I had a dream in which I was peeling off my skin to reveal a new me undereneath. Nothing quite as gory as the scene from Poltergeist, or other X-files inspired bloody moltings. It's a dream that begs for more than the simple interpretation of such things, but I woke up with no intuition about it at all. Maybe I just want to lose my biking tanlines.
The other dream, a strange one in which I have to go rent a super compact white car to drive George Bush across a bridge that will be going up. At the same time, I have to study hard for a class whose final is tomorrow and I haven't been to a class all quarter. I always have that dream. Why?
The Bears have nine lives. They are an embodiment of NFL parity. They really aren't that good, yet they have the best record in the NFL. They have no pass rush unless they blitz. James Allen is immensely frustrating to watch. He is a shifty when he should be plowing forward. The only running back who is fun to watch who jukes around like that is Barry Sanders. The Bears need the A-Train back in a big way.