Last night, I had a dream that my Dad and I were having lunch and he said he was so proud of me for everything I accomplished at an age I have yet to reached. When I told him I am just under a year from that age, he said, “I know, I’m telling you that the fastest-moving three weeks yet will be that year so you have to be ready.” Then, our outfits kept changing– we were originally in suits, then we were all hippie’d up with dreadlocks and such, then, we were in this very French les apaches sort of vintagey threads, then we were in combat fatigues, then this sort of 18th century gaudy get-up.

Um, oooookay. Whatevs. I welcome any interpretations of that one.

So, in other news, I have this really bonkers idea, with a very cool end result, so if I come up to any of youse and do one of those hold-the-camera-at-arm’s-length-and-press-our-heads-together sort of photos, and I happen to have a salt shaker in my hand, just go along with it. It’s best not to ask, but just to know that the end result will be cool. Truuuuuuust me.

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