The contest took the form of a performance, in which Frank Zappa wandered through the immense, cluttered room, turning his attention on each "instrument" in term and incorporating each into one long and bizarre piece of "music." Many were rudimentary units combining elements of keyboards, drum machines, and further out synthesizers, with endearingly complex arrays of buttons, knobs and keys. Some were fancifully colored and more oddly shaped, often more aesthetic visually than they are sonically. Hung from a series of hooks on the back wall, and set atop a tall red piece of furniture there, was a collection of odd-looking tangles of thick wire, which Zappa turned to excitedly and began revolving in his hands. It turned out that these were sort of mangled theremins, in different configurations. It was hard to coax much sound from them, but when he did it was pleasingly unexpected. Also in this group, implicitly associated with the others without much rational continuity, were a few other non-musical looking pieces, one bright pink, and one, I remember particularly, shaped like a pelican. These, as it happened, made some sort of noise as well.

To make a long and poorly-remembered dream retelling short, this last group (not the last to be played, though) earned the top prize in this competition (the rules of the contest weren't quite clear, but there must have been some requirement of electronic involvement and a spending limit for materials.) And it turned out to be the handiwork of Liz Fitch (I've decided that must be her last name), in whose otherwise deserted house I was staying at, and on whose TV I was watching the contest (if I wasn't in the room myself.) I left her an excited note congratulating her and utterly surprised by the fact that she partook in the wide world of amateur-electronic-instrument competitions. Looking around the house, I noticed many other odd instruments, pelicans, and the like. Hm. There was more to the dream too, but I can't remember it now. I started reading a book of Matthew Arnold poems after I woke up.

Wow, I had no idea that's what "hirsute" means.

I've got a doctorate
in cold rockin' it