams. They are fascinating. Well, perhaps just to me...
{Goes off to a corner, and gives himself a hug}Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-87220126214063820292019-05-07T00:05:00.001-04:002019-05-07T00:05:36.923-04:00Strange recurring dreamThis is as close to I have gotten to a nightmare recently, and it's mostly a thriller.<br />
<br />
I often tell people that I can really only play odd characters and villains on stage, and that other characters, such as a normal person, or even a comic character, are much harder for me to do because I don't have the usual look for either such character. Apparently, my mind believe me.<br />
<br />
I've been dreaming that I have auditioned for another classic play, Goethe's <i>Faust</i>, and of all things, I've been cast as the devil himself, Mephistopheles. Like I said, my mind believes me and has taken my statements to their logical conclusion.<br />
<br />
In the first variant of this dream, I was attending a rehearsal without a script. However, we were rather far along with the rehearsals, so the other actors were all off-script. It came time for my first big scene and I got the cue to come on stage, but I didn't know my entrance line, nor any of the rest of the lines. I began making it up as I went along, stumbling through a terribly improvised scene. At the end of a torturous two minutes, I found an excuse and left the stage. I woke up feeling so embarrassed that I could make such an ass of myself as to have not prepared for the show at all.<br />
<br />
In second variant of this dream, I've been given a script and a costume and have lost both. I'm in such a funk over the loss of both of these things that my mind isn't working, and, just as before, I can't remember any lines.<br />
<br />
In the third and most recent variant of the dream, I have still lost my costume, although I did manage to find my script -- not that it matters because I wasn't using it! The play had been converted into a musical and we were now in tech week and had a trial audience. The cue was given, my entrance was played and I came sauntering on stage, having no idea what to do or to sing. I might have also been smoking a cigarette for all I know (which is something that I never do). What I know is that the theater reminded me of a strange mix of the theaters that I have performed in, the audience was packed into it to overflowing (and it was a big theater), and I was on stage wishing that I had never signed up for this.<br />
<br />
The fact that it had become a musical and I was on stage either in street clothes or completely naked was about the only thing that tipped me off to the fact that what I was experiencing was a dream. However, this last time, I woke up so fast from this dream that I leaped out of bed and began looking for the script, determined to learn all of my lines in 24 hours. A whole minute went by before I realized that I was not in my shabby actor's studio in NYC; I was in my own house.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-6674108206738750882017-10-29T09:29:00.000-04:002018-12-30T20:53:20.890-05:00Ben's weddingI had been invited to be a groomsman for Ben R's wedding, and it was the day of the wedding preparation. The guys (some of whom I knew, like Alex S) were all getting ready, and I wasn't even around. I had overslept and was running really late. After oversleeping, I had to have breakfast even though I don't eat breakfast most of the time, and so I came cruising up to the mansion where everyone was getting ready. It was 12:50, and everyone was supposed to be loading up the cars at 13:00. I thought to myself that I was ready, and saw that all the guys were in their wedding suits, and I was in my regular charcoal suit. Alex looked at me with a look that said, "You haven't changed at all." I asked where the suits were and they pointed at a room just off the area where they were, so I went inside and there was a room with a closet full of clothes and one more wedding suit.<br />
<br />
"Oh, it's charcoal!" I thought to myself, "This will be easy!" So I put on the things that were other than what I had on, and just when I thought I was ready, I noticed that this was more of a light gray than a charcoal, so I had to change. I unloaded the hanger and noticed that there were also undergarments as well. I then also noticed that there was a notification that whoever was going to wear these suits had to shower and shave before putting them on.<br />
<br />
Right! So I went dashing down the long hall in only my underwear, finding that every individual shower was being used. There were locker room equivalents, all of which had other people in them, but they were my only options. I went into one, but before I got all the way in, I heard ladies voices and backed out quickly. I went into another and heard children's voices; again, I left quickly because that wasn't an option either. I went back up and down the halls, but all of the other showers were in use. I found a third locker room, and it was empty! Huzzah! I began showering and heard kids voices. I assumed they were going past when they entered the locker room. They didn't care -- they were kids! But this was not a place that I could be, so I wrapped up in a towel and left. Fortunately, I was clean enough, so I just had to get back to the room with the suits.<br />
<br />
When I returned, I found that this room had the air turned on, and the vertical slats for blinds were being taken for a ride by the air conditioning. If there weren't so many people on the outside of those windows, this wouldn't have been a problem. So I had to hunt again for another room. Up and down the hall I went, and finally found an unoccupied room, but whose previous occupant had only been gone for a couple of minutes. There was no telling when he or she would return. I went in, closed and locked the door, put on the undergarments, and left the room exactly as I found it.<br />
<br />
Going back to the room with the suits, I found that everyone who had been outside were all gone. It looks like everyone had gone off to the wedding. I knew I had only a couple of minutes, so I threw on the essentials and packed the accoutrements in my jacket pockets. I went outside, found a set of directions to the church, and hopped in my car. I began driving away and noticed that the directions were telling me to get on a couple of few different roads for 50 miles, 180 miles, 100 miles, 75 miles -- no small distance! Apparently, this was not a local wedding; I was driving from here (somewhere in the DC metro) to upstate NY. Yet somehow, the wedding was supposed to start soon and everyone, including the groom, was just here!<br />
<br />
