So I’ve discovered that, when I get enough sleep, I can remember my dreams. I have also found out that my dreams are the stuff of Carrollian acid trips.
Last night’s frolic in Kazama-Pajama Land was no exception; it lasted for-eh-vur and was six kinds of awkward. I dreamed that, somehow, I had been accepted as the third member of Flight of the Conchords. So we go to this tiny venue – something of a cross between a high school auditorium and a church talent show. From the start, things don’t go well; the equipment doesn’t really work, and Brett misses the new queues that I added to the songs. Despite the odds, the two make it through Business Time without too many hitches. Then they introduce me as their new, third member, and I walk on stage.
My guitar, though, is the most ridiculous thing ever. Let’s say that, on a reality-toy scale, a real Fender is a 9.5 and and a Guitar Hero controller is a 5; the guitar that I had was a 1.34359. It had frets of various cookie-cutter shapes, all made out of that kid’s foam stuff.
Anyway, we started playing Jenny… aaaand the guitar started falling apart. Seriously; those little foam frets just started dropping to the ground! We all looked at each other and tried to keep playing. Of course, underneath the foam frets were real strings so I (with my extensive knowledge of guitar playing) tried to wing it through the songs. And, you know what? I didn’t do too badly.
The sad thing is this: I woke up before we could get to Albie.