Ineffable

There he was. Robin Zander.

For three years now I’d been trying to get a face-to-face with the lead singer of Cheap Trick. Never did I think it would be so hard. Or so rewarding.

The band itself was never one of my favorites. They kind of drifted in and out of my consciousness over the years. I mean, I was a little lad when Live at Budoken made them millionaires. So, of course I loved “I Want You to Want Me.”

But other than an odd reference in Fast Times at Ridgemont High and the awful ballad from the 80s “The Flame” they had really disappeared. At least as far as I was concerned.

Then, they covered Alex Chilton for “That 70s Show” and reappeared.

For a moment.

But Laura Prepon dyed her hair blonde, and the show jumped the ol’ shark in true Fonzi style.

So, why the hell have I been chasing Robin Zander around the world for the last three years?

I mean, my life was pretty meaningless before. I was a journalist for 16 years. Minus the time I spent in New Orleans and the unemployment period of 2009-10. That’s where I learned the true meaning of barstoolery. Yes, I’d been a frequent visitor to the barstool over the years. And enjoyed most of my times there. Especially those in New Orleans and Arizona.

But that year got me into it as a lifestyle. For good or bad.

Then one night, after toiling at a dying newspaper for 8 hours that day, I up and left. Got in my Hyundai Accent -- the true car of failed testosterone -- to find Robin Zander.

It seemed silly. To quit a paying occupation, which really, that’s all a job is nowadays anyway, to go find the lead singer of a pop rock band. Yet, at that moment, and still today, it makes complete sense.

My entire life, I’ve never been the type of person to remember my dreams. My family told me of times that I woke up in terror, sweating, screaming and all sorts of scary things. But, I never remembered any of it. I do remember faking it a couple of times. Including one night when I tossed myself out of the top bunk on to the floor five feet below.

For attention. Maybe that’s what my parents, strike that, my mom remembers. Me “dreaming” of the count from Seasame Street attacking me. Yep. That’s what I said that night.

Or maybe some other night. I don’t remember. Because I don’t remember my dreams.

Until one night. In it, I was with my ex-girlfriend. She was happy. I was happy. We were happy. So ironic considering where my current is. The past always seems better. Because you remember what you want to remember. You don’t want to include the fights. The yelling. The despair. The desperation. They were all a part of it too. It wasn’t just sitting on a barstool and laughing. It wasn’t all fucking. It wasn’t all cuddling during a cool night.

Nope.

But in this dream, apparently it was. We were happy. We had a kid. Maybe two. I only saw one, but heard two.

I was a happy-go-lucky Ray Romano. She was the same. Isn’t that the way it always is? She was perfect. You needed to change.

We were watching a movie. I don’t know what it was, remember, I don’t remember my dreams, so expecting that level of detail in this is bordering on ridiculous. Just be happy I could make out shapes and emotions. Not to say this was emoticons and Kinks’ music.

I glanced at her. She at me. We kissed. I opened my eyes. Always the stupid thing to do. In the background I saw him. Dressed in blue. Wearing one of those hats. Like a Canadian Mountie. Very out of place.

I closed my eyes. And woke up at the beach. In North Carolina. A lot older.

Wow. That was a dream I’ll never forget. I thought to myself.

Then I had similar dreams the next five nights. All ending with that guy at the end of it. And me waking up wondering how I got so old. So depressed. So…bald.

Going to work the morning of the sixth straight night with the dream, Robin Zander’s voice came on the radio. A rare moment for me, letting the radio take over. I’m a CD guy. All the way. Radio died for me a long, long time ago. About the time print should have, but I clung to it. Like a baby on it’s mommy’s tit.

“The dream police, they live inside of my head.
The dream police, they come to me in my bed.
The dream police, they're coming to arrest me, oh no.

You know that talk is cheap, and those rumors ain't nice.
And when I fall asleep I don't think I'll survive the night, the night.

'Cause they're waiting for me.
They're looking for me.
Every single night they're driving me insane.
Those men inside my brain.

The dream police, they live inside of my head.
(Live inside of my head.)
The dream police, they come to me in my bed.
(Come to me in my bed.)
The dream police, they're coming to arrest me, oh no.

Well, I can't tell lies, 'cause they're listening to me.
And when I fall asleep, bet they're spying on me tonight, tonight.

'Cause they're waiting for me.
They're looking for me.
Every single night they're driving me insane.
Those men inside my brain.

I try to sleep, they're wide awake, they won't let me alone.
They don't get paid or take vacations, or let me alone.
They spy on me, I try to hide, they won't let me alone.
They persecute me, they're the judge and jury all in one.

'Cause they're waiting for me.
They're looking for me.
Ev'ry single night they're driving me insane.
Those men inside my brain.

The dream police police police
The dream police,police police
The dream police,police police

And instead of continuing towards my cubicle, I turn west. I figure Robin Zander is in Los Angeles somewhere. So, that’s where I need to be.

Right now.

And now that I'm standing in front of him, he's only got one word for me.

"Kid, it's ineffable," with a pause. "I just can't talk about it."