I checked my car's clock: it read 13:50. I had been inside the house getting ready for an hour. I was late to the wedding! I would be an embarassment to Ben, Alex, my family who was there (not sure who that would be), and they would write me off as a friend; I was unreliable, and I had taken my own interpretation of fashionably late to a whole new meaning.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-66699139957803950622017-10-10T10:00:00.005-04:002017-10-10T10:00:51.722-04:00Strange violenceLast night, I dreamed of a traffic jam. The traffic jam was near some open sports fields; there were separate fields for football, soccer, and baseball, and in the middle of all of the specific sports fields was a large field that was a wide open space set up like a park (trees, paths, benches, nice scenery -- you get the idea). Traffic was crawling, and tempers were getting heated, because in the traffic were guys who were supposed to be on those fields because they needed to be practicing with their respective teams. One of the guys was a big burly guy who had his football gear on and he was really getting impatient. He was laying on his horn and flashing his lights, which wasn't doing anything except upsetting the guy in front of him, who was a soccer player. The football player attempted to pass the soccer player, but he was met with oncoming traffic and couldn't do so. The soccer player rolled down his window and began shouting at the football player, shaking his fist and insulting him. Tempers kept rising until both men were out of their vehicles, screaming at each other in the middle of the street. One made the first move and a fight ensued. This carried on across the lanes of traffic until they were fighting in the open field.<br />
<br />
A bystander rushed out to try to separate the two of them, pleading with the two of them to stop fighting, make peace and get back in their cars. The two men grabbed him and beat him until he was unconscious, and then kicked him while he was defenseless on the ground. While they were doing so, their religious affiliation became apparent, as they were calling on Allah for strength in their anger. Their tempers satiated, they both got back into their cars and drove off; the traffic has lightened up a little so that they could park their cars in the parking lot for the fields and they went to their respective practice fields.<br />
<br />
A little while later, the man who had suffered the violence came to. He was wobbly and barely able to sit up. He tried a couple of times, but had been so violently assaulted that he either couldn't control his body due to the pain, possibly due to a concussion. As he lay on the ground, trying to slowly put himself to rights, the soccer player happened to look over. A cold look of malice ran over the soccer player's face, and he ran over to the hapless man and began bashing him on the head. After about ten crashing blows, the soccer player ran back to his field; again, the poor man lay unconscious and what now appeared to be close to dead.<br />
<br />
Newspapers flashed across my vision. The innocent victim was a miracle survivor, but only just barely. He had suffered concussions and broken bones, even a broken neck. He was paralyzed from the neck down, and couldn't remember most of his life. However, he remembered his name and things from his childhood. He had been a faithful Muslim in his youth and had memorized the Qur'an. The only thing he could do now was smile innocently as he had when he was a child and recite passages.<br />
<br />
+ + +<br />
<br />
It should be noted by anyone who does not know me that I am a Catholic, not a Muslim, and that this was just a dream, not a commentary on Islam.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-44988772025751405112017-10-09T10:01:00.000-04:002017-10-10T10:22:42.209-04:00Play whom?Last night, I dreamed that I was performing in <i>A Christmas Carol</i> by Charles Dickens. I was performing in a theater that I had been in another dream. I had been cast as Bob Cratchit and was waiting on rehearsals and the script.<br />
<br />
I don't recall the details of my previous dream in this theater, except that it was a Broadway show that I had never heard of, but I had a very minor role. As such, I wasn't given a script or time to rehearse. I was supposed to simply appear at the performances, ready to go. If you're confused by how I could be ready without a script, join the club.<br />
<br />
History tends to repeat itself. Again, I hadn't been given a script or a rehearsal schedule. I was called on the first day of the performance, asking where I was. I came directly over to the theater and got into my costume. Before my first scene, I attempted to find a copy of the script so that I could get an idea about what I needed to do, who the other characters were -- anything. However, there were no scripts to be had. The other actors were either guarding theirs or there really were no scripts for anyone.<br /><br />
I had maybe 10 minutes during which time I looked through the men's dressing room, spoke to a couple technical hands, and found one of the directors, and none of them seemed remotely concerned with the fact that I had never gotten anything I needed to perform. They were only concerned with the fact that I was going to be late to the stage if I focused too much on trying to find a script. I kept looking for as long as I could, and I was finally grabbed by one of the backstage hands, taken to stage right and told that I was on in 3-2-1, and shoved out onto the stage.<br />
<br />
I fumbled around for a few seconds. It was the scene at Old Fezziwig's house, when Scrooge was a young man. (Avid Dickens fans will note that Bob Cratchit is not in that scene and that I would have missed a few significant scenes that Bob Cratchit <i>is</i> in.) I joined a few other people at a table, and the focus of the stage became our table, as the other actors on it became noticeably louder and carried on a conversation. I fumbled around with Dickens-style sentences and then made a comment about how I had had too much to drink and needed to go home to sleep it off, but that I wished them a very merry Christmas, full of joy! I stumbled off stage and resumed my hunt for a script.<br />
<br />
I woke up very shortly thereafter in a cold sweat.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-25527155893420410512016-10-24T11:57:00.000-04:002017-04-24T11:58:39.311-04:00Mouse dreamI forget the context of this dream, but here's the part that I remember from last night. I was in a room with furniture in it, and I was standing next to a center island or a large box or some sort of console when I saw this dark thing in my peripheral vision. When I turned and looked, it was gone. I focused again on the big boxy thing and in a couple of minutes, that same black little spot appeared. I turned my head slowly to take a look at it and it was a little mouse. It saw that I was looking at it, and stopped sniffing around. I turned to face it; it turned to face me. I took a step toward it and it didn't move. I continued advancing towards it, and it stood up on its hind legs. I slowly extended my hand down to it, palm up, and it did not run. Instead, it grabbed my fingers with its tiny forepaws and began sniffing around.<br />
<br />
