Dressed up like a nurse from the 1940s, trying to set up some mob guys with a bunch of other people in costume. They figure out what we're trying to do and come after us with guns. Somehow now I'm in a futuristic office skyscraper, trying to get access to an elevator, but the identification sensors can tell I don't work in the office and won't let me into the elevators. I look for stairs.
At this point there's something to do with racks of clothes from Macy's and old-timey cars floating in a grimy lake or ocean port or something.
Then I'm ushered into what appears to be my high school's auditorium. The band was sitting outside the doors. I thought to myself, They must be too loud to have directly on stage. I sit in the front row next to a fairly large woman that won't shut up. Eric Whitacre is conducting, and the concert is all his pieces in some odd programmatic combination: there is fake snow falling from the rafters, a bunch of lighting changes, weird images playing on screens on stage. But the whole time I can barely hear any music. The band just outside the doors is too soft and the offstage choir sounds like a whisper. That's when I remembered that I was supposed to be singing in the offstage choir. So I started to sing my part from my seat. Later Eric Whitacre came up to me and said I saved the performance with my singing.Labels: Dreams |
Name: Ruthie