I had a pretty good night of sleep. I had a long dream about preparing for a Kurt Weill festival. It seemed to be taking place in Manhattan, Berlin, and London. I was preparing food, and there wasa performance space with a band of piano, bass, drums, violin, clarinet, trumpet, and trombone. Someone asked about inviting Donald Trump and I refused, saying he represented everything that sent Weill to London and then the US in 1932.