The Baron von Munchausen would probably approve of these dreams. Me, I'm just "Huh?"

a surprisingly loud Glen Hansard wearing a fake washing machine;

a very quiet and seemingly sulky Marketa Irglova (I wish I could say wearing nothing, but) wearing ordinary clothes, sitting inside a small lobby outside of which Hansard was setting up to sing;

drag queens in that same lobby;

an overheard phone call between my former boss at the dog show company and (apparently) her boss somehow concerning me;

a tense drive to/through L.A., tense for unknown reasons;

an office where Roger Ebert was in one corner office, using a voice machine to talk on the phone, and a family was in another part of the office, including a daughter who had a too-spherical head and had no eyes;

and me waiting inside the building where Sock Dreams (which really is located in Portland, by the way; its store is in Sellwood and its warehouse is a few blocks from the Ross Island Bridge (you know more now)), waiting for it to open because Something Important was inside. Apparently.