More Gyrating Geriatrics

Last night I was chatting with a friend at his apartment when out of the corner of my eye I saw something that instantly distracted me from our conversation. I walked to the window to get a closer look. Sure enough, in the apartment building across the street there was an old man dancing and singing, in a rather animated fashion. He was waving and jumping, twisting and shouting. His room appeared to be rather empty, from what I could see, except for the microphone he was holding and the television displaying the lyrics to the song he was singing. Also the room had wallpaper that was memorable: broad, bold vertical stripes in eight-to-a-box crayon colors, with white alternating between. I took it all in, knowing that I may never again have the opportunity to witness such a spectacle. Then, just when I thought the show couldn't get any more interesting, he ripped his shirt off and flamboyantly threw it into his imaginary audience. I was unable to avert my gaze until it occurred to me that I ought to save this moment for progeny, or at least blogeny. I went to get my camera and when I returned, he was closing his curtains. And then I woke up.

Why did I dream of an old man singing karaoke in his apartment? Why in my dream was I such an unashamed voyeur? Why did the wallpaper make such an impression on me? And why, unlike most of my dreams, did everything flow and make sense? Am I that old man? Was it a prophetic vision that will one day be dismissed as mere deja vu, as I am sometimes inclined to think happens? And one more thing: what was he singing?