Dreamed last night three Woodstock memories.

     1) By The Time We Got To Woodstock...I'd already embarassed myself. Though a Jew, at 18 I'd no previous contact with the Orthodox so when I collected the two you male black-hatted hitchers I gave no thought to my girlfriend's mesh top. They did, said a quick Shalom and, given the unprecented snarl on the two-lane road into Bethel, they found another slow ride fast.

     2) Once on festival grounds we miraculously got 'space' on the second level of Max Yasgur's barn. So many of my Fellow Aquarians smoked up there  all night Cows Protested Moo-Moo & Pigs Protested Oink-Oink. All night long smoking humans yelled unsuccessfully to terrified animals Shut Up. They didn't.

     3) Next night, amidst dope-induced livestock din, a tall, very thin fella with a dark brown leather businessman's briefcase plopped himself down in the hay in as Buddha-like a pose as a man might, really, really stoned. He unhinged his sample case to reveal what seemed to us thousands of multicolored pills, all sizes, so many shapes, and organised in rows and tiers. In unmistakeable Aussie he said, "From Roo Land, My Man! What can I give you?"

     I asked, "Australia, cool..how'd you get here?"

     "Drove, man."

     "No thanks," I grinned.