Okay, here's the latest from the dream files. In the dream, I'm living in a tiny little house, diagonally across the street from the house in which I grew up in Beverly Farms, Massachusetts. One day, John Amorosi arrives on my doorstep, sporting long, stringy hair (in real life, Amo did start wearing his hair a little longer once he made partner - you know, that look that says, "Yes, I might look like the next guy in a business suit at first, but you can tell from my longish locks that I am powerful enough to do as I please!"). He urgently instructs me to grab my stuff, as we're needed for an important secret mission.
I grab my duffel bag, like the one Jack Bauer always seemed to have with him this past season on 24, and we're out the door. We regroup at a top-secret staging area next to a streambed across the street from my childhood house. It's sort of like the place where James Bond receives the latest gadgets from Q in the Bond movies.
Q and James Bond
We are directed into a little office down the block, where it becomes clear that our mission will be to track down Edgar Stiles, who has been kidnapped (for you non-24-watching types, Edgar is the brilliant, portly, computer genius underling of Chloe O'Brien at CTU headquarters - he ran into some serious difficulty, to say the least, last season).
Edgar Stiles of CTU
Amo and I rifle through a rack of Toronto Blue Jays uniforms, which for some reason are a critical part of our tactical strategy. These uniforms, by the way, are indeed the uniforms for the baseball team, although they are actually basketball uniforms.
I find one with built-in kevlar armor that fits well, and I'm told that this particular uniform belongs to Keenan Ivory Wayans.
Keenan Ivory Wayans
Amo and I set off, running down Oak Street, following Edgar's trail using handheld GPS tracking devices. We take a left onto Hale Street and close in on our target. In an alleyway behind a large house we arrive at the blipping dot representing Edgar, but it turns out to be a cat. False alarm.
So, we head out again, and when we pass Kirsten Ames' house (a girl I went to school with from first grade through ninth grade, and haven't seen since about 1985), Amo tells me to hold up for a moment. He reaches behind a concealed area in Kirsten's driveway and retrieves two large cheesesteak subs that he had been hiding there for a rainy day!
A Philly Cheesesteak Sub
Well done, Amo! As usual, fade to black . . .
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