“Can you be ready by sentence:30?”

“Can you be ready by 6:30? Or can you be ready by sentence:30?”

What the hell does this mean? Dream sense held over into the real world as I woke up today. I dreamt about a diva who was asked at the last minute to sing the national anthem at some kind of sporting event in India. The stands were a sea of peach-to-orange colored sarees. And the producer of the event, told at the last minute he doesn’t have someone to sing the national anthem, turns to whoever this diva is and asks her:

“Can you be ready by 6:30? Or can you be ready by sentence:30?”

Can you parse this for me? The sense I got was “Can you be ready by a specific time or can you be tapped on the shoulder at the last second and be ready?” It would seem that “sentence:30” in this context means “Can you be ready at a moment’s notice?” Instead of having to plan for a specific time, can you start on a dime? Do you need a lot of prep time, or can you go 0 – 60 instantaneously? Do you need to warm up or are you already warm?

Are you ready RIGHT NOW?

I’m never ready “right now.” I always need to sneak up on ready. Spontaneity is not my strong suit. Case in point: a job recruiter leaves a voicemail. Do I call back right after I get the voicemail? Nope. Invariably, I wait an hour to calm myself down before I’m ready to call. I’ll never be “sentence:30” ready. Whatever the hell that means.

Perhaps it can be parsed to mean, “Can you be ready by the time I reach the end of this sentence, plus 30 seconds?” That almost, but not quite, makes sense.

Dream sense, that is. So where was I, who was I, in this dream? I think I was the producer, the person in charge, coordinating the event, challenging the diva to step up to the challenge. But part of me is also the diva being challenged, not sure if I can deliver at such short notice. Did I deliver? Did I produce the best event possible? I have no idea because I woke up just as I was asking, “Can you be ready by sentence:30?” I’m not even sure if the national anthem that needed to be sung was our national anthem or the Indian national anthem. Don’t you hate that about dreams? They always seem to end by the time they get interesting.

Please don’t ask how India or peach-colored sarees got into the dream. I have no frickin’ clue.

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About Bruce Diamond

Despicably proud old man. Text-extruding asshole (thank you, John Scalzi) with a skewed vision on life, pop culture, writing and general assholiness. Not a scholar, not a gentleman, not Martin or Lewis. But still trying to make life fun and funny.
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