Analyze This

Or don't. Either way is fine with me.

I haven't posted much lately, sort of once a week for the last couple of weeks. I should post more I guess, but the weather's nice and I've been busy at work, so the time's just not there. I apologize if you feel I've neglected you, but let's face it, this relationship is pretty much shallow anyway, so just be thankful you get anything. I'll pull a Steve Novak/Nonny so fast it'll make your head spin buster!

Also I haven't been doing much that warrants blogging. We covered Little League last year and it's pretty much the same thing this year, except that the team is awful, half the kids don't pay any attention, two kids have wet thier pants while out in the field, and I think we're still 7-3 on the season. Thursday we play the best team in the league. They're apparently undefeated and should roll through us like a Mack truck through a puppy farm. Seriously, it's going to be ugly.

At any rate, in an effort to make up for my blogging slack, I offer you a peep into the dreamworld of Limpy. Yes, indeed, a frightening thought, but relax. We're going to avoid the dreams involving Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel and a new set of sheets in the morning. No one needs to hear that. No, this is a recurring dream I've had over the years. It involves a bar. I don't knwo the name of it, nor do I know where it is. It seems to be in a bad part of town, although what town I could not tell you. It's always on the same street. The main entrance is on a curve. You walk down a hill and the hill curves from your right to your left.

No, your other left. Jesus, you people!

When you enter the bar at the main entrance, it's a narrow room, with a large window to the right and a bar/grill-counter on the left. The beer is good, but I don;t know the name. I believe that the food is supposed to be good as well, although I don't think I've ever actually eaten there. Yes, I know, it's a dream and technically I haven't done anything there. Don't start with me or I'll launch into a graphic description of the whole "Kate Beckinsdale in latex" dream that required the purchase on an entire new bedroom set.

Shut up Syd.

At any rate, after going through this room there's a corridor, usually kind of narrow, poorly lit and cluttered, much like my subconscious no doubt, that leads to a stage area. The bands playing there are usually playing great rock n' roll, although I can never recall who was playing when I wake up.

Last night I was at that bar again. It was closed. I'm oddly upset about this. I'm sure it means something. But all I want to know is "Where the fuck is this bar and how much for me to buy it????"