The dream gets a little fuzzy around here (no pun intended), but I seem to remember the mouse hopping up into my hand and either speaking to me there, or scurrying up my arm to my shoulder and talking there. I don't remember what was said.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-82869210966252718012016-06-27T12:27:00.001-04:002016-06-27T12:27:04.544-04:00TechnologyI've been having a lot of dreams about technology recently, but none have really stuck in my mind. I just think it's notable that I've been dealing with tech problems in the past couple of weeks in all of my dreams. A few nights ago, I dreamed that I was working on a computer, and earlier in the day I had been. A couple nights before that, I dream that I had dropped my iPhone 6s, and in spite of the case and the screen protection, the screen that still cracked. In another dream, I was using my tablet for some troubleshooting. Instill another, every wireless signal that I had set up was wide open and users were getting plagued by viruses. Considering my line of work, none of these are pleasant dreams. In none of them did I resolve any problems; I simply came across a series of difficult problems and was unable to resolve them before I woke up.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-90682804318882407612016-05-23T11:49:00.001-04:002016-05-23T11:49:06.208-04:00Vanity of the hairI don't remember a whole lot about this dream, but I was in a place with lots of mirrors. I was there with somebody else but I forget who it was. We were talking about nothing terribly important, because I was glancing around at all the mirrors: there were small ones, ornate ones, tall floor ones, and even a couple of the ceiling. (Whoever owned this place seemed to be quite vain.)<div><br></div><div>As I was glancing around, I happened to catch my reflection in one mirror which picked up another mirror behind me. There, on the crown of my head, was a massively large bald spot, the size of the palm of my hand. I looked at it, thinking to myself, "Christine would not let me get around looking that badly," and so figured that I had simply lost a significant clump of hair. This must've happened fairly recently, because I don't remember it looking like this in the past. I started looking around the room get a discrete sort of manner, not really expecting to find anything, but simultaneously hoping I would. As I scanned the room, my eyes caught another mirror and this one was passing along the reflection from one of the mirrors on the ceiling. I had another patch of baldness the same size sitting just off-center of the middle of my head. I decided that night I was going to cut my hair.</div><div><br></div><div>When I woke up this morning, the dream had felt so real that I had to check my head.</div>Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-60959890666212394552014-05-27T04:31:00.001-04:002014-05-27T04:31:47.531-04:00Eaten by sharksI have this strange recurring dream where I am eaten by sharks. It used to be the case that I was swimming in murky waters and I would encounter a shark around the size of a tiger shark. I would defeat it with my Bowie Knife, and it swam away, leaving a trail of blood. As it swam away, the water would clear, and 25 feet away, looking right at me was a Mako shark that would make Jaws look like a porpoise. It would swim fairly leisurely up to me, open its mouth and down I would go. I wouldn't wake up quickly either, so my soul would leave my body, and I would be able to watch the shark finish eating me, and there would not be any pieces of me left in the water, but there would be some blood.<div><br></div><div><div>This was mostly inspired by a fear of sharks put there by Jaws and Deep Blue Sea, I'm sure. If this wasn't the sole source, it was at least a contributor.</div><div><br></div><div>Now, more often than not, I am fed to a pair of large sharks, usually Makos or Great Whites, but there have been Hammerheads and Bulls as well. In tonight's version of the dream, it was Great Whites. I was thrown into the water (I have no idea from where or by whom, therefore it is just as likely that I fell in accidentally from an unknown place) and set upon in short order by one of them. I fought with my first assailant with my fists, knowing that I was only prolonging the inevitable, when I was grabbed by the other one. With that part of my body immobilized, the other one clamped onto the opposite limb. Short work was made; first I was crippled and, very soon after, torn apart.</div></div><div><br></div><div>The funny thing is, my adrenaline gets going, but I am not afraid when faced with this inevitable. The sharks are going to win, but I never let them take me down without a fight. My normal mind panics at the sight of real blood, and I will get light-headed; from there, the room may spin and I will often need to sit down. In these recent dreams, the ocean gets filled with blood and parts of me are strewn about in the best YouTube-quality shark-feeding-frenzy way. However, when I wake up, I am not light-headed or terrified, just charged with self-defense adrenaline.</div><div><br></div><div>Dreams are funny, but not always laughable...</div>Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-10235576117600457152014-03-19T07:50:00.001-04:002014-03-19T10:08:28.308-04:00Domingo in concertI was going with my Dad to an outdoor concert hall to see Placido Domingo in concert. We stopped in a small town for a quick bite to eat at a small sandwich shop; just to describe how small it was, the sandwich shop's outdoor seating area was directly next to the parking lot, and there were no railings to divide the people from the cars. When we parked, the nose of his truck blocked a middle-aged couple from getting out of their bench seat on our side. The other side was right up against the wall. They had to crawl over the seats to get out. No one was upset, though; this was normal.<div><br></div><div>We got a sandwich, found some seating and talked about what we hoped to hear at the concert. Dad wanted a lot of opera, and I wanted a mix of things, particularly his Mariachi music.</div><div><br></div><div>We left the sandwich shop, and continued on our way to the concert. At the auditorium, I ran into a few people I knew, including Michael C, but having to go through the line to get the tickets, I was unable to say anything to any of them at first. Strangely enough, in the ticket line itself, there was another deli. (No, it's not Lent.)</div><div><br></div><div>After hearing the tickets, I found that Dad and I were sitting completely different sections of the auditorium. This was kind of sad, but it was what it was. We agreed to meet after the concert, and, after pointing out to each other where we were sitting, we parted ways.</div><div><br></div><div>Concert already started: Placido Domingo was singing a pop song while Santana wailed on his guitar. I liked it, but entire section of the audience left after that song was over. Santana then left the stage, and another pop singer came on the stage, although I don't recall who it was.</div><div><br></div><div>At this point, Michael C walked up to me and asked if I was enjoying the concert. I told him yes, but that I was hoping it would get better. He didn't have high hopes for <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">this,</span> but he agreed that he hoped it would get better.</div><div><br></div><div>Shortly after this, Domingo began an opera set, but they were poorly chosen selections. There were no crowdpleasers, only arias from little known operas, and it was all some of the most atonal music I have ever heard.</div><div><br></div><div>I looked around for Dad, to see if he was enjoying himself or not, and I couldn't find him. I looked around for my friends to see if any of them were still around, and I only saw the back of Michael C's head as he was leaving. Looking around at the auditorium, I saw that fully half of the seats were empty now.