I woke up the other day, all sweaty and tense, with a lovely fresh headache that tasted like almonds. It had nothing to do with these almonds, however.
It was because I had a very disturbing dream, and sometimes disturbing dreams wake me up with a headache that tastes like almonds. Or metal.
It seems I was a staff member of Sting's entourage. In fact, I was the follow spot operator for Sting. For all his appearances, whether musical or not, I was the spot light guy. My job was to make sure he is properly lighted (as opposed to "lit") where ever he goes.
On the occasion in question, he was doing an afternoon humanitarian appearance, followed by a concert. (and yes, the dream had music, AND color.)
I had the same assignment for both events: follow the man with the spot light.
Problem was, I was never able to get the aperture on the light open enough to provide more than a 12 inch circle of hard light, hard focused edges. And in addition, I was always about two steps behind, and I was continually lighting a one-foot circle on his CHEST, people.
No matter what I did, I was hitting his chest with a one foot circle of light. He kept looking down at his chest, then at me, with this hurt, disgusted look in his eyes. (which were in SHADOWS)
It tasted like almonds.