I am with Scott in New York City. We're heading to a special sneak preview of Emeril Lagasse's new restaurant uptown. It's built upon a high-class brew pub concept. As we walk into the restaurant, we're awestruck at the number of taps available. There are tappers lining the entire length of the bar, and each dining table has its own tap, as well. Apparently, the idea is for people to pick a brew while making reservations; they'll be seated at a table with a tap of their beer of choice. We run into Emeril at this private sneak preview, and he tells us that 1500 tap and bottled beers will be served at the place. I am embarrassed because, at some point in the evening, I've dirtied my hands and feet -- in fact, they're almost black in color. This is mortifying, as I've noticed my messy appearance right before meeting the big man himself.

Note: Emeril irritates me in real life, but it would be sweet if he took my restaurant concept and ran with it.

I am at my apartment hanging out with a few people, including Scott, Courtney, and Sarah. We're just sitting around, having a few drinks. I go to the bathroom, and when I return to the living room, there are fifteen or twenty more people standing around. Someone's cranked some crappy rap music up, and I am apparently throwing a party now. I don't know anyone who's raided my apartment, and I am furious.

Vito woke me up, and I fell asleep to have a dream very similar to the first. The only real difference was that party guests knocked at my door. When I answered the door, the fifteen or twenty strangers swarmed in my living room with a keg and started getting ridiculous. I was still very angry during this dream.

I only have two snippets today, one from last night, and one from the night before. I'm not retaining my dreams well lately.

1. I weigh myself on the scale in my apartment, and I'm only registering at 70 pounds. I wonder how this is possible; I feel thinner, but not anorexic, and I certainly don't look like I'm wasting away. I'm a medical marvel.

2. I meet up with four of my old roommates. Two are a blast to hang out with, and are cracking jokes just like the old days in Witte. The other two have developed serious drinking problems. The way they're throwing drinks back, they'll be on the market for new livers in five years. It's bizarre to see the juxtaposition of these two groups of my old roommates: one group fine and the other sliding toward rehab.