Lugubrious

 

That's not the subject of my dream, but it's just a word that I kept repeating to myself all throughout my dream, like a mantra. 

The dream mainly focused on the resurrection of Malicious Mischief, a band that I was in in the '80s. We hadn't played for a while, but we'd found some nasty old warehouse space in which to play, and Jeff Gross was hyping up a party where we were to be the entertainment. 

The lineup was all different, but I was still playing guitar. From what I could piece together, Hank Ramos from Hondo Die Supply, a place where I worked in the '80s, was playing bass. He still had his metal band hair and spunky, spark plug demeanor. 

Jerry Seinfeld was the main frontman, but he was actually more concerned with organizing all of our equipment, which consisted mainly of brick and board shelves, containing reel to reel tapes and cassettes, stacked like dominoes in a floor to ceiling Jenga configuration. 

True to form, I knocked the entire thing over by pulling out a single cassette. This caused Jerry to get very perturbed, and I feared I would be kicked out over it. Freddy Mercury was rumored to be ready to stand in for Jerry, should he decide he'd had enough. 

I busied myself with practicing, since we'd not had a formal practice in a year. When I mentioned this, it went unnoticed by the promoters, or promoter, Jeff, who was hell-bent on getting the party started. 

I primped in the mirror and noticed I had a (mostly) full head of brown hair, slicked back from a widow's peak, and covering a substantial bald spot. From one angle it looked like a mob boss, but if the wind blew, the jig was up, and I'd be sporting nothing more than a poorly concealed combover. I applied hair product and hoped for the best. 

Not much ever really happened, aside from a lot of preparation and gathering up of the cassettes and shelving which I had knocked over. That and my constant repetition of the word "lugubrious," which I woke up still repeating in my mind.