packing it in

Youll have to excuse me for not being as attentive as usual, but quite a few tables just got sat in my section… Actually, thats not quite true. I’m not realy a waiter. I’m just a regular guy who likes filling-up water glasses.

Seriously, I’m sorry for not being here for you lately. Ive been busy. Im getting ready for the big trip to New York, tying up loose ends at work and at home, and pulling things together that I need for the trip (clean socks, dental floss, magazines, etc). The new camera/phone just came in the mail, so Im trying, as best I can, to get that set up too. (I want to be able to snap hidden-camera photos like these and post them directly to the web.) Shit, theres a lot to do. And, Ive got a lot I want to tell you too.

First, about the band, I had a dream last night. The dream had a few parts, and it wasnt really a dream at all. I should be clear about that. I was awake when I had it, but I was in a kind of dream state. I guess maybe youre supposed to call that a hallucination. Anyway, it had a few parts.

In one part, I saw the band members. There were about four of us (out of the five). We were each getting a monkey head tattooed on our right forearm. Apparently, one of us had died and wed decided that this would be a good way to commemorate and remember him. I guess the plan was that wed add another monkey head for each band member to pass. I dont remember who the missing member was. It could have even been me. My hope is that we were old men when the first one passed, but I cant remember that from the dream/hallucination. I liked the idea though. I liked the thought that one day there would be one old man, with four painfully infected monkey tattoos on his arm, having to keep our one record a year until were all dead promise.

(note: My couch is teaming with fleas. Im sitting here with my laptop, typing with one hand and scratching off handfuls of flesh with the other. (Maybe Im the first MPT member to die. Maybe I get Bubonic Plague from a flea.))

In the second part of my dream/hallucination we were all old. This time I could see the wrinkles. We looked like the cast of Cocoon. There was a plot too. These guys (us) had become a media sensation. It was like a geriatric Hard Days Night. We were being chased around by the media and our screaming fans. All we wanted to do was to spend our one-day-a-year writing and recording, but it had gotten near impossible. The part of the dream I remember most clearly is my character conspiring with his grandchildren to sneak him from an old folks home to the secret destination of that years session. Apparently, speculation as to where and when we would play each year was bigger than the Super Bowl It was a good dream.

OK, I want to share some news now, before I get back to packing and working on my camera phone.

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