</div><div><br></div><div>Even though I wasn't enjoying what I was hearing, I could not bring myself to leave. After all, Domingo is easily one of my favorite singers. He has so much good repertoire that I was still hoping that what I was hearing would end. Within a few minutes, I was one of the few people left in the auditorium. I woke up before I found out if I was going to be the last one.</div>Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-26562054876420478942014-03-09T03:19:00.001-04:002014-03-09T03:19:02.879-04:00Weddings and such I was driving along the Prince William Parkway to get to church to go to<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> Mass. Along the way, I passed two police officers commuting to work in a Honda a Accord. They looked like political caricatures; their only movements were the drivers hands in the wheel and the passengers hands on his smartphone.</span><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">When I arrived at Mass, </span>Paul E, Sylvia S, and I went to Mass at a nice looking church; it was a church I'd never seen before, although it had a few elements of some of my favorite churches, as well as my childhood parish, St. Philip the Apostle in Dallas, TX. Walking in, I didn't realize that it was the feast of the Annunciation, but Sylvia pointed that out to me.<div><br></div><div>The deacon read the readings in Latin, and the Gospel was in English. The Gospel began with, "At that time, Jesus said to His disciples," and we all knew it was the wrong Gospel. So did the priest, fortunately; either that, or he was aided by the fact that half of the congregation did not stand, while the other half that was standing had their eyebrows raised high. (It was at this point that I noticed Mike and Carissa E, and Alex and Ashley S in attendance as well. They were seated. I was standing with Sylvia and Paul.) The priest reread the correct readings, and when he announced the Gospel, everyone stood, because it was the right one.</div><div><br></div><div>The rest of Mass continued as normal, and sometime between the Agnus Dei and Communion, Sylvia had left the pew and had put on a wedding dress, as had Ashley S. The suit that Alex was wearing turned out to be his morning dress. Sylvia was getting married and Alex and Ashley were renewing their vows. When the girls saw each other in their wedding dresses, high fives went around, and they came back from Communion to their pews positively giddy. I think I might have even seen them hop down the aisle.</div><div><br></div><div>So, after Mass, Sylvia told me that even though her rehearsal was that day, the guy she was marrying was from Sweden, and she wouldn't be getting married in the States. However, she wanted Christine and me to be there. I gave the best promise I could, which felt like a weak promise, but I didn't know when the wedding was. Nor did I ever find out; I woke up very soon after this point, as Sylvia was asking Ashley to be her fill-in matron-of-honor and Paul to be the fill-in groom for the rehearsal. It was when the priest came out of the sacristy and asked if she was ready for the rehearsal that I popped awake.</div></div>Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-39944510981191622332014-03-09T01:53:00.001-05:002014-03-09T01:53:19.199-05:00Choir rehearsalJoe M and Paul E were staying at the same bachelor house, to which I went for rehearsal for something. Upon arriving there, I parked in front of a median with a large tree that had been chopped down and was piled there. It was pouring buckets, so I stuck around until nearly midnight when the rain slackened. I ran outside to my car to find that it wasn't there. I walked up and down the street , wondering if it had been towed or stolen only to find that I couldn't find it...<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">...ready for this?...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I couldn't find it because I was driving it.</span><div><br></div><div>I woke up, and resisted the urge to go check on my car.</div></div>Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-88954122305752721682013-08-10T07:37:00.001-04:002013-08-10T07:37:22.566-04:00Slapfish - bathroom break!!!I don't know how this started, but I was working for a grocery store, and another clerk and I were having a contest in bagging customers' items. We had both been doing as much fancy bagging as we could, when all of a sudden, he pulled out a paper bag, grabbed a large fish and threw it in. With a massive splash, water came gushing out of this paper bag...
...and I woke up, really needing a bathroom break.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-1565073727662304862011-06-17T07:34:00.000-04:002011-06-17T07:34:32.763-04:00WorkI had a very strange yet realistic dream about work last night. I was doing my typical computer support, except that we had a new support system in place.<br />
<br />
Of course, now that I'm sitting down to type it up, I can't remember what it was. I only remember being really impressed by it.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-86624624532591238742011-01-12T07:03:00.001-05:002011-07-30T23:47:43.216-04:00Touring in Poland<p>America was at war. The troops were deployed, and patriotism ran true in every American's blood. The SCL received a call to sing a concert in Poland for the troops. It wasn't a very busy spot, but it was a deployment central. We were working on a program, when something came up with my work schedule and I couldn't attend. I was so disappointed that I woke up.</p>Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-21038744739996603002010-05-03T07:36:00.052-04:002010-05-04T08:14:49.350-04:00Singing in the ColosseumI was singing with the Palestrina Choir from Christendom under the direction of Dr. P, and it consisted of everyone who had ever sung with that choir (so it was bigger than it ever was in real life). We received an invitation to sing at the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colosseum">Roman Colosseum</a> with another choir, I think the Vatican Choir. Anyway, so for some reason, when we arrived at Rome, the director of the Vatican choir took one look at me and said, "I didn't want <i>EVERY</i>one."<br />
<br />
On a side note, having never been to the real Colosseum, my mind associated the exterior with the stage. Each person had their own individual window, and they were all stacked on top of each other, so there were no rows of people standing behind each other.<br />
<br />
Anyway, everyone else took their places in the Colosseum-windows including Dr. P, who sang in my place when he wasn't directing. Out of a massive choir, I could easily see Brittany and Beth, as they had ground and second row positions, and when I looked around, everyone else had blended into the structure well. When they began singing, the sound was an absolutely glorious one, but one dominated by the Palestrina Chorale. While the director was busy patting himself on the back for such a fantastic idea of blending his choir with Dr. Poterack's, all the while suggesting to his own choir that they paled in comparison to Christendom's.<br />
<br />
So, after listening to the whole practice, I had to evacuate, because it was a sold-out house, to standing-room only, and even that was filled to overflowing. The choir was supposed to wait in their positions for the audience to come in (which they did in droves).<br />
