I've been dreaming a lot lately about my old home in Rhode Island and my parents. Last night I dreamed that Manhattan had turned into one big beach. Each of the streets and avenues was still there but where the actual blocks were was now sand and sparkling dark water - in fact, it looked remarkably like several beaches (the old Matunuck, Scarborough and Sandhill Cove, in particular) I'd frequented as a small child.

It was hot and the sun was bright. Apparently, there was some sort of school kite contest going on, and my friend Farin (who, when I'm awake, is three years younger than me and in yeshiva) and I were being driven around by my dad in his old gold Subaru wagon, looking for our classmates. Finally, we saw them, but we had to park several blocks away under a boardwalk that must have been fifty feet off the ground. I was excited beyond belief.

Then I woke up and realized I hate the beach, it's winter, and there really isn't anywhere to swim just off 42nd Street.