2012.02.01 Bob Dylan? Ally Sheedy? Bob Dylan? More Sleepyland tales

Written by David Green.

By RICH FOLEY

The last time I wrote about my dreams, several readers asked how I managed to have such interesting ones. Unfortunately, they’re not all that way. Obviously, I’m going to write about the best ones. Why bore you with a report of the others? That said, here we go again...

The first dream actually was sparked by a real-life incident. A compact disc club I belonged to was ending operations and selling remaining inventory at reduced rates. I ordered a CD by The Wallflowers, which the company put on backorder. A few days later, they sent an e-mail saying they were unable to obtain additional copies of the CD and had canceled my order.

About a week later came the dream. In it, I telephoned Jakob Dylan, whose number apparently was in the phone book, and asked if he had any extra copies of the CD and if I could stop over and buy one from him directly. Jakob replied that he was busy moving that day and didn’t have time to talk.

I guess he thought he was making a bad impression as he suggested that I go see his father instead, adding that Bob loved company and would enjoy a visit. In Dreamland, Jakob, Bob and I  lived in the same town. Was it Hibbing, Minnesota? Fayette, Ohio? Or perhaps somewhere else? It wasn’t apparent in my dream.

Armed with Bob Dylan’s home number, cheerfully supplied by Jakob, I called the music legend. Answering his own phone in that unmistakable Dylan whine, he immediately invited me to visit. “I’m bored,” he said. “I’d love it if you came over.” And so it was done.

Soon, I was being given a tour of the Dylan mansion by Bob himself. When we walked past a bookcase, Bob stopped for a minute, selected a book and handed it to me. “Take this with you,” he said. “I think you’ll enjoy it.” This scene kept repeating itself as nearly every room had a bookcase or two.

By the time we reached his in-home recording studio, I had a stack of about 15 books. I was happy to be able to set them down while Bob showed off the studio and played me some songs he was working on. An hour or so later, he said “Let’s go over to Jakob’s and see if he’s finished moving his stuff.”

Arriving at the soon-to-be-former Jakob Dylan residence, we found young Dylan sealing up a few final boxes. Father Bob volunteered to help. Before long, he was digging through the contents of one box. Jakob asked him what he was doing.

“Rich needs one of your CDs,” Bob answered. “I thought there might be one in here.” Imagine that, Bob Dylan acting as my personal record store clerk. Unhappily, he didn’t have any luck and I woke up still CD-less. However, thanks to Bob, I did have enough books to last me for months, as long as I was sleeping when I wanted to read them. 

If that dream wasn’t preposterous enough, a month or so later I had another in which I was covering a presidential debate. For whatever reason, the debate was held at the Onsted High School gymnasium and the  fact that I graduated from Onsted got me the nod as the token local journalist. At least they wouldn’t have to give me directions to the debate site.

Being the local guy got me some attention from the national media. They seemed amused by my comment that security was almost as tight as the last time I went to a Tony Stewart press conference.

 President Obama was off limits, but I was invited to speak to a third party candidate participating in the debate. One of his entourage was 1980s actress Ally Sheedy of “Breakfast Club” fame. She acted a bit annoyed when I asked her where Judd Nelson was, but later gave me a hug when I told her candidate that if he was elected, she’d make a good FBI director. 

I was expecting the President to arrive in a limo, but since anything can happen in Dreamland, he took an American Airlines commercial flight to Onsted, whereupon a magician of a pilot managed to safely land on a nearby private airstrip, then taxi down Onsted Highway to the school. It was fun looking out the gym doors and seeing a jumbo jet in the parking lot. Say what you will about Obama, the man can make an entrance. After that, I woke up.

Those are the latest great adventures from my nocturnal mind.  Think about it for a minute...Books from Bob Dylan? A hug from Ally Sheedy? What’s next? And why would I ever want to wake up?

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