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This morning I didn't want to get up, because I was dreaming that I and boomerkuwanger and a bunch of other idiots were involved in some program, maybe a song-writing or filmmaking program of some kind, in New York, which was instructed by John Flansburgh. He seemed to like Sean and me a lot. At one point he put his arm around my shoulders, though just in a friendly manner.

Last weekend, sleeping at M and Jenny's, I dreamed that I attended a Monty Python and the Holy Grail "experience," just like the Star Trek jawns in Las Vegas. The public were "peasants," and we were led around a brown, dusty reckoning of England, watching scenes from the movie ("very small rocks") from the inside. It was awesome. John Cleese and Michael Palin were there, and I was their favorite, and they showed me the back way out of the ride, and I was in the midst of an English neighborhood with tiny yards and red tile roofs.

Happy Festivus, everyone!

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