Put in all together

I can't imagine anything more boring then listening to other people's dreams, unless of course if they are of a prurient nature. BTW, isn't it interesting that a word like prurient -- which I suspect will send some to the Google dictionary -- is used to describe such base instincts?

Nevertheless, given the surreal vector my life has been on as of late, I thought I'd share. Mostly because unlike other dreams, the imagery in this one was so vivid and dare I say, memorable. In fact, Vladimir Putin makes a rare cameo appearance. 

Did you have a dream with Vladimir Putin? More on that later.

The dream begins with a contest, an advertising contest. OK, that's not fair. I never really know when one dream ends and another begins. These things are, by nature, a bit cloudy and don't move in a linear fashion. But I was in a contest. A Round Robin contest to come up with the best Super Bowl commercial for some unnamed car company.

Last week I was involved in a similar Round Robin contest of ideas at work, so very little is needed in the way of analysis there.

The contest stipulated that the spot must be taken in one of two directions. It must be humorous. Or it must be about safety. Being contrarian by nature, I decided to write a Super Bowl commercial that was both. 

Do I remember the spot? I do not. And even if I did I wouldn't post the details. I get a healthy day rate for that kind of stuff. 

But, in un-Siegel-like fashion, I won the contest. 

Moreover there was a young woman, who I cannot identify, who I helped, and she won second place. I know this because in the dream there was a celebration dinner and she was sitting next to me and let me know how appreciative she was. This might merit some analysis, but this is a family blog. Plus, I don't think it's necessary.

This celebration party was attended by about 300 people. Among the guests were Xi Jinping, the Prime Minister, or President, or Dick in Charge, of China. He strolled by my table and darted me a long dark stare that reminded me of the times my former partner, also Chinese, at BBDO would silently express his disapproval of my childish hotheaded antics.

Also at the party was Mr. Putin. He too, was not happy that he lost this prestigious and totally fabricated contest to yours truly. And here's where it gets even more interesting, or at least a little bit interesting. 

Putin was smoking two cigarettes in his hand. 

I can't imagine any of my old black belt instructors from the Karate dojo smoking a cigarette. Much less two. Maybe Micheal or Noble, who occasionally read this blog, can confirm this. Though I do recall many of them savoring the opportunity to kick my ass on Sparring Wednesday Nights. I literally paid them good US legal tender to beat me up.

Even more disturbing, Mr. Putin, the former KGB chief who owned our former president, was wearing a humongous foam cowboy hat not dissimilar to the one pictured above. The hat made his tiny Russian head seem even tinier. But did little to diminish his displeasure at not winning the Super Bowl writing contest.

What does it all mean? Who knows?

But I defy you to walk around today and NOT picture Vladimir Putin, smoking two cigarettes, mumbling to himself, while donning a giant red foam cowboy hat.

Good luck.