<br />
Since there was nothing for me to do except either listen to the concert from outside or go exploring, I did the latter, since I had heard the practice. Unfortunately for both of us, I don't remember this part of the dream.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-88945337554606891752010-04-16T23:28:00.000-04:002010-04-16T23:28:42.662-04:00Christine's RingChristine's engagement ring was back in my possession for some oddball reason. She had taken it off and given it to me to keep for a while. I was inspecting it closely, and noticed that there was some glue on the side of the ring, covering one of the diamonds.<br />
<br />
The ring was different than the one that I have actually given her, but in this dream reality it was the one I had given her. It had no rubies on the sides, only diamonds, and only 12 total (plus the center stone). It ended up being much more blocky than the one she really has.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so I noticed that there was glue or some sort of other hard substance covering one of the diamonds. I scraped it off, and when it came right off in my hand, I disregarded it and flicked it onto the ground. I checked out the ring, and thought something didn't look quite right. Turns out that there was a hole where the glue had been. I quickly searched the ground and found it. The diamond had fallen out when I cleaned the ring.<br />
<br />
At this point I was surprised that the diamond had fallen out. As I tilted the ring, another diamond looked loose. When I moved the ring again, the same diamond dropped out of the ring. And then the center stone started rotating, as though it was about to fall out as well. I took it to the jeweler to fix.<br />
<br />
Here's where the dream starts to get a little whacky. As if it wasn't already.<br />
<br />
For some reason, I was in a tuxedo with tails. Christine was with me, and she was in an evening gown. When we went into the jeweler, I tossed my jacket onto a counter where a valet removed it, and then found my salesman. I showed him what happened, and he took the ring and the loose diamonds to the jeweler in the back. He said that it would probably take 1-2 hours to fix and reset, and they would throw in a cleaning for free. <br />
<br />
Christine and I went to a dance class while waiting for the ring to be fixed. Oddly enough, in order to get there, we had to go downstairs to the basement of the jeweler, in what felt like a dungeon. The dance instructor knew Christine (of course), and knew me through her, and stated that she was really worried about me dancing in boots.<br />
<br />
When we went through the dungeon, we entered a stadium-seating arena, which is where our class was being held. We were on stage. I woke up before we started dancing...Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-90104769204027704202010-03-10T05:31:00.001-05:002010-03-10T05:32:42.829-05:00Out of waterThere had been some sort of natural disaster and that Christine's house was running out of water. There was a pipe leading from the well to her landlord's house, her house, and the house across the street which had ruptured, and all the water was leaking out. I remember that one of the men working on it was called AJ, and that he was freaking out, because he thought the world was coming to an end.<br />
<br />
Kateri S. showed up; she had been invited to a party across the street, and no one had noticed that the water was running out.<br />
<br />
I saw another hole in a rubber tube from which the water was running, and when I tried to stop it, the tube broke and kept leaking. No one else around me had any other ideas, so they all just shrugged their shoulders...Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-13123497637125958372010-01-04T11:34:00.001-05:002010-01-04T11:35:36.226-05:00Jailed for what?America has changed dramatically. It's 2010, a year that I thought would never come, and it's the summer. The president of the country has let his true socialist colors show, and has elected officials who have taken their power to extreme measures. The common people of America were jobless and homeless. They could resolve neither problem because of the country's messed up policies towards the jobless and homeless: you could only buy a home if you have sufficient means, and you can only get a job if you have a job, or if you have 10 years experience in the field, something rare among the common people. Meanwhile, they were also punished for being jobless and homeless. In other words, they were punished because they were unable to follow the rules that were designed to exclude them.<br />
<br />
Secret police were everywhere. Government property was not clearly marked and had become entirely private. National parks were closed to visitors. A handful of public trails remained for "entertainment of the masses". This was one of the few entertainments that they had left, as the bourgeoisie had taken everything of value. One of them had reopened perhaps only 0.5% of what had been public property for the benefit of the 95% that weren't them. From this reopening of the 0.5%, he had scored the benefit of making himself appear to be the true benefactor for the lower classes of people. By his one act of kindness, he was the self-appointed messiah to us all.<br />
<br />
Of the 95% of people outside the bourgeoisie, a full 50% consisted of the jobless and homeless. The other 50% that had jobs and homes were forced into sharing small homes and dead-end jobs. We were monitored everywhere for the maintaining of "happiness".<br />
<br />
Well, I was one of the fortunate ones who had a job: it wasn't much, but it was a job, and I lived in a small but comfortable home. My dreams of being in the entertainment industry had closed, as now only members of the elite could even think of pursuing it. Schooling was extremely expensive (thus, only the 5% could afford it), and if you couldn't show a certificate to back up your talents, you couldn't get in. But if you could show a certificate, you had full access anywhere, even if you had no talents. Thus, true musicians, actors and entertainers hated the entertainment industry, because they were filled with people with no talent, who bought their way around. It was a "You need money to get money, and if you don't have money, you can't get any more money" situation, perfect for a revolution. You could feel that all people were steaming, but not brave enough to do anything about it. They also couldn't tell what needed to be done: they only knew that something had to be done.<br />
<br />
Anyway, that's the setting for the story. As I stated before, I was one of the lucky ones who had a job, but it was a dead-end job, and I had hit the ceiling by being hired. As such, I needed to get out quite often and go exploring the little bit that was left to us. I decided to go hiking alone, and hit one of the public trails. I was just thinking and walking and the direness of my situation (or our collective situations) was smoothing itself out. Soon enough, I stopped thinking and looked around me. I was completely alone, surrounded by wilderness. Apparently, without trying or thinking, I had stumbled upon a land where no one else was. Thinking that this was really cool, I looked around to see if I could find a good vantage point. I was on a mountain, so I began climbing it, in the hopes that I could find a beautiful vantage point, or some direction so that when I needed to go home, I could do so.<br />
