Occasionally, we can construct our own spaces. We can actually draft up the life we see ourselves leading. We can conjure up the caviar and the big yard that we're going to eat without emotion and enjoy as if we're entitled to it -- surrounded as we are by great privilege and earned respect. We are able to whisk away all of our blemishes and downfalls with the closing of our eyes. They're suddenly nothing at all. They've been melted down into a soup that can just flow across the floor and down the vents, to wherever the vents head, hopefully out to the curb. There are abilities to re-imagine exactly how we're perceived, how we're accepted. The home that we always wanted can be erected and waiting for us at the end of every long day. The lover that we think we deserve would be there too, ready to head out or stay in for a late, romantic dinner and we dream that this could happen every night. TEAM, a band from Dallas, Texas, makes these fantasy constructs seem plausible. They are places like the bedroom that Brian Wilson and Rivers Cuomo wrote about -- wonderful safe havens from judgment and all others. They are places where everything is tilted toward the ideal -- to some place where we can take deep breaths, where we can feel that we got good color in our cheeks and there's plenty of room to roam.