Or Whatever That Award Is Called These Days

First dream on the new bed. 

I’m with my dad in Penn Station in New York, and we see a knife fight at the bottom of the escalators. Two guys, circling each other like they’re in the video to “Beat It.” Dad perceptively points out that there’s something phony about it; it’s a distraction so the cops won’t be looking at – and here he looks around for a moment, then points – “this door,” he says. We see an unguarded wooden door nearby, but there’s also a man standing at a podium, looking at the door and sketching something. I tell him hi, and explain to my dad that these distraction fights are why the Village Voice always stations a cartoonist right by the door, so someone can be watching it at all times. (The Voice editorial staff and the NYPD working hand-in-hand is how you know it’s a dream. Also, the vigilance of cartoonists.) 

I leave Dad upstairs and go down to a train platform. I lie down on a bench, and a train rolls right over me (the bench is low enough that I’m unharmed). Tucked away in the undercarriage of the train is Kimmie Schmidt, who’s excited because she’s just been nominated for an Oscar for Best Mechanical Work on Trains, or whatever that award is called these days. As the train rolls over and past me, she gives me a quick kiss; I’m the first person she told!

Then Kimmie and I join our colleague (doing what? I don’t know) at our desks on the train platform, and someone (maybe Kimmie? Probably Kimmie) goes from desk to desk leaving trays of sandwiches made with organ meat – liver, kidney, I’m not sure; she wasn’t specific. I’m curious about the sandwiches, but also aware that it’s not actually my desk, I’m just filling in for someone. But then I realize that you can’t just leave organ meat sandwiches out without refrigeration, so I dig in. It turns out the first one I eat is more like grilled squid, and it’s delicious. 

I head to the station’s food court to look for cans of squid and organ meat so I can make these at home. And then I wake up…tentatively. I’m a little nervous about getting out of bed. It’s three or four inches higher than our old bed, and I want the floor to be where I expect it to be when I step down. I’m not at all confident the floor wants the same thing. 

But anyway: New bed, new dreams! 

Rob