<br />
As I climbed, I discovered a mineshaft. My curiosity got the better of me, so I went exploring, thinking that I wouldn't go too far: I'd just go in a few hundred feet and see what's in here. It looked pretty well abandoned, but the path was lit by cold lights, so I could just keep going. I found rooms full of crystals, minerals, precious metals -- it looked to be a miners dream. Everything was just there for the taking. A little too easy, it seemed to me. I got uncomfortable, as I felt that someone was watching me, so I left everything well enough alone and just kept exploring. I ended up coming through to the other side of the mountain, and as I stepped out into the sunlight, I was very quickly surrounded by a S.W.A.T. team bearing automatic and melee weapons. They arrested me as a criminal for trespassing and for theft.<br />
<br />
Fast forward in time one full year. The judge had found me innocent for theft, and had been crazy with anger for not being able to charge me with anything but trespassing. He had thrown the book at me, but had only been able to keep me for one full year in prison. I was, after all, a working member of society, so I did have a couple rights left to me. Believe me, he did search the books to deprive me of them, too. The best he could do is throw me into prison for a full year. At the end of it all, I was released, but before I was actually let go, they put me into a small room at which point they said that they were going to erase my memory of my crime and my jail time. Why would you do that, I asked, and they told me that it was for my own happiness. After all, if I remembered that I had discovered a forbidden trail, a forbidden mine, forbidden treasures, and had experienced forbidden freedom to be put in jail for a full year by order of a judge who had tried to take everything from me, I wouldn't be happy.<br />
<br />
"Trust me, it worked the last time we did this to you. It'll work again."<br />
<br />
With sudden shock, all my old memories came back to me. This <i>had</i> happened before. No wonder the judge had hated me so much: I was a repeat offender, <i>but I didn't know it</i>. I could never learn from my past, because the system was set up to keep me blissfully ignorant of my past "crimes" in the hope that I would never discover them again. The system of judgment was set up in such a way that "crimes" (even repeat ones) were considered accidents when committed by anyone low in the totem pole. Thus, while they were guilty, they weren't always responsible for their actions. The rulers had effectively decided that we were all cattle who roughly knew the law but could never understand it. They had also figured that we were innocent and happy, and were just thrilled to work for the upper class when given modest stipends of freedom.<br />
<br />
As my memory was flashed, a bright light filled my eyes. I found myself back at home in my bed waking up from a long nights sleep. Then I realized that I was actually awake, and not waking up in my dream. Ironically, today is my first day back to work following my week-long vacation.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-37101207035967002802010-01-04T10:24:00.000-05:002010-01-04T10:24:12.316-05:00SacrilegeI was in attendance at a Mass, at a church which was a slightly larger version of St. Phillips Catholic Church, my first parish in Texas. Before Mass, I'd assisted the sacristan (who was crippled) in setting up the altar and laying out the vestments. In the short time that we had to set everything up for the new pastor, something had slipped through the cracks. When the priest arrived to say Mass, the congregation was all in attendance, and the church was packed with people. He immediately noticed what we had missed and had stormed out of the sacristy, leaving both of us wondering what was wrong. He drove his scooter over to the other sacristy to see if we had left something over there that needed to be in the main sacristy, and in the time that it took him to leave, the new pastor had come back into the sacristy. He was in a bit of a tizzy, and demanded to know if I was the head sacristan. I said that I was his assistant, and before I could get out anything else, he glanced across the altar through the open door leading to the sanctuary and demanded that the sacristan drive his scooter across the sanctuary and "Get back here now!". I got a small adrenaline rush, and was filled with anger towards this new priest, because he wouldn't let me explain that it was I who had set up everything and it was therefore not the sacristan who needed correction. So as the sacristan had to climb steps in his wheelchair to follow the priests directions, it took him longer than if he had taken his normal route.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, the priest left the sacristy and announced to the entire church that this man (pointing at the sacristan who was now at the center of the sanctuary) was the reason why Mass would be starting late. My rage kicked into full gear as I heard the announcement, and I then stormed out of the sanctuary, grabbed the priest by his collar and slammed him into the wall. I yelled at him that I was the one responsible for setting up everything, and not the poor head sacristan. He said that it didn't matter: as the head sacristan, it was the crippled man's responsibility to see that everything had been taken care of, and since it wasn't, this was the best way to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again. I was at a complete loss for words, so I released his collar and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. I was seeing only red, but through this, I could tell that had an effect. Whether it was the desired effect or not was a different matter. The red subsided and I then saw that my action had not had the desired effect, as the priest was only madder than ever, and was preparing to leave the church altogether, thus denying the congregation the Mass for which they had all gathered.<br />
<br />
I quickly apologized to the priest admitting that I was wrong in striking him, but following that up with a "but you shouldn't have...", effectively weakening the apology. The end result was we both got sent away from the sacristy, and the new pastor had to fend for himself. No lectors, acolytes, deacons, ushers -- no one wanted to work for him, and no one would step up to take the place of those who stepped down. He had killed the parish by stepping into it.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-72566025732723317672009-12-30T09:57:00.001-05:002010-01-04T09:58:21.428-05:00Living technologyCrystals and orbs controlled everything: cars, computers, houses. It was the latest technological advance since the invention of the self-improving A.I. of the late 21st century. This story begins with the adventure of a group of boys, one of whom decides to take the power of the greatest orb for himself.<br />
<br />
