My psyche throws up some truly odd images. Take the dream I had last night. As it began, I was at work, surreptitiously watching a 14-minute-long video of Paris Hilton confronting the instructor of an American Government class. Even asleep, I felt all the guilt one should feel at enjoying watching a human being in tears yowl, "But I'm smart too!"
Then the dream shifted, and I was in a photocopy room, removing someone else's discarded originals from the copier I wanted to use. The first one I picked up was an 11" x 17" sheet entitled "BETTER STUDY GUIDE," in large letters. I'd just put it aside in favor of a smaller sheet showing a magic-marker rainbow enclosing the words "Contract with America" above a group of dancing stick-figures when Newt Gingrich came storming into the room, muttering under his breath. He grabbed the drawing from my hands, gathered up the rest of the sheets, and stormed right back out.
A minute later, the hapless instructor of the government class came into the photocopy room.
"Have you seen Newt Gingrich?" he asked. "I think I insulted him."