Are any of you good at dream interpretation? I need some help.


I had a very odd dream last night, and I’d like to have some help making sense of it. I was in a theater at Greenfield Village, which, to my knowledge, does not exist in real life. I was seated in the front row, to the right of the stage, with my friends Dan and Dave. We were waiting for a performance to begin. Seth Rogan was going to be taking the stage, along with a number of other people. It seemed to me that it was going to be stand-up, but I can’t be certain, as I was asked to leave before it began… As we were sitting there, waiting for things to get underway, it occurred to me that I’d be more comfortable without my pants. I pulled a blanket over my lap and discretely removed my pants. I believe I may have also removed my boxers, but that part isn’t clear. At this point, an usher approached me, and started tugging on the blanket. Seth Rogan walked onto the stage, looked at what was going on, and kind of chuckled. He may have encouraged the usher to continue what he was doing. I was struggling to keep the blanket over me, mortified that I was about to be exposed, when the usher leaned over and said to me, “Mr. Seger would like to see you,” motioning up to one of the private boxes overhead. I stood up, and he escorted me backstage, where I was told to have a seat and wait. As I waited, I wondered if I would be meeting folk singer Pete Seger, or Detroit rock legend Bob Seger. I was certain it would be one of the two, but I wasn’t sure which. At some point “Mr. Seger” came in. He looked like Steve Earle. He never introduced himself as “the” Bob Seger, but I was pretty sure that’s who it was. (A great deal of my time was spent squinting in his direction, and looking at him from different angels, trying to confirm that he was in fact who I thought that he was, but I never reached the point of 100% certainty.) We chatted. He told me that he had free reign over the Henry Ford Museum because a great many of the items they had on display were from his personal collection. We never discussed why he called me backstage, but I got the impression that he thought I had gumption for removing my pants. At least, I got this sense, from the way that he looked at me, that he was thinking, “I wanted to take off my pants too, but didn’t have the courage.” At this point, I remember worrying that I might be missing a great show, and hoping that, whatever happened with Mr. Seger, my experience would be more interesting than the one being shared out front by my friends. At this point, Mr. Seger walked me through a warehouse to van, which was parked in the middle. He lifted the back door. Inside was a small, white wall covered with artwork. It was a tiny, portable gallery. The work was clearly his. He smiled and nodded toward it, obviously proud of what he’d created. They were tiny geometric shapes made from felt, which had been stitched to one another. There was one that I kind of liked. The others left me cold. I tried to focus on the one that I liked, and started making smalltalk about folk art. I mentioned Archie Byron and Ned Cartledge, two of my friends who, when they were living, made incredible works of visionary art in Georgia. Mr. Seger nodded, handed me a brown glass bottle of beer, and left. I laid down on a roll of astroturf with my beer. A heat lamp was overhead, and it felt good. After a few minutes, a phone rang nearby. I rolled over, grabbed it, and held it to my ear. Someone on the other end said, “Dump out the beer. Museum security will be there in one minute.” I dumped the beer, and rolled the empty bottle away from where I was laying. As it came to a stop, a security guard came toward me. We exchanged a few pleasantries. I believe I was still wrapped in my blanket, but I can’t be sure. (At this point I was kicked in the head by my son. After rearranging him him the bed, I tried desperately to get back to the same dream, to no avail.)

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  1. Dan R.
    Posted November 5, 2013 at 9:56 pm | Permalink

    See “From Issue 14” – number 7

  2. Posted November 5, 2013 at 10:17 pm | Permalink

    I’m not sure what removing your pants means. Of course, you can find out by doing that at your next concert.

    Perhaps “Mr. Seger” is E. C. Segar, the creator of Popeye. He was a wonderful artist.

    The emptying of the bottle probably marks the point where you urinated.

    The most significant part is at the end, where, instead of writing “after rearranging him in the bed,” you write “after rearranging him him the bad.”

  3. Posted November 5, 2013 at 11:05 pm | Permalink

    For those of you unwilling to follow Dan’s link, here’s what our friend Jeff Kay had to say on the subject of dreams: “Nobody cares about the weird dream you had last night.”

  4. Posted November 5, 2013 at 11:17 pm | Permalink

    And I’m more of a Hamgravy guy than a Popeye guy, Doug.

  5. Posted November 5, 2013 at 11:24 pm | Permalink

    I suspect that the part about the usher trying to pull the blanket from my legs was inspired by the fact that my wife was likely pulling the blankets from me at the same time.

  6. Elviscostello
    Posted November 5, 2013 at 11:35 pm | Permalink

    “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and a dream is just a dream.”

  7. Anonymatt
    Posted November 6, 2013 at 6:33 am | Permalink

    You’re fucking crazy.

