sparky

The Lists We Serve:
Dream Day 1996

by Margie Borschke

For the past couple of years, I've survived on a steady diet of email. Increasingly, that mail is from people I don't know, people who like me have subscribed to electronic mailing lists—discussion groups that arrive by email and whose topics range from dry as dust office communiqués to erudite discussions of pop culture minutiae.

But more than the information, I like the distraction. It's the personal details that I glean from each post that keep me subscribed. Unlike some of my disciplinary listmates, I don't mind if people veer off topic, especially if I get some personal dirt in the process. Go ahead, color me voyeuristic.

Occasionally everything aligns and things are rising and falling in such a way that these strangers not only divulge their personalities and lives, they let loose their subconscious. This year, that day was a Thursday in April—the day 4 strangers sent me their dreams.

Now, receiving a description of a dream from someone who answers to "Dreamboy" isn't particularly peculiar. My monthly installment of Christopher Romano's "Dreamboy," an ezine/mailing list that documents Romano's sleeping hours, didn't exactly bring the phrase "millennial madness" to my lips. But when dreams start to appear on the Sebadoh list (devoted to the band Sebadoh and all its related side projects) you start to reconsider Jungian analysis.

From a fellow Sebadoh List-member in Edmonton, Alberta

>Date: Thu, 18 Apr 1996 01:15:09 -0600 (MDT)
>To: sebadoh <sebadoh-l@world.std.com>
>Subject: Seb sighting in dream
>
>Last night I dreamt that the Velvet Underground played in my old >highschool gymnasium (and I just want to tell you..it was alright).
>Anyway, during one of the breaks I went up to the stage to record the show using a 4-track. Lou Reed then came in and asked me not to record the show. When I looked up at him he turned into Lou Barlow. He was wearing blinding white, high top sneakers with the tongue bulging out as the laces were loose (y'know, the kind that were popular in the 80's); it was pretty funny.

>We chatted for a while and I got to meet the rest of the band and Kathleen. All in all, it was pretty cool, the kind of dream that makes you feel good when you wake up. :)

>C.C.

Dreaming about indie rock gods—this cracks me up. OK, so Kim Gordon, Thurston Moore and that boy from SeeSaw have made cameo appearances in my own dreams—but it's not like I'm sharing that over the Internet! Hey, wait a minute.....

From another Sebadoh fan in Philadelphia, PA:

>Date: Thu, 18 Apr 1996 18:55:59 -0400 (EDT)
>To: sebadoh <sebadoh-l@world.std.com>
>Subject: Re: Seb sighting in dream

>Wow! I had a dream including Lou myself, not too long ago...
>I was in the house that I'd lived in 6 years back, before the kitchen was remodeled, and I saw my mom and sister writing a letter to lou and kathleen. I asked them what it was about, but they wouldn't tell me. Then, later on (that day, seemingly), I came down the stairs and lou's lookin' like he did on 120 minutes, and smiling and everything, and I said, "Oh wow, you're here," in a surprised but not overwhelmingly amazed voice, and he was just like, "Yeah, hey, how're ya doin'?" I was still sort of surprised, and then the dream ended. Kinda pointless.
> K.p.
>

But indie rock royalty are not the only dreamworthy subjects—even us mere minions are popping up in the dreams of our listmates.

This from a Montreal, Quebec based member of Sloan Net, a discussion of the East Coast Canadian Music Scene:

>To: margie
>Subject: Re: Re: transcript/ crushed
>Date: 19 Apr 1996 00:23:47 GMT
>
>I know you don't know me from Eve. But I had a dream about your name. You were a very old woman who was sponsoring me or something. You were eating in such a fine place that people would come up in Limo's . And every couple in every limo was kissing. You kept inquiring about the baby. (I don't have one) And I couldn't tell you his name because I couldn't remember it. I was frustrated by this. >
>Any way, Hello!
>
>c.s.

Important to note:

a) I am not horribly, horribly old.

b) That's a hard "g" in Margie—c.s. better have been dreaming the correct pronunciation.

c) I already knew the baby's name. . . I was just trying to aggravate her/him.

Thank you and good night. </end>

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