The other night I had a dream that bears repeating if only for the ridiculous number of Freudian analytical opportunities. I was living in a neighborhood, in a cul-de-sac (not where I live currently) with a bunch of cookie cutter McMansions (also not where I live currently) trying to help a neighbor (nobody I actually now know) with a hot dog cart business he was trying to set up in a mall. The hot dogs, which were more like those oversized “dinner franks” à la Hebrew National, kept falling out of the buns. Our objective was to figure out how to get the franks to stay in the buns so that they could be sold at the mall. In the midst of this phallic chaos was another neighbor who was rather preachy and overbearing, much like a recent contestant on Survivor, barking orders at the group believing that yelling would most definitely make the errant hot dogs comply. In my effort to subdue the irate neighbor he spat the following at me: “What the *&%^ do you know?! Aren’t you one of those Radical Liberal iPod People?!”
You figure me out.