dream last night:
i was walking around bay ridge, brooklyn in the rain and i fell on my butt in a puddle. a cute thirtysomething couple helped me up -- she looked like jane adams, he had a generically handsome tall/slim/brunette preppy look, like a scruffier, less square-jawed kyle maclachlan. we became quick pals and they invited me back to the workplace of some friends to have lunch and dry off.
the workplace was something called "caesar's palace" (not the casino, and NOT the palace) -- a decrepit, lopsided building that had become notorious a decade back for being the focus of a class-action lawsuit involving the sale of "luxury condos" (gack) in commercials that promoted several mistruths/half-truths and neglected to mention all the restrictions and strings attached. yet still caesar's palace stood, hidden away in the middle of a working-class shopping thoroughfare. i was served greasy chicken from the office kitchen and we sat around talking for a while.
eventually i left, but we agreed to meet up at a party a little later in the day. the party was also in brooklyn, at the four-bedroom apartment of some loser hipsters i didn't know that well. but some of my friends were coming, so i agreed to come.
the party was ok. the thirtysomethings looked like they were having fun for the first couple hours, but they spent the rest of the night slumped down on a couch, looking bored and trying not to show it. my friends and i were being giggly kids, comparing pieces of tacky costume jewelry we'd bought and rifling through the hosts' possessions. i felt neglectful of the thirtysomethings though, so i asked them if they knew of any good gigs happening in town. i dutifully pored through a couple of show listings, came up empty, and went back to my friends.
for some reason (dreams don't make sense, do they?) every book i'd ever owned suddenly appeared in the apartment, scattered around bookshelves and on the floor. it was my responsibility to get them home, although i only had a backpack and a couple of cardboard boxes. i did the best i could; friends helped out too. the books included biographies of erstwhile quasi-celebrities, individual sheet music for long-forgotten chart-country songs, cookbooks and instructional books and photo books and corny religious books, all from the '70s and '80s and all pretty much inessential to any library. even i didn't want 'em. but i had to take them home, and i managed to get several of them into the boxes.
karen o was at the party. she needed to find her shoes, which were apparently under the big pile of books. i fished around and came up with a pair of boots... the wrong ones. we never did find her shoes. she was way pissed at me.