Drum Corps Dreams

I periodically have drum corps dreams. Apparently this a sort of shared experience as many other drum corps graduates have 'em too and, interestingly enough, their accounts are all pretty similar to mine. The dreams pretty much came to a halt (no pun intended) when I started doing senior corps. This also seems to be a shared experience. Wacky huh? But I had a very bizarre drum corps dream last night and wanted to record it (via my blog) for posterity ... so I'll start at the beginning (which unless you're Quentin Tarentino is the best place to start).

So I'm driving down a wide and sunny boulevard in my flawless butter-yellow 1950s truck (which I don't really have) and I'm driving super fast. I look into my rear view mirror and see I'm involved in a high speed car chase with the cops (I don't know why). I swing around a few corners and lose the police (right, cuz that always happens). I jump out of the truck and pull out my matching flawless butter-yellow 10-speed (which I also don't really have) from the back of the truck, jump on it and take off. I race into an under-privileged (for lack of a nicer word) neighborhood with a lot of really vividly green and expansive grass where I stow the bike in the open garage of someone's duplex and then run to wherever I was headed in the first place (still don't know where that is/was). I find my way back to the garage when I'm done. I head towards the bike and spy the garage's owner just inside the door. He looks me in the eye and closes the garage door with me still outside. I ring the doorbell and when the man answers I throw myself on my knees sobbing and begging for my butter-yellow bike because it's a birthday gift for my son (and I know I'm lying about this in the dream and it's just a ploy to get my bike back). The man only speaks Spanish and keeps shaking his head. His wife and kids are now watching and looking at me like I'm pathetic. I say the words "puerto" and "grande" and "abierto". I don't think those are exactly right but the intent is "open" the "big" "door". While I'm negotiating for my bike I look into the distance over a grassy knoll and see two columns of people -- about 20 in all -- spinning rifles -- some of the rifles are striped. I meander (all the hurry is gone) over to the rifle lines and then notice the two columns of flags standing with them. The flag lines are in full uniform --really similar to the 1972 Kingsmen uniforms only with longer skirts and the tops are dark seafoam green instead of blue. All of them are females, all are well over 6' tall and thin and all of them have faces identical to the faces of the Wicked Witch of the West's castle guards. Their highly polished antique gold flag poles are really tall with ornate finials and the silks are olive drab and super heavy -- like drapery silk. Their equipment work is really old school angles and planes but off center and awkward. I spin with them for awhile, learn their work and I do fine. Like I've always known the work. We have a "break", they all circle tightly around me. They're so tall they have to bend at the waist to get low enough to talk to me. I'm intimidated and yet I feel protected ... like they're friendly bears or something ... and we talk for awhile. Then they offer me a job as their tech and the dream ends. Just like that.

WTF?

The colors are specific and really rich in the dream. I need an interpreter.

Anyhoo, back to your regularly scheduled chaos.

Peace.