I had a dream the other night that me, Woody Allen, and Laura were all sitting around a big oak table in the middle of a sparkling white kitchen. We were having a conversation, I don't remember what, but it became clear that this was Woody's beach house and we were staying there a while. We all went to sleep. In the morning Laura and I went out through the kitchen around the side of the building, along a boardwalk which stretched to the beach outside. It was just dawn. My wife was carrying a volleyball, a tennis ball, and a golf ball. When we got to the beach next to the house, we began throwing the balls back and forth, but they all accidentally fell under the house, through those rectangular vent-holes, you know what I'm talking about? My wife tried to get them out with a stick, but that project failed. In the end I tried shoving my arm through the hole and reaching for the balls. I got my shoulder stuck for a minute or two, and at that point Woody Allen joined us. He made the observation that I was stuck in the vent, and the two of them yanked me out of my fix. Then we all stood around in a circle and tossed the volleyball around.