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Monday, April 26, 2004

(disclaimer: yes, I know talking about your dreams is like one small step away, blog-wise, from talking about your cats, but bear with me here, I need to get warmed up)

I had a weird dream last night. We were in this big dining room of a faceless hotel and there were four of us seated around a table with a white tablecloth: me, my songwriting partner, someone who looked to be of South Asian heritage that I assume was my subconsciousness' version of Panjabi MC but who actually looked more middle-aged and doughy and Bangladeshi, and Jay-Z's sample clearance guy. Apparently me and my songwriting partner had produced a track for Jay that had done fairly well and now they wanted us to do another one. Me and my songwriting partner talked for a while but he/she (couldn't tell or can't remember) seemed kind of frantic; I said I had lots of little bits and we should get together and throw beats behind them and see what happened, but S.P. was quietly freaking out. I also suggested something with a lot of clapping. The meeting broke up and I looked through the binder (!) about our track. It reached #22! That's nice. Then I tried to ride the elevator and Jay was there, slogging his way up the down elevator. I blame the Time-Warner mall for this bit, and a sign on the subway for the other bits. (It was a really weird sign. I wish I could've taken it.)

And then there was something about a train tunnel dripping blood and a naked firefighter spraying gallons of water on a tower, and then I woke up and played with my cute little cat Muffin Pookums.