i woke up exactly 8 hours after i passed out, from a dreamless sleep at, 5ish?
Dream pimping the site can only come to no good.
Do you know the characters that hang out there? Hordes of troglodytes and the roaming rogue elephant herds in the distant fog illuminated by some glow far past where you can see (fire?) in the dark with the people running and the trees, everyone trying to hide--

All i'm trying to say is they're typing and word skills suck.

I awoke about 2AM last night, not feeling very well. Probably my sucky diet.

After that I dreamed I was traveling with my family through a run-down city. I was on my own and looking for a place to have a bath, a place I'd used once before where you could pay to take a bath. I found the place along a very slummy street. I went in but found all the booths occupied. There seemed to be an office in a back room here some people were going. I went along thinking I'd get in line for a bath. A manager in the back office told me that they weren't doing baths anymore, but I could get a shower for 5 cents. It seemed like this was in the past. I had plenty of change in my pocket, but I wondered if they'd notice that they were modern nickels rather than nickels of the period. Strangely, I found that I didn't really want a shower and decided to give up on the idea.

Were there warm nuts? I hear some flights have warm nuts. I demand warm nuts. (And another gin and tonic, please.)

I've been dreaming about migrating birds a whole heck of a lot recently. And I also dreamed about multiple regression analysis, only I couldn't remember what it was called. And then I looked at the referrers to my blog the next morning, and someone had found it from a search for "multiple regression." Whoa.

I dreamed that I was at a lake house party with Barack Obama. It was an odd, old lake house, one that over the years had been added to haphazardly -- screened porches propped on creosoted pine timbers hung over green water, trapezoidal rooms with bare light bulbs hanging over on slightly tilted planks, furnished with milk crates and cast-off couches ripe with the smell of rot. Loud clacking insects buzzed in the woods around the house and the only light on the lake was a rippling reflection of a waxing moon.

We were drinking warmish draft beer out of red plastic cups.

Obama was a few rooms away, chatting and smoking with a circle of people. He was relaxed and laughing. He wore a light blue shirt and a loose tie of darker blue. I wanted to go talk to him, but I was standing in the kitchen cutting the heads off of bream. I would behead a fish, then scrape the head to the left, off the side of the table, which was little more than a piece of particle board laid on top of sawhorses. The fish heads fell in a rusty old bucket on the floor. My hands were slick with fish blood and silvered with scales. I wasn't filleting the fish, just beheading them. This struck me as odd, and I woke up.

I wish I'd gotten to talk to Obama.