I was sitting near the back of the packed auditorium, when a young man in an aisle seat just a few rows in front of me was handed a guitar. He stood up and started to sing and play this song:
Work away today, work away tomorrow.
Never comes the day for my love and me.
I feel her gently sighing as the evening slips away.
If only you knew what’s inside of me now
You wouldn’t want to know me somehow,
But you will love me tonight,
We alone will be alright,
In the end.
Give just a little bit more
Take a little bit less
From each other tonight
Admit what you’re feeling
And see what’s in front of you,
It’s never out of your sight.
You know it’s true,
We all know that it’s true.
He was one of The Moody Blues — I couldn’t recall his name but his voice was as beautiful and stirring as ever. During the chorus, the audience (and I) swayed in our seats to its distinctive joyous canter — the feeling was magic and mesmerizing.
When the song ended, the singer walked back to me and said that I was sitting in his seat! I was surprised, but I thought quickly, and told him he could have his seat back if he sang another song. He said all right, and he turned back to the audience and began playing and singing again.
It was soon evident that the second song didn’t have the same magic as the first, and the thought entered my mind that maybe I should have given him back his seat.
• • • •
That’s when I woke up. It was about 2:30 am. I felt wonderful, and I immediately wanted to hear the song again, conscious this time. This is the first link I saw when I opened my laptop and searched for moody blues you know it’s true… (I’ll wait while you watch.)
I had never seen The Moody Blues in concert (or in videos for that matter), but this October 2008 performance of Never Comes the Day, by Justin Hayward at the Royal Albert Hall in London, was incredibly similar in sight, sound and feel to what I had just “witnessed” in my dream.
So now I have two questions. First, why did my brain play that song last night? I bet I haven’t heard the song in 10 years, if not 20, and it has been many months since I recall thinking anything at all about The Moody Blues.
That said, I did hear Lucky Man by Emerson, Lake and Palmer (1970) in a sports bar on Monday, and then Conquistador by Procol Harum (1972) in a waiting room on Tuesday. Maybe these songs served as synaptic triggers for Never Comes the Day (1969).
But my second and more pressing question is — why can’t all dreams be like this?





Your next Supreme Court Justice
Mr. President, I just heard there is an opening on the U.S. Supreme Court. I have a great idea. Why not save yourself a lot of trouble and just nominate me? I would be an excellent pick, for a variety of reasons:
• First, I look good in black.
• I have a lot of opinions. That’s important.
• I have no record of legal decisions that can be used against me in a confirmation fight.
• That speeding ticket I got on the Washington, D.C. beltway? Come on, that was almost twenty years ago. But it gave me a personal, lasting sensitivity to injustice in America.
• I would give the court some much-needed diversity: the atheist viewpoint.
• I don’t like large groups. Dealing with eight other people would be about right for me.
• I learned from watching Judge Judy that if it doesn’t make sense, it probably isn’t true.
• I once read a book on the Federalist Papers, and another one about the Constitution, and I thought they were interesting. So I don’t think I would fall asleep at the bench, much.
• I could be friends with Ruth Bader Ginsburg too, if she doesn’t ask me to go to the opera.
• Making $240,000 a year for the rest of my life, with July, August and September off, sounds good to me.
• Most importantly, I know how the Court works. My clerks will do the grunt work. I will just say to them, this is what I think, now go find me some legal rationale for it.
Mr. President, I await your — and our nation’s — call. But please, call before happy hour.