"I am a human and you are a machine."

"How can I communicate
exactly what I mean?"

Things I saw in a dream at approximately six o'clock this morning:

My dad's house, with special guests.

The television is on. A music video is playing; it features John Hodgman singing some sort of indie-ish folk rock. Justin Long is sitting on one of the counters in the kitchen -- the one where my dad and stepmother usually keep their microwave oven -- and the small space has forced him to fold up a little, with his back against the wall and his knees pressed to his chest. He looks a bit forlorn, or bored, with his head resting against the Milk Calendar. I turn to him and laugh.

"Isn't it funny how we don't even use this guy's name anymore? We just call him 'PC'!" Justin doesn't respond.

"They call YOU 'The Mac Guy'!" I tell him. No reaction. I'm not sure why I expect anything other than annoyance, though even that feeling doesn't seem to register on his face.

Justin Long is ignoring me. I am slightly disappointed as I am somewhat fond of him, as I have a soft spot for anyone who was involved with Galaxy Quest. I open my mouth to mention Live Free or Die Hard but am perplexed about phrasing, so I close my mouth without saying a word.

TRACK LISTING: Schoolhouse Rock (Jaime Aff & Bob Kaliban), "Software"