And what the hell was THAT all about?

    Generally, I don't much worry about insane dreams. Most times I regard them as a signal to wake up (i.e., "you need to go to the bathroom, stupid"). But this one was fairly baroque.
    Since the advent of the all-night mockingbird in my yard (which I guess makes him a nightinggale), I have to listen to sports-talk radio all night to be able to sleep. So the first odd thing about the dream is that it had nothing to do with sports. I'd expect to dream about March Madness or the NFL lockout or something like that. Instead it was a different kind of March Madness.
    Paul and I were in a Viennese-themed restaurant somewhere else in Europe, or anyway somewhere where English wasn't necessarily spoken. And Paul didn't get something he ordered, or was bitterly disappointed by something he ordered, and wanted it taken it off the bill. And somehow it fell to me to try to convey this to the not-necessarily-English-speaking waitress, as he had gone catatonic for some reason. And what was funny about it was that when I woke up I was actually mad at Paul! Had it not been 3:30 in the morning I probably would have phoned and blessed him out. So I asked the mockingbird to go do it instead.