“Wake up, Harry. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up!”

“Uh…Uh… Where am I?”

“You’re at home, safe in bed. It was only a nightmare.”

“But it seemed so real, Mona.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I was on that game show. You know, the one with Regis?”

“Oh, you mean that one we used to watch?”

“Yeah. And all the questions were about concerts.”

“Were they tough questions, Harry? Give me an example.”

“Lessee… One of the questions was… ‘Where is Melissa Etheridge playing on July 11?'”

“Oh, that’s easy. Kelseyville, California, at the . But everyone knows that.”

“I didn’t say the questions were hard, Mona.”

“True. But if it was a nightmare, when’s the scary part?”

“I’m getting to that. Anyway, I go the distance.”

“You won the million dollars?”

“Well, not quite. After I answered the final question, a no-brainer about the newly downsized Mariah Carey tour, Regis pulls me aside and tells me that the network is all out of cash.”

“No way!”

“Way. And instead of giving me one million dollars, they’re going to give me concert tickets instead.”

“That doesn’t sound too scary. Wait a minute. Which concerts?”

“All the ones we’ve always wanted to see, Mona. Vanna White came out with a gigantic basket filled with tickets for Neil Young, Dixie Chicks and Bruce Cockburn. And she looked just like she did in 1981.”

“But Vanna isn’t on that show.”

“My dream, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Anyway, they’re showering me with tickets. In addition to the ones Vanna brings out, Regis has this big wad of tickets and he’s just slappin’ em down. Ben Harper, Charlie Daniels Band, The Beach Boys and Bonnie Raitt. I’m telling you, Mona, there’s just no stoppin’ him.”

“And you call that a nightmare? Oh, lemme guess. The seats are lousy.”

“Oh, no. All the tickets are for front row, center. You couldn’t ask for better seats.”

“Then what’s so scary about this dream?”

“I’m standing there between Vanna and Regis. Regis is still dishing out the tickets, like ones for Dwight Yoakam, Gipsy Kings and Lynyrd Skynyrd. Meanwhile, Vanna is sticking her tongue in my left ear and whispering that she’d do anything to see Kip Winger play on the tour.”


“It was just a dream, Mona. Just a dream.”

“Well… All right. Get to the scary part.”

“Just then this guy walks out from backstage. I swear, he looked just like Rod Serling.”


“And he says he’s from Ticketmaster.”

“You mean?”

“Uh, uh. He says, that although the tickets are free, I still have to pay the service charges. And that’s when I started… Uh, Mona? Are you all right, Mona? Mona??”