Dreamt a Little Dream :: Pink Martini

Alternate title: Obsessive Compulsive Blogging Disorder
Disclaimer: Mister Washburn Foo has nothing to do with this post except that he's in it, so he has everything to do with this post.

Last night I dreamt that our home was full of extended family. Family I rarely see outside of family reunions, which shows you just how rarely I see them, because I haven't been to a family reunion since 2004. It seemed only slightly odd, but it was one of those realistic dreams, nothing too terribly surreal, so I was just going with it. Then I remembered that we had a concert to go to, and when I mentioned this, I saw a lot of blank faces, because most of my uncles, aunts and cousins hadn't heard of Pink Martini and my mom and I shared knowing glances, and I decided that I simply had to tell everyone all about Pink Martini.

In exacting detail, I began describing Thomas Lauderdale's bleached blond hair, that he started the band, that they were sure to recognize him, because he would be the one with a beaming grin and sitting at the piano. I mentioned that he liked music "standards," and kind of retro stylings... Mind you, I am not the least bit of a music expert, but in the dream I was confidently certain of all my adjectives and verbs, and it was quite satisfying to be so verbose and knowledgable. An uncle asked for an example, and I choked. I thought of Splendor In The Grass, which is Maria's favorite, but in my dream head, I decided this was not a good example of their retro-standards stylings, when in reality, now that I consider it, I think it is a fine example of their retro-standards stylings. Then my mom looked at me, with a happy and confident smile and she nodded, too, the way someone nods when they are sure you will join in... and she began to sing a retro-standards style kind of song, and I felt bad, because she sounded beautiful, but it was like the one Pink Martini song I did not recognize, and I apologized because, despite the nod, I wasn't able to join in.

Well, next I talked about China Forbes, and apologized that she would not be at this concert. I named all the languages she sings in, like Italian, French, Turkish, Japanese, Spanish, and English, and I probably made up some languages none of us has ever heard of, but, again, I must say it was grand to be a fountain of knowledge and detail. At this point I became so enamored of my description of China Forbe's singing that I became misty eyed, and this also felt great, because I thought everyone would comprehend how sincere my regard for Pink Martini is, and they too would fall in love with this marvelous band, and be enthralled with the concert. On to Storm Large, and I described the force of her presence, how she exudes her passion for the music, and I was all set to talk about her some more, but dream stuff happened and I was getting dressed for the concert.

This was a kind, and generous dream, because: 1. I had something to wear, and it looked good and it fit me. 2. We were not running late. 3. No one asked me to find-wash-iron anything! Yeah, so this was probably the point when some other part of my brain tuned in and informed me... Pssh... you're totally dreamin'

Is this too long?


Yeah, it was about this point, when I was telling Geoff all about my dream, that I realized that retelling dreams is seldom ever as compelling, fascinating or worthwhile as it was for the one who dreamt it. It kind of sounded mundane, rambling. I'd had a perfectly elaborate, exquisitely detailed experience, so real I felt like it was real, and about a band I adore. It was sweet, and grand, and life felt manageable, and good, but it's not easy to put those kinds of feelings and thoughts into words, at least not at 6:26 in the morning. So, I kind of hastily wrapped it up, and sighed... then it dawned on me, and I said, "OhmyGod, I blog in my dreams!"

I have Obsessive Compulsive Blogging Disorder, and I love Pink Martini.