Nothing new here.

I have nothing to write about. I considered writing about my celebrity dreams, but who wants to read about my boring dreams? Oh, you do? Warning: if you are expecting some sort of questionable content, stop reading! My celebrity dreams are wholesome, who do you think I am?


The other night the dream was that I went to a palm reader who actually reads the soles of your feet. It was a strange place, but it got rave reviews so I went (normal enough). Guess who read my fortune? You're right-- none other than Owen Wilson. I don't remember what my fortune was, but I do remember standing next to him, turning and saying, "Do you know my favorite movie?"


He looked at me and said, "Tron?"


"No. Bottle Rocket of course."


"Oh," he said, "Thanks."

Another time I had a dream that Ralph Fiennes came to my parents' house for dinner. It was no big deal-- the meal was served buffet-style. I don't remember talking to him, just exchanging a knowing glance across the table, as if we had an inside joke.

In college a group of friends and I were hanging out with Dave Matthews and we heard one of his songs on the radio and he blushed, or at least that's how my dream went.


I once asked Adam Corolla which type of bread to buy at the grocery store. I can thank Jared for that one, he's been listening to Adam's podcast and it's almost like he's Jared's honorary best friend.

See? Uneventful and boring.


The most memorable? The one about Beth being in a band called, "The Only Whore in the Night is the Vulture". Her album cover looked like the cover of "Mother's Milk" from the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Which reminds me... Remember when Beth's hair looked like a "boy in a band"? Those were the days of Soul Asylum and grunge...