  8. anonymous
    Posted November 6, 2013 at 7:04 am | Permalink

    This is about emasculation. The beer bottle you emptied was your penis.

  9. Posted November 6, 2013 at 7:27 am | Permalink

    Segar created Ham Gravy as well. He was great.

  10. Dennis
    Posted November 6, 2013 at 8:12 am | Permalink

    the part about the usher pulling the blankets off you while your tried to hide your modesty is classic freud (i.e. ashamed of small genitalia). the part about bob seger is even more classic jung (i.e. dreaming of what you aspire to be).

  11. Mr. X
    Posted November 6, 2013 at 8:42 am | Permalink

    There was a theater on the grounds on Greenfield Village. I’ve heard it said that Henry Ford had one of his lovers murdered there.

  12. Erika Nelson
    Posted November 6, 2013 at 8:44 am | Permalink

    My very wise clinical psychologist friend always told me that dreams don’t have much to do with the actual scenes/activities within the dream, but with the feelings they illicit within you while they are happening. In your telling, I heard your fear of embarrassment/ shame/ judgement at being literally exposed, and fear of being caught breaking the rules as the most intense feelings. Both of those moments came when you were relaxing and enjoying the stand-up show and the art show in the van / beer on the astroturf. In both cases, you were happy, then someone threatened to expose you, you fought it and then succumbed. I would guess that you are feeling anxious about letting your guard down to enjoy something, for fear that you will be caught emotionally vulnerable and forced to explain / expose yourself.

  13. Mr. X
    Posted November 6, 2013 at 8:48 am | Permalink

    Dennis, if I had to guess, I’d say that Mark was covering his penis, not because it’s size would cause him embarrassment, but because, had the usher seen it, he would have been charged for an additional seat.

  14. Meta
    Posted November 6, 2013 at 9:04 am | Permalink

    Eerily , Steve Earle, has something to contribute.

    Yeah, some dreams don’t ever come true
    Don’t ever come true
    But some dreams do
    If you just hang on
    And your heart is true
    And your hope is strong

    Listen to Earle’s song “Some Dreams”:

  15. Posted November 6, 2013 at 9:46 am | Permalink

    Okay, here’s a more serious interpretation…

    After your last recording session, you returned to family life, where you feel your creativity is stifled. So you dream of being back with the band, listening to music with no pants on with your male friends. You’re summoned by your father (whatever Seger he is, he’s still a cigar). He shows you his artwork, which you don’t like (they’re not deeply “felt”). So you reject fatherhood yourself, and retreat into infantilism, lying under a lamp in your diaper with a bottle. But you feel guilty, so you throw away the bottle and wake up in the bed (the “bad,” as you originally wrote it) with your wife and child, and with adult responsibility, and try to get back into your dream.

    How does that sound?

  16. tommy
    Posted November 6, 2013 at 10:50 am | Permalink

    Sounds like a damn David Lynch scene. A bunch of unexplainable shit that means something but good luck figuring it out.

  17. Dan Gillotte
    Posted November 6, 2013 at 12:23 pm | Permalink

    I like that Steve Earle.

  18. Posted November 6, 2013 at 3:25 pm | Permalink

    I always use if I get weird dreams. You might get some help there.

  19. Observer
    Posted November 6, 2013 at 3:43 pm | Permalink

    EOS has not left a comment on this site since the single digit math filter was installed.

  20. Posted November 6, 2013 at 8:39 pm | Permalink

    I never said I was in a diaper, Doug. Sadly, the rest of what you’ve written is probably accurate. The same goes for you, Erika.

    I rarely remember my dreams. This one, though, was incredibly vivid. For what it’s worth, I think a few of the points were linked to events transpiring in the real world. First, when the usher was attempting to pull the blanket from me, I’m almost certain that this was in response to Linette getting up to retrieve the screaming baby from his crib, pulling the covers off of me in the process. And, at the end, when the phone rings, alerting me to the presence of the security guard, I suspect that it was at that moment that my alarm started going off. At least it makes sense based upon our typical schedule. Arlo generally comes to bed with us between 5:30 and 6:00, and my alarm goes off at 6:00. As for the rest of it, though…. Yes… I am, as you’ve surmised, painfully insecure and anxious. And the world of adult responsibility does terrify me.

  21. Posted November 6, 2013 at 9:01 pm | Permalink

    I took some liberty with the blanket. Everyone is terrified by adult responsibility.

  22. Posted November 6, 2013 at 9:12 pm | Permalink

    Perhaps not the best analogy for adult responsibility, but this was the first thing to come to mind.

  23. Posted November 6, 2013 at 10:34 pm | Permalink

    Damn kids.

  24. c. emas
    Posted April 10, 2015 at 11:13 am | Permalink

    The beer bottle is a cock. You are gay.


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