(original post 01.26.10. typed at first in former "letters" blog to a friend in lower michigan, hence the "you.")
I had a dream last night that we were at a small David Usher concert. I was up on stage trying to get the crowd singing along and clapping at the right times, and somehow messing it up and making a fool of myself. I was trying to just keep moving, to tell myself that if didn't matter if everything went a certain way, that what mattered was for everyone to be having fun.
Then, David Usher noticed some problem with the lighting and left the stage to go fix it. All the people started talking about how awesome it was he could even adjust his own concert lighting.
You went to go talk to him, and when you stopped him a bunch of people started taking his picture. He had a rather somber expression, and I overheard him telling you that these days it was either all photo energy or none (or something to the effect of 'we all have our strange days where we just can't expel the type of energy it takes to present ourselves at our best').
Anyway, you asked where he was from, and he told you near Vanderbilt (in real life, it's somewhere in Canada, I think, but in the dream I believed him). I was impressed that the musician I admire more than any other was from the same place as you, and that you were talking to him.
You continued to talk until, seemingly irritated, he asked something like "But you just want to borrow my credit card for breakfast, don't you?" And he suddenly dashed off.
We stood there wondering if he was going to come back, until I woke up in your house and started telling you about how I just had the strangest dream, and then I woke up here.
So, as I'm having my first cup of coffee this morning, I've been thinking: Wow. Cool. I had a dream about David Usher. But I didn't get to talk to him. You did. I hate you.