In Tuesday's dream, I'm in a small, dark club watching Paul Westerberg cover Billy Bragg's "There Is Power In A Union." Everything is pitch black, except for Mr. Westerberg, who is captured in a spotlight, wearing a purple collared shirt and small, round shades. It's a nice cover-- he even attempts to imitate Bragg's Cockney accent, and does a surprisingly adept job at it. The dream ends before anyone can applaud.
In last night's dream, I'm on the set of The Cosby Show. Claire, Sondra and Vanessa are in the kitchen, and Claire mentions some technique of critical writing to her younger daughter. Older daughter Sondra (who is taking plates out of the dishwasher) asks, "Oh, where did you get that?" Claire gives her a stern stare. "It was in the Pennsylvania Review," she says, conveying annoyance in that wonderful way only Phylisha Rashad can.
Sondra gives as good as she gets, sending back a withering stare and saying (in a voice dripping with condescension), "Well, I don't think I'm going to write reviews, so why don't you just tell me what it said?"