Man, dreams are fun.   Last night I dreamed we sat at home talking with Ron White and Lewis Black after a comedy show. They both drank. I said to Ron, “I picked the wrong time to give up drinking! I have always wanted to drink scotch with you.”

Then, for some reason, I got up to dry mop the hardwood floor to gather all of the dustbunnies I could see. As I was mopping the comedians and my wife moved to watch TV.  Ron is struggling to get the TV going. I head over to help and discover Christopher Hitchens lying on the floor. Another renowned drinker of Johnny Walker Black Scotch.  Now, I know Christopher is dead, and I say so, To him. I also say “This is a nearly perfect evening. I have also wanted to drink scotch with you and have a conversation.”

Hitchens looks at me with his rakish smirk and says, “Oh yes I can see this would be a good one. But can you do it? I say sir, can you do it?”   He then proceeds to bury me under an avalanche of exquisite verbiage, all designed to let me know that I am out of his league.

But then we talk, and I wake up.  What is the takeaway? That I enjoy comedy?  That I revel in intellectual repartee with the likes of Lewis Black and Christopher Hitchens, or that I really want to drink some scotch?