As a child of about eight or nine, my brother was a member of the Afghan Olympic Archery team.
No, not really. But this was an key component of last night’s dream.
(Incredibly) sadly, the rest of the details are fuzzy at best. I can normally recall the sequence of events in vivid detail, but a dose of diphenhydramine citrate before bedtime seems to have muddled the specifics. I mean, Brother and I were part of some sort of Olympic planning committee,* and I think the Olympics in question were being held in some sort of college student union building, and Dave Franco and I agreed there was nothing good to eat in the cafeteria, and one of my coworkers was hanging out on the stairs of the union doing crossword puzzles and completely ignoring me which made me very sad, but the rest? No clue.
* His former Olympic-athlete life being the “in” we needed for the committee, of course.
the sloppy copy 