November 2001 – Page 18 – Priscilla Spencer

::starts to hyperventilate:: A musician from Italy named Kristian Sensini just found my art at Elfwood, and he really liked it. He said that he wanted me to do the artwork for his new CD cover. Holy cow. Tell me I’m still dreaming.

Speaking of dreaming, I had such a great dream last night. My family and I had to go to this horribly boring luncheon with all these people I didn’t know, except when we got there, it had this fantastic Halloween thing and we were zapped into this creepy world where we had to evade or fight all sorts of evil creatures, skeleton warriors, and witches. I thought it was awesome. As I was walking through the castle-like building the luncheon restaurant had been transformed into, I saw a bunch of people sitting on risers, bordered by a bunch of techies. They were putting on a play. I can’t really remember details, but at one point all the actors went offstage, handing a bunch of Reeses Sticks (the candy) to a guy named Stebbins. Because Stebbins wasn’t there, they handed everything to me. Then, they decided to start filming a Mel Brooks-type movie, taking place in the Middle Ages. They asked me to be this woeful, clingy, depressed princess. I was highly entertaining, considering that I didn’t have a script. Everyone liked me, anyway, so it was all good. I looked rather like Princess Fiona from “Shrek” (except I kept my own hair), and the prince I was trying to get to save me (fat chance) looked distinctly like Prince Valium from “Spaceballs” and the original Bard from “The Last Hero”.

Then, my dream shifted gears. We were back at the evil luncheon of doom, except for the fact that now, sitting across from me, were four familiar faces: The Beatles. I started flailing. Though I immediately recognized them as the Beatles, they really didn’t look like themselves. George and John were blonde. I kept wanting to refer to Paul as “Mark”. George looked rather how I would imagine an adult Nevillle Longbottom. For some reason, I bonded with George the most. I got to give him a big hug, and I thought of the bragging rights I would have with Marcelina, the biggest Beatles fan I know. Suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of London, picking up the sights and sounds of the city. Every so often, we would see people around us bursting into song and dance numbers. I kept looking around for the street where they took the “Abbey Road” photo. Of course, my fun started to wear a bit thin when I saw them start doing drugs. It didn’t really affect their personalities or outward appearance, and I was almost tempted to try one of them, but then my brain kicked in and I flatly refused. This was fine with them. One of the drugs was in the form of a finger-sized ring with a small hole, which they blew through to produce the flute-ish sound in “Fool on the Hill”.

Eventually, we all went to this restaurant for dinner. It was like Planet Hollywood, except for music instead of movies. At the moment, they had a troupe of Beatles impersonators singing “Eight Days a Week” onstage, with very little enthusiasm. The real Beatles laughed and joined them onstage. When the song ended, they joined us at our table, which had pictures and names of famous musical artists. And they were nifty music artists, as opposed to the teenybopper rubbish I expected. Then, a guy sat down at our table, and one of the people I was with gasped. (She looked like Sangita Vyas, a girl in my grade, who used to be one of my really good friends. We’ve grown apart over the years, though.) She took out a red crayon and put a box around the face of one of the artists at the table. I looked at the guy’s face and saw that he was Weird Al. I reached over the table and hugged him, telling him that he was my hero. Then I woke up. Meh.