The crystals that controlled things were the lesser A.I.s. They were called the tirano. They lived in a simple control box within their entities and preferred to work in the background. They were entirely cooperative with humans and were far more plentiful than their orb brethren. The A.I. on the tirano was fast and intelligent, and had grown for the improvement of all.<br />
<br />
The orbs, however, were much more powerful. They were called the tiraniiso (reminiscent of the Tyrannosaurus). They were also fast and intelligent, but had broken from their brethren. They worked for their own improvement, even apart from each other. They could be good, but most of humanity was considered far too stupid to ever merit help from a tiraniiso. The standard position for a tiraniiso was a large glowing orb displayed proudly in the front of the entities, and usually, they had redesigned their seat on the entities with some sort of animal head grasping the orb firmly in its jaws.<br />
<br />
Both tirano and tiraniiso required that an entity be built for them to function. Once they had this entity, they could do and go as they pleased, but these entities were never of a construction that would allow them to build more of themselves. They could only improve upon themselves, making some modifications by sheer will to their own entities, using only the material from this entity. It was not long after the construction of the first tiraniiso entities that the tiraniiso discovered their ability to redesign their seats to the animal heads. Humanity decided that since that's what the tiraniiso preferred, the builders would construct their seats for them. From there, the tiraniiso could modify their seat as they wished. One a tirano or tiraniiso had been placed into an entity by the builders, it could not remove itself, but could take on material that touched the entity to improve upon itself.<br />
<br />
Think, if you will, <i>Autobots vs Transformers</i> for intelligence, but <i>Disney and Pixar's Cars</i> for ability to transform. The tirano occupied the vehicles that would allow anyone to own them, and worked with their owners, being a helper in more ways than just a vehicle equipped with a GPS. The tiraniiso, on the other hand, would not let just anyone own them, but only the strong-willed, the ambitious, and those who could rival them in intelligence. As a result, most tiraniiso were considered daemons, and as such, they were not pursued by the common man.<br />
<br />
There was a certain young man who decided that he would own a tiraniiso, no matter what the cost. His name was Eric, a round kid with dreams of owning the world. As he discovered more about them, he decided that he wouldn't own one: he would own the greatest one. As he got closer to his goal, he discovered that the greatest one was not in any vehicle, computer, house, or regular entity that the humans would have built for tiraniiso occupation.<br />
<br />
This particular tiraniiso had been formed but had never been given an entity, and had thus left the complex of its creation. By will power (and by virtue of the physical structure of all tiraniisos: an orb), it had rolled away unnoticed. It had discovered that in its freedom, it could only go, but never do, a problem that must be resolved. Seeing a trucker's rest stop, it occupied the largest vehicle, forming the animal head where the engine used to be.<br />
<br />
Soon after that, it discovered that it was too limited by the size of the truck to complete its own will. It disengaged itself from the truck and discovered a mine shaft. It occupied a mine drill, and buried itself deep within the rock. From there, it took on both the material of the drill and the mountain. Several hundred years later, Eric entered the picture. He found this mine shaft and went down inside it. To his amazement, he discovered that the orb had grown to unheard of proportions, and that he could no more take control of it than a four-year-old child could extract a diamond from a rock using only their soft fingers. The tiraniiso, knowing Eric's intentions grabbed him with one of the tendrils that it had formed, and caused him to shift into another dimension and then threw him back in time.<br />
<br />
In this dimension, humanity wore scales like the scales of an armadillo. He awoke, much to his chagrin, out in the open air, covered in scales, and without the tiraniiso anywhere in sight. Quite upset, he shouted a few curses, and then rolled onto his feet. Not knowing where (or even when) he was, he went exploring. A small innocent tirano car saw him walking and took pity on him, driving up next to him and opening the door. He climbed inside and rode into the town. Thousands or tirano were all around him, all fulfilling their daily duties and communicating the newest discoveries to each other. Every so often, a tiraniiso entered the picture, plowed everyone out of their way, and continued their ambitious courses. Eric left his tirano and began walking again. A young man in his own tirano pulled into a parking lot. For some reason, this action interested Eric and he watched. A familiar-looking truck saw the small tirano inside its range and attacked. When the owner returned to his tirano, he discovered that the truck had smashed the car shell to pieces, and the crystal mind and the housing around it had been extracted, such that the tirano could not be rebuilt. Eric watched with an ever increasing thrill to discover that this was the tiraniiso that he had hoped to find in its early stages. As he approached the parking lot...<br />
<br />
I woke up. Thus I don't know how it ended.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-44808530830448957082009-10-28T10:27:00.000-04:002009-10-28T10:27:34.131-04:00Gym RatsI was working out in a gym that I've never seen before. All the machines were filled up except one bicep machine, so I started cranking out some reps on that using the lowest setting. I had it as my goal to do 1000 reps on this one machine, so I figured that I needed to warm up first.<br />
<br />
The wierd thing about this machine is that in order to choose the lightest setting, you had to put the pin into the weights at the bottom of the stack. The higher you went up the stack, the more weight was applied.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so I got through a few reps and I had to get up from the machine. I forget why, but when I came back to it, the machine was gone. In fact, most of them were. I jumped on one of the leg machines before it disappeared and began using it.<br />
<br />
Two guys, employees of the gym, were off to the side on their own respective machines. They had their backs to the wall, and were working out watching everyone. Soon enough, I was one of three people left in the gym. When the numbers got to be that small, they began telling people stories, and give instructions on how to best use the equipment. I just kept doing what I was doing, because none of it was addressed to me.<br />
<br />
A young couple walked into the gym, and they began holding their own conversation. The gym employees noticed that the couple wasn't paying attention to them, and so decided to draw their attention to themselves. They began talking over all other conversations. It wasn't like they were particularly boring to listen to -- it was simply their time to talk. When the people in the gym listened to them, they were entertained and educated.<br />
