He's All Over The Lot

There's only one person who writes like this (on the difficulty of writing about dreams):

....at best you can communicate the impression left by a dream, the bizarre discordant fugue whose lurid logic you instinctively grasp at the time and lose as soon as you swing feet to the floor. But sometimes they stay with you all day, and you can feel the dream’s peculiar power for hours. Even so, who cares?

Yep, Lileks. Fun with Gnat today, too.

Okay. It’s Monday night; finished the Strib column and the Newhouse column. And it’s only eleven. Wonderful day, in an ordinary way. Gnat, I have learned with pleasure, has gotten bored with TV. She turns it off after one show in the morning, plays with her computer or gets out the Barbies and creates little stories. (The other day I caught her marrying two Care Bears: “Do you take this husband to be a wife?” ) She went downstairs to the keyboard, got out the sheet music and learned a tune we hadn’t yet attempted. As I may have noted, I gave up on strict lessons, and more or less ignore the week’s assignments if she balks. She’s just a kid. Better she learn the joy of music now than have it driven out with rote drudgery. As a result she wants to do more than the lessons require, and the look on her face when she masters a tune is indescribable – not just the pleasure of accomplishment, but the ventricle-piercing expression of joy for having made me proud. You want to tell the kid that everything makes you proud, but that’s something they’d best not know right now, or they hand you loose playing cards and you have to act like they’ve split the atom.

More on dreams, beer bottle labels, sci-fi, etc., here. Very Lileksian today, which is to say good.