Written Pyramids

Last night, I dreamt that I was interviewing Carl Bernstein. It wasn't for a particular story -- it seemed that I was preparing for a Watergate-like story of my own, and I wanted some tips. So we walked around my alma mater, and I was asking him questions, and he was answering, as one who is being interviewed is wont to do. But we needed a place to sit, so we walked into the offices of my college newspaper, where, of course we ran into a million people I know, and I kept saying "so and so, this is Carl Bernstein, Carl, this is so and so" and so and so would look agog or would say something like "oh, hi. I was her editor." (Somehow, no one felt the need to say "oh hi, she was my editor").

Bernstein, as I introduced him as often as not, was getting annoyed that our interview was getting interrupted, and to give the dreamed up Berstein some credit, I seemed to be going out of my way to introduce everyone to him, as in yelling down the halls "Hey! look! It's Berstein!" kind of out of the way. So I took him into the office where I was annoyed to see a meeting of a ton of people who would never actually be in a meeting together. We finally found a place and the interview progressed (at this point, I actually took out my voice recorder and notebook) until he said he had to go. So we walked and had this conversation:

Me: "So, in Ben Bradlee's autobiography he writes..."

Him: "Wow you came prepared"

Me: (showing off and feeling guilty I had not read Bernstein's autobiography which I am pretty sure does not exist) "Actually, Katherine Graham mentions this in her autobiography as well, though it is more focused on in Bradlee's. Bradlee writes that the Janet Cooke fiasco was attributed by some to Watergate -- that all young reporters wanted a Watergate of their own, and that Cooke tried to do that with Jimmy's World. Do you think that that is true?" (Bonus: Here are the articles that followed Jimmy's World).

At this point, I think we reached the subway where he was surrounded by interested people, and I started peppering him with great questions to which he gave great answers that I had to remember because I somehow no longer had a pen, paper, or recorder.

That's all of the dream I remember, but the dorkiness did not subside there. I woke up wondering why I chose to interview Bernstein instead of his more succesful counterpart Bob Woodward. Then, still in bed I had a momentary mind-blank and could not remember Bernstein's first name, so I reached for Bradlee's book, which was accesbile without having to get out of bed. I then remembered, felt like an idiot, and tried to remember if there was a good reason I had read All the President's Men but not The Final Days.

All this before wiping the sleep crust out of my eyes.

I need a more exciting life.

If this wasn't so ridiculous, it would be embarrassing.