I visited my cousin. He decided it was high time I learned how to cook. We settled on chicken hot dogs, because anything else would have been too much commitment for me. Sad, but also hilariously true. We laughed about it a lot.
Even though we were at his place, I ended up departing his house from his car. It was starting to drizzle. I let myself out of the car and busted his chops, saying "If only I could meet a man who would hold the door for me. . . *sigh*"
He replied that if I ever let someone in my heart, they'd be a knight and turn it upside down. (No, I have no idea what that means, either).
I ran home, cutting through sideyards and skipping over puddles. I caught reflections of myself in people's porch glass and back doors. I was beautiful, and it looked nothing like me. I was wearing some kind of elaborate gold dress, straight out of Hollywood. I remember seeing my reflection at one point and thinking, "Well, the plastic surgery paid off."
The main point was not getting wet, so I ran in between the raindrops and around the puddles, in that wonderful way I can only achieve in dreams. I was wearing some fabulous and ridiculous Louboutin style pumps that fit like a dream. And (so unlike my real life) I wasn't heel-heavy at all---I flitted by on the balls of my feet, popping from one slippery patch to the next.
I beelined for the back porch door, and passed my parents who were sitting in a car, in the dark. (No, I don't know why everyone is sitting in cars in this dream). I realized I might be "in trouble" for being out, yet at the same time I couldn't be, because I'm all growed up now.
Back in my bedroom, which was straight out of my great Aunt's lovely and incredible quasi-victorian old house, I divested myself of the fabulous frock and waited for the worst: facing the truth of my reflection. I imagined that now that I was home this sort of glamour would have dissipated, the illusion would have evaporated, and it would be me again.
And it was, but it wasn't. My hair was wild and messy and batshit crazy from the rain. I thought "Why the hell doesn't anybody ever tell me I look like this? I could be institutionalized from my hairdo alone?" (This is something that happens to me in real life, my hair just goes apeshit and I walk around looking like a mental patient and have no idea).
I didn't look perfect, but I looked so much better than I actually do. Thinner, stronger. A body with a hope of betterment.
That was it. A murky reflection in a looking glass.
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In possibly related news, I think I can safely advise that one should not watch One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Silence of the Lambs, American Psycho, Miller's Crossing, and Much Ado