Last night, I dreamed that Billy Connolly was a spokesman for Verizon, and he was out giving cellphones to special people.  The one he gave me was soft matte black, and opened three ways. Very fancy. It also turned out to open into three layers. One layer was a QWERTY keypad, one was a video pad, and the other did fascinating dream stuff that I no longer remember since I lost the original draft of this post.

People who know me well know that I have the capacity to enjoy some pop music from time to time. I like to think that I’m fairly discriminating in that pursuit, since I despise Fergie, and I don’t like ballads. I attribute this propensity to the part of my brain that likes Hello Kitty. The pink part. The little, hidden, secret part.

I have gotten completely hooked on the new Miley Cyrus song, "See You Again." (My husband calls her Biley Virus.) I’ve even managed to work my own name into the song where she mentions hers. Because it’s a raucous sing-along in the car, let me tell you.

Last night, we went to one of those book/music/video stores. I was headed toward a table of new books when my friend said, "Hey, you want your picture taken with Miley? For the internet?

I considered it.