I've had so many strange dreams in my time. (The kind where you're sleeping and see things, not the kind where you futilely hope to win the lottery) There was the one where I made out with Hugh Grant in the back of a school bus (nice!) and the one where I was shopping for wedding dresses and whoops! The shop was wiped out by a tsunami (eek!). Earlier this week I dreamed I was one of the final contestants on American Idol! My specialty was Harry Belafonte songs. And in my dream I got up on stage in front of that huge audience, and belted out "Scarlet Ribbons". The problem is, I can't sing any better when I'm unconscious than when I'm awake. Now why couldn't my subconscious cut me a break and let me be a fabulous singer, at least for one night? Who knows. In any case, the judges loved me! They sat there, drinking Coke, telling me that I was "da bomb" and "not utterly horrendous" and "looking beautiful!" I knew I sucked, but I also knew that sometimes, sucking is OK. I have learned the wisdom of Sanjaya. Sometimes dreams are cryptic. This is not one of those dreams. Later this week I'm defending my Ph.D. dissertation. No singing is involved, and I don't think an all-out suckfest is in the cards. (Oh, I pity the Googlers who get to this page looking for a suckfest) If Simon, Paula, and Randy could love my off-key "Scarlet Ribbons", I think my committee should like my decent analytic results. But that doesn't mean I can't use a few fingers crossed out there. Wish me luck, knitters! And crocheters too, if you must.