Cheap Pops in 90s Rock Or, Billy Corgan’s Still A Douche.

A few nights ago, I was jolted out of a deep slumber with a burning question plaguing my thoughts:

“Do you think, when the Smashing Pumpkins perform Tonight, Tonight in San Francisco, they change the lyrics from, “And the embers never fade/In the city by the lake/The place where you were born” to “And the embers never fade/In the city by the bay/The place where you were born”?

That is what snatched me from sleep — not questions about why the U.S. turned a blind eye to torture in Iraq or whether Omar al-Bashir will actually pay for his war crimes or even why DADT hasn’t been repealed yet, but whether Billy Corgan goes for the cheap pop when playing in San Francisco.

Shame tastes like gingerbread cookies.

I Have The Lamest Dreams Ever, Or Any Excuse To Post A Picture of Ron Livingston

As a general rule, my dreams suck.

I’m not talking about in the nightmarish sense that has me being stalked by some child molester with a striped sweater, bad nails and worse skin, but in the sense that while they’re vivid, they’re pretty mundane.

I’m the girl who once dreamed an entire episode of Wings from cold open to closing credits and once, had a dream about making a documentary about Bryan Adams.

So last night, I have this dream about Ron Livingston. For anyone else, something like this would be rated a hard R with serious moments of NC-17 action happening.

For me? Not so much.

Dream Ron Livingston comes to my house (sidebar: My dream house has the most amazingly comfortable couches) and he’s looking around, as people have a tendency to do when they come over to a new house and he points to a framed picture on my bookshelf.

“Who’s this?”
I look at the picture and totally nonchalantly reply, “Oh, that’s my ex and his wife.”
The picture in question?

OK, this isn’t the exact image obviously, but a reasonable enough facsimile thereof.

What the what? When the hell did Augs become my ex and marry Kristen Bell and more importantly, why the hell do I have a framed picture of the happy couple in my home?!

Ron Livingston vanishes and I wake up confused and thoroughly irritated that Augs married someone else without giving me a heads-up.

I swear, I have the lamest dreams ever. Now, for no other reason than you probably Googled his name and are expecting some sort of eye candy — here you go. Any excuse, guys. Any excuse…