Last night all kinds of odd people entered my dream.

First it was Britney Spears, who I'm apparently quite worried about. She had released a new CD with an elaborate booklet filled with her in vaguely lewd positions--but still without any hair. In the liner notes she referenced Sinead O'Connor, as though another famous baldy justified her own smooth pate. Critics were generally horrified.

Then I dreamt that an Oberlin name came to me suddenly: Zev Berman. I didn't know him very well at school, but in my dream I decided to Google him. I quickly found an obituary for him. He'd died in 1995, just five years after graduation. In the dream he was photographed leaning against a wall, wearing a grayish shirt.

Then I ran into Peter Skarsgaard in a phone booth. He was shooting up, and looked really strung out. I said, "You're so talented and smart. You're ruining yourself with drugs." He looked up at me sheepishly as blood ran down his arm.

Okay, so I woke up and was like, Zev Berman? How random. I haven't thought about him since Oberlin, and at Oberlin I didn't think about him much. I Googled him and have discovered that he's now a film director, which is cool. I went to imdb and found him, and the photo of him looked EXACTLY like the one in my dream. (Only Steve Volk, PW senior staff writer, will believe that. But it's true.)

As for Peter Sarsgaard, I've always had a crush on him. He's one of those actors I'm sure would fall for me if we met. I also feel that way about Mark Ruffalo. (Yes, his wife is a gorgeous blond amazon named Sunshine. But ... we're very alike in other ways. Probably.)