"Sleep with one eye open, gripping your pillow tight…"

Saturday morning, approx. 3:30am. I had a dream that officially certified me as both a wine and music geek. As you read this you will either nod your head in sympathy or shake your head in disbelief. Either way, it’s my job to let you delve a little further into the recesses of my warped head. Let me also preempt the details of the dream by saying that I’m a neurotic whack job that has repeated dreams about being late for something or being unable to complete something “in time.” Here we go:

I’m taking a small test for a wine class I’m in, which involves tasting 2 reds and 1 sweet white: #1 is The Prisoner, #2 I can’t recall the name of and #3 is a Trimbach Riesling Spätlese (which I’m nearly positive doesn’t even exist). We must take copious tasting notes on the wines and answer questions about them, which I do with wines #1 and #2, but when I reach for glass #3 I realize that the idiot pourer has left my glass of Spätlese empty. I get up and go over to where the teacher has all 3 bottles of wine propped up so that I can pour some out myself, but when I get there I notice that the wine he has displayed as #2 is completely different from the #2 I tasted. So I say, “Yo, what the fuck happened to #2?” This is not usual classroom-appropriate lingo, but step off—it’s my dream. He proceeds to tell me that #2 got changed at the last minute and my pourer must not have realized it (make mental note to flog pourer). I grab the open bottle of #2 so I can taste the right wine and go to grab #3 as well, but I realize it’s missing. “Who the hell took the Spätlese?” To which the professor answers (lest it be anyone else) “Keith Richards.”

I run off to hunt down Keith and the Spätlese, when I notice an extra unopened bottle of The Prisoner (#1) off to the side so I filch it, tuck it under my arm and continue my mad dash toward the door. But as I do, the open bottle of wine #2 slips out of my hand and falls to the ground. Luckily Michel Rolland is there to retrieve it for me! He hands it to me, I thank him and he mumbles something like, “That wine should have undergone micro-oxygenation” and laughs. I giggle, of course, and think dickhead. I hurry past him, ditch the extra bottle of #1 under my desk, leave #2 on my desk and run out the door.

As I get out into the hallway I spot an old bandmate of mine who just happens to be opening for Keith Richards in one hour, despite the fact that all that kid ever wanted to play was Zeppelin. I say, “Mike, dude, have you seen Keith?” He responds, “Yeah, I saw him headed towards the stage for sound check.” “Did he happen to have a bottle of Trimbach Spätlese Riesling in his hand?” I ask. He nods. Perfect, so long as the bloody bastard hadn’t finished it all…but I knew I was running out of time to finish the test, and I had to retaste #2 as it was! I start freaking out because by now many other students had finished the test and were heading over to the concert.

I head outside and there are rows and rows of bleachers set up for the concert, and they’re already filling with people, making it much harder to maneuver my way down the blasted things, in order to get to the stage. I stumble past people, doing that awkward climb-down-the-metal-bleachers-without-landing-on-someone’s-head thing, and work my way towards the stage in a sure-to-fail panic. The stage lights are already flashing reds, blues and greens—damn that Keith for taking my Spätlese!!! But as I stumble by the front row I notice an empty seat to what is obviously a free concert (obvious to me only, I guess) and ask the woman sitting next to it if it’s taken. “Well, maybe” she says, and proceeds to pick up her cell phone to see if her girlfriend is or isn’t going to make it to the show. Bloody hell, woman! Hurry up with the phone call, I have a wine to find! She’s chatting, I’m sweating. Fuckity fucknuts, what do I do?!? Priorities?!? Test…front-row seat. Test…front-row seat.

BAM! I wake up.

That, friends, is the hell that is my dream life.

Tagged as: wine dreams