Friday, December 08, 2006

Dreaming Of Me ...

Some people insist they don't dream.

I don't believe them. I think that your brain's gotta be doin' something for those hours that you're not playing video games or watching porn. (Not that that's what I do during my waking hours. I don't own a video game. Badump bump!)

But I dream all the time, and often, I remember them. In great detail.

Take last night's:

L.A. Dave and I were walking around Chicago, though we were in parts of Chicago I've never seen before. So maybe it wasn't really Chicago, but it was meant to be Chicago. In my dream. Oh, just go with me, here.

But L.A. Dave was walking with a cane, which might be a little bit of "House" creeping into my dream, because I am one smitten kitten when it comes to Hugh Laurie, as you know.

We walked up to an outdoor Starbucks and Dave went right to the counter. I tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the line he'd just cut in front of. As if there'd be a Starbucks without a line? I wonder now if the people in the lines at the Starbucks are actors, plants, perpetually standing in line to make the place look busy and drive up the desirablity.

But I digress. Somehow, Dave, who doesn't drink coffee in the waking world, scored a grande mocha, and we stopped by a table (like you would to doctor up your drink and grab a napkin in a real Starbucks) at which point Dave poured out some of his mocha and asked a Starbucks guy to top him off with some regular coffee, which the guy did, since he was holding a carafe of it and pouring coffee for people.

We continued on our way, but now I was drinking the mocha and we walked out of Marshall Field's which looked a lot like museum when we were inside, at which point I stumbled because there were four stairs leading to the sidewalk. I managed, however, to a) not fall, and b) only slightly slosh my mocha. I told Dave it was because as I took the first step onto nothingness, my brain remembered that there were stairs there, so I kind of jumped down the rest of the way.

Yeah, I have no idea what any of it means, either. But wait. It gets weirder.

So we're walking down this lovely tree-lined street. In my dream, it was Chicago Avenue, but that Chicago Avenue doesn't have a park alongside it. So we're walking along and I'm talking about "Kiss of the Spider Woman" (one of my real, favorite movies for William Hurt's performance) and just as I finish my sentence, I see William Hurt, across an intersection, walking toward us, staring right at me.

The three of us converged at the corner.

"Mr. Hurt," I said, as we shook hands. "Thank you."

He gave me a nod and said, "You're welcome," in that sensational voice of his.

And on he went. I continued on with Dave, but then realized I should have told William Hurt about how much I love "Kiss of the Spider Woman," so I handed my mocha to Dave and started to run after him. As I caught up with him, he turned to me. I told him I had something else I meant to tell him, but he was about to get on a bus. Yes, a bus.

So I got on the bus with him, turning over my shoulder to Dave and saying, "I'll find you." We paid our fares and stood on the crowded bus and he looked at me, waiting for what it was I had to say,

And I told him about how much I loved "Kiss of the Spider Woman," and he took my hand and got teary-eyed and said that he'll never shred that film because it helped make him who he is today.

Shred. He used the word shred. Do people shred films? Is film shreddable?

He saw some seats open up, so we took them. It was like a bench seat, black vinyl, facing the back of the bus. And as we're sitting there, Robin Williams sits down on the other side of him.

Yeah, Robin Williams is taking the bus, too. (It's like "Moscow on the Hudson," but not.)

And I say, "Oh, my GOD. The TWO of you should make a movie together. All of my favorite actors should make a movie together."

At which point, William Hurt stands up and bumps into a man with salt-and-pepper hair, who says, as if trying to be clever, "Are you bumpin' into me?" a la Travis Bickle from "Taxi Driver."

Robin Williams and I look at each other.

And I say, "That guy's no DeNiro."

Seriously, let's slap some electrodes to my head and record this stuff!


Blogger Jeff Hunter said...

fingers crossed you weren't downtown yesterday...

5:32 AM  
Blogger Beth said...

No, I'm fine. But thanks, Jeff. That's sweet of you.

7:34 AM  
Blogger Dave said...

You're right. I hate coffee. I did, though, briefly walk with a cane during my recovery from my transplant, and before that, after a couple of my ingrown toenail surgeries when I was in high school. Yeah, I know, gross.

Verification word: gxoyl (the sound of the empty stomach of a rabid badger)

10:13 AM  

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