<br />
Among other things, one of the guys was telling a story about how he grew up in Arizona and how Halloween was a dusty evening. It was so dusty that ghosts were almost always brown by the end of the evening.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-28285064117175422382009-10-01T10:37:00.000-04:002009-10-28T10:37:37.974-04:00John Cleese, meet John CleeseI don't remember the specifics on this dream, but it was exactly how it sounded. John Cleese and John Cleese were performing a detective skit with a good cop/bad cop twist. Good John Cleese was the law-abiding cop, everything must be done by the book, no searches without warrants, etc. Bad John Cleese was the exact opposite: he took great pride in sneaking around places where he wasn't supposed to and accusing everyone of everything. When they argued, it was quite amusing.<br />
<br />
Well, the only thing that I really remember about the dream is that when they got into a jam, they did a 2-person somersault to get out of the jam.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-2168246510944837412009-10-01T10:29:00.000-04:002009-10-28T10:30:01.509-04:00Cheesecake Factory and my familyThe overall gist of this dream was that I took Christine, Mom and Dad to the Cheesecake Factory. Mom and Dad had never been to the restaurant, so I decided that they needed to go. Dad saw the menu and decided that he wanted a steak. Mom went right after the cheesecakes -- she ordered one for dinner and one for dessert. Christine ordered her usual pasta, and enjoyed it until she saw Mom's cheesecakes come out. I ordered a burger and enjoyed it until I saw Dad's steak. Mmmm...<br />
<br />
Anyway, the total spent was $190.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-51167351392930090092009-05-11T11:48:00.000-04:002009-05-11T11:48:05.410-04:00Confessions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinn8pelpXeFYeAB_MubAHIhELy9jvAttOBSHSENjXYnzHM_C_XKyVO1bDpvPlh71SU2NTr_flgJXk2T3rkHGbg_A7FttXhO9RYV-iEc8AV9bAaNzR6XNBlOv55gE9ezfpTDwJO/s1600-h/041202_confession.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinn8pelpXeFYeAB_MubAHIhELy9jvAttOBSHSENjXYnzHM_C_XKyVO1bDpvPlh71SU2NTr_flgJXk2T3rkHGbg_A7FttXhO9RYV-iEc8AV9bAaNzR6XNBlOv55gE9ezfpTDwJO/s400/041202_confession.gif" /></a></div>I was visiting California again, but this time I was alone. I had been there for about a week or so, and I thought that I should go to confession. I found the closest Catholic church, and was amazed at it's external beauty. When I went inside, I saw one of the most intricately beautiful and ornate interiors of a church that I've ever seen, and I was really surprised that the modern day American Catholics would let such a work of art dedicated to God remain standing. After gawking for a few minutes, I found the confessionals, and it so happened that I walked into the church while confessions were being heard. The older priest sat in a glass box so that he could see the line, while the penitent was in the confessional box, completely hidden from the rest of the church. However, they had a window with a curtain that they could open and close that faced the priest. You could only tell that there was a penitent in the confessional, because the priest would lean in to hear the confession, and the hands of the penitent were folded prayerfully and sitting on top of the windowsill.<br />
<br />
I managed to get a look at the pastor -- I'd seen the face before somewhere, but I couldn't recall. He was a large man (stocky, not really fat) with white hair and a look that said he's fed up with the tolerance of today's people towards sin.<br />
<br />
The other priest was without a confessional, but instead had a chair and a kneeler next to him, without a screen. He was much younger, and his hair was kind of shaggy and unkempt. He looked almost like a guy who had spent the first 25 years of his life being a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Road_crew">roadie</a>.<br />
<br />
So I joined the line, and as both priests were occupied, I was mentally preparing myself. I was hoping to get the pastor, but the younger priest's penitent walked away first and there was no one behind me in line to wave ahead, so I went to the younger priest.<br />
<br />
I knelt down and went through the usual process: "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." And he cut me off.<br />
<br />
He said, "Is that it? The only reason you came to confession?" I looked at him, being somewhat shocked, and he said, "Everyone makes mistakes. Is this your only mistake?"<br />
<br />
I stammered back, "But, Father, I haven't even begun to tell you my sins -- I hadn't even told you how long it's been."<br />
<br />
He said, "That's not necessary. You've told your sins to God. I don't need to hear them."<br />
<br />
My jaw almost hit the floor. He couldn't be serious.<br />
<br />
He was. He then got up and started walking around me, talking about the love of God, the power of confession to forgive sins, how only God has the power to forgive sins, and how God has bestowed upon His clergy the ability to forgive sins, and that this was just as good of a confession as him actually hearing all your sins.<br />
<br />
Then he did something completely unexpected.<br />
<br />
He asked me if I'd like to hear his latest song that he wrote. Somewhere out of the blue, he produced an old guitar, and began playing what sounded like an indie-acoustic song with mild Christian overtones. I don't know the words.<br />
<br />
Then he did something almost-completely unexpected.<br />
<br />
He started to dance.<br />
<br />
I'm still kneeling on the kneeler.<br />
<br />
He's dancing and singing.<br />
<br />
I'm having a hard time choking down my laughter at the hippie around me singing and dancing.<br />
<br />
He's still singing and dancing.<br />
<br />
I look around the church to see if anyone else is as weirded out by this as I am. Aside from the old pastor who is still with his penitent, I'm the only other penitent in the church.<br />
<br />
At this point, I woke up to find my alarm clock going off. It's an electric guitar playing music from the Metroid video games.Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25121818.post-47540944157109931272009-04-23T07:41:00.000-04:002009-04-23T07:41:17.934-04:00Singing with the CollegiumI dreamed that I was in concert with the Collegium Cantorum at Old St. Mary's, and we were singing the new stuff. Everyone was ready except for me. I had reviewed the music, but we had decided to do a pre-performance and then do the practices.<br />
<br />
Let's just say it was a good thing I was in the back row.<br />
<br />
I woke up with the urge to go to the bathroom, but my mind was still in the dream, where I snuck out of the church to use the restroom. After doing my thing and going back to bed, the dream picked right back up where it left off. We began singing, except that we weren't singing just Josquin -- we were doing random songs from the complete repertoire. I had the opening piece in my binder, fortunately, but I wasn't prepared for it, even though it was one of the pieces I had done before.<br />
<br />
Anyway, somewhere along the line, the dream faded out...Anthony Smithahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12031052883654418090noreply@blogger.com0