You know that I love you, you know I don't care, you know that I see you, you know I'm not there

The other night I had a dream in which I was in an apartment with people not known to me. It was around Christmas and there were children clustered around some lights hung from a window. A kindly middle-aged woman was sharing a story about them. They were awestruck. This would have been a sweet scene if it wasn't for the fact that I knew the adults in the room were Satanists and had evil plans for the children.

The next thing I knew I was murdering people indiscriminately. I was in the process of hacking up a woman with a sword or an axe - I can't recall which, but it doesn't really matter - when it dawned on me that I was one of them, a Satanist, despite only seconds before having possessed a very staunch revulsion towards the religion. Before I could go further, a couple of women disarmed me and pulled me away from my foul act. I woke up, wondering where the dream came from and what it meant. I hadn't watched anything remotely scary, hadn't had spicy food before bed. I better keep an eye on myself, I thought. I still haven't been enlightened regarding its meaning.

Later the following day, I walked over to the convenience store and while at the counter paying for my goods, behind me someone shouted at the top of their lungs, "GET THAT DEVIL OUT OF HERE!" I nearly shit myself for two obvious reasons: 1. I was startled by the shouting and 2. This person knew about my dream and was calling me out.

I turned around and, to my slight relief, I saw that the man shouting was the local lunatic, for lack of a better word. This guy is always yelling at the top of his lungs and, aside from the shock of his verbal delivery, he's harmless. And to my further relief, it wasn't me he wanted out of the store, it was some other guy, who, as it happened, didn't need any further prodding and got his ass out of there post haste. That left me trying to pay the cashier while this nutter was screaming at the top of his lungs next to me, explaining to the cashier that he didn't want to go to Hell. Looks like I dodged a bullet. My secret is still safe. Mwuhahahahaaaahhhhh!
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Watched La Vie En Rose at Spira's on Friday. Such a great film; can't believe it took me this long to watch it. As much as I admire her music, I never knew much about the life of Edith Piaf. This film enlightened me. Tragic, but in it's own fashion, inspiring. As tough as her life was, she kept plugging away at it. I recommend it highly.

Today, I will watch Troll 2. I had heard about this movie through the documentary Best Worst Movie, which chronicles the cult following it has garnered over the years. All over the world, people assemble in movie theaters to watch it. It's become a phenomena. Mostly this is because the movie is so utterly bad that it's good, but also because, while poorly made, a lot of heart went into it. The documentary was great, particularly because the makers of the film, from director to cast, seem so nice. Most of them attend Troll 2 events across the country and seem to genuinely enjoy doing it. I'm looking forward to watching it myself. Perhaps, if the movie takes me in its grip like it does so many others, I'll be attending one or two of these events myself someday.

I vaguely recall having a dream last night about a friend I haven't seen in a few years. He was one of my best friends, one I couldn't envision not having anymore, but alas, he is gone to me. I don't remember much of the dream, except the part where we were saying goodbye. Apparently, we had a random encounter and had a good conversation. As we were parting, I asked if he'd want to hang out sometime. He thought about it for a moment and said he'd rather not. I asked him to reconsider - I didn't want to lose him again - but he said he wanted to keep things the way they were and left. You can't go home again.

But you can watch the Patriots/Jets game today. That's what I'll be doing. It should be a good one.