THE BEASTIE BOYS ARE FOLLOWING ME...

Over the last two weeks, I've found myself having the most bizarre and unexplainable run-ins with the Beastie Boys. Yep, Brooklyn's finest have been following me. I'm convinced. Weird thing is--it's in my dreams. Now, you'd think a chance run-in with a celebrity or accomplished hip hop act would be a one-time affair, however, I've found that twice over the last week and a half, I've had rather odd, but personable brushes with the Beasties.

There's really no explaining it. Maybe it has something to do with their new release or maybe it's my mind tuning into their music subconciously through the day (it's not rare for me to go into lines of lyrics from the Beasties while their music plays rather quietly in the background) and then manifesting as a dream at night. Anyway. They're not wet, kinky or frightening--just weird and random.

I'm not really one to analyze dreams because, well, I just don't put much value into them. So, I'll recall for you what happened and nothing more. Maybe you all can arrive at some conclusions.

Dream #1:

I'm in a record store. In fact, I was referred to this record store by someone. Not sure who. It's a large, vast floorspace with only a scattering of customers walking around aimlessly. It's quiet. Not very celebrative. I'm thinking, "This is one of those odd indie record stores where everyone acts like their so refined, like their art critics, geniuses." It was like the Twilight Zone. I'm looking for the actual music and a man points me to the back corner of this large room and there's five racks of CDs. I'm thinking to myself, "If they only got five racks of music as a music store, it's gotta be good stuff." I walk up and begin thumbing through and I'm finding nothing special...nothing exclusive. Just the same old crap.

Certainly I was misled here. I mean, this ain't a record store, it's an art gallery. And a really lousy one. Kids are walking around like they're on drugs. The music sucks. The people suck. I'm out of this place. I walk by the counter and I decide to voice my issues to the guy sitting behind the counter. I walk up and launch into a rant when I find the man behind the counter is a moustached Adrock from the Beasties.

He's acting almost medicated. Just standing there looking blankly at me. I exclaim, "You're Adrock!" He nods very subtly. I yell it again, "Dude, you're Adrock!" He looks around and clearly is uneased by my exuberance. I calm down. Collect myself and then go into a much softer assault of appreciation. I go into a scary monologue about the differences between Paul's Boutique and Check Your Head. He very politely interrupts me and says cooly, "But do you have In Sound from the Way Out." I tell him, "Yes, I got it. In fact, I got that on vinyl." He asks strangely if I would like another copy. I decline.

He leans towards me and says, "Look, man, I really need you to buy this record."

Were things that hard for the Beasties these days? I mean, duke's working in a shitty record store shilling their instrumental record and, not only that, it's a compilation. I mean, hard times have fallen on Adrock if it's come down to this. I'm thinking, "What's the harm? It's only fifteen bucks. And it's Adrock." I tell him, "I'll buy it under one condition and that is that you autograph it."

He snags a Sharpie from nearby and scribbles across the front of the CD and I hand over my cash. We exchange a handshake and I bolt. My lovely wife and her brother are waiting out in the parking lot with arms folded. I walk up yelling, "I met Adrock! From the Beasties, Adrock!" My lovely wife gives me a blank, confused glare. "You know, 'What's the time?!' The dude with the real high voice! Adrock! Look, he autographed this CD for me." I reach into my pocket...no CD. Maybe I dropped it. I run back into the record store.

"Hey, maybe I left my CD up here at the counter. It was a Beastie Boys CD. In Sound from the Way Out. That crappy instrumental record. He made me buy it!"

"Uh, no, sir. We haven't seen it."

"It was just like two minutes ago. I paid for it right here. Where is it?"

I get irate. I make a girl cry and run to the back room. I start getting the "someone's drunk in public" stares from everyone. I yell out, "Adrock signed it! He was right here and we were sitting here talking for like five minutes. Adrock from the Beastie Boys!"

This slim kid walks up to me, leans into me and looks me right in the eye and says, "Adrock doesn't work here, dude." Then, this other dude walks up and says, "Not only that, we don't even carry the Beastie Boys, moron."

Trippy. It was like a dream within a dream er something. They didn't even carry the Beastie Boys. Well, I know I met Adrock and that's all that matters. Dude was mad cool, too. To hell with those kids and their stupid indie record store. Their selection sucked.

Dream #2:

I get asked to show up at this barn way out in the middle of nowhere. It was like almost any other "middle of nowhere." Looked a lot like West Texas. No trees, no vegetation, no structures. Just a barn and a nearby smaller barn and house. I show up and there's a fairly large assortment of vehicles outside. I park, walk into the barn and there's about 50 cats in this place. Sorry, not felines, but rather 50 people. All of them unfamiliar. There were older cats, younger heads, black, white, Asian, Mexican, Puerto Rican, dudes, ladies, whatever. It was a really strong cross-section of people. I walk in and I'm standing near the back of the crowd.

About five minutes after arriving, the lights in the place go black. There's a confused murmur amongst the crowd, but then, all of the sudden, three lights illuminate the front wall of the barn. Then, not but a half second later, MCA, Mike D and, my boy, Adrock come running out onto a stage that stood no more than two feet off the ground. Funny thing was, it was like Check Your Head-era. They looked like they were still maybe mid to late-20s. They launch right into "Professor Booty" and I go crazy. I begin to pogo, but I'm launching like eight feet in the air. I bounce all the way to the edge of the stage.

They go right from "Professor Booty" to "Shake Your Rump." I'm rocking the front of the stage, but the 50 people are packed in behind me. I'm watching the Beastie Boys in a barn with 50 people. B'lee dat. It was tight.

After about ten minutes, I see Adrock run off the stage in a panic and then Mike D and MCA follow slapping high fives on the way off stage. What's going on?

I stand there bewildered, but ready for some more action. I look to the people on either side of me and their face also reflects my confusion. Thirty minutes pass--no Beasties. Two hours pass--no Beasties. Did they bolt? What happened?

I walk to the side of the barn and peer out an opening in the wall to see the barn next door ablaze from the ground to the top of the roof.

Damn straight, the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire. I start wondering, "Is this where I leave? Are the Beasties coming back? Am I going to die?" After two and a half hours, a road manager appears at the front of the stage. "I'm sorry, folks. Thanks for coming out, but unfortunately, MCA's daughter has died so the rest of the show is cancelled. Again, thanks for coming out."

And that was it. What the crap?! I don't know. But I know that yesterday, I had the most righteous block of Beasties going on up at work. I was playing it all. It was well deserved for both me and, let's be real, it was well deserved for them. They're constantly being overlooked. Classic records, folks. Go out and find Check Your Head, Paul's Boutique and Ill Communication. That's a cannon you don't wanna play with. Ill stuff.

Go Beasties, go Sox, go Raiders.