It Could Happen

I think that having listened exclusively to The Band my entire senior year of college might finally be taking its psychological toll. The other night, I dreamed that I had become a million-selling singer overnight, having just recorded a cover of "Up On Cripple Creek". Problem was, though, I still sounded like me, which is to say awful. Maybe the fact that, in the alternate reality of my dreams, the American public's tastes have sunk so low as to make me a chart-topper could portend a similar cultural skid in real life.

One thing I've always found in my dreams is that I can't enjoy things, even major wish fulfillments. For instance, a dozen times in the past year I have dreamed that I am finally a San Francisco 49er, but my shoes keep getting tied together whenever I play. In this case, I was unable to enjoy my fame and fortune due to embarrassment, and the lingering knowledge that, even if I sounded fine to everyone else, I knew I couldn't carry a tune. What really intensified my self-mortification was that I'd also cut a music video, consisting solely of me, from the chest up, singing "Cripple Creek" in the shower with no instruments. Only I would ever consider this a wise career move.

The result of all this was that I went to Ohio to hide out until the uproar died down. Well, as The Band themselves once sang, "look out Cleveland, storm is coming through..."