I dreamed early this morning that I had tickets to a one-off Elliott Smith "reunion" concert, which is unlikely given that he died nearly 10 years ago.
He opened with "Miss Misery" and had just finished the first line when my alarm went off. Make of the song choice what you'd like.
It's the first time a dead person's visited in a while; it used to happen pretty often.
I don't put a lot of stock in what dreams mean in any Freudian sense, but my visits with the deceased are usually casual and refreshing. Rather than cast a pall over my day, they tend to be harbingers of good fate.
Of course, that's usually with people I've known; this is my first run-in with a dead celebrity.
Eric once came a few inches from rolling a K-car while barreling down a curvy gravel road he wasn't familiar with in the dark. Because rally car. Most of his personal race stories involve embarrassing failure. His on-track driving has been described as "faster than stopped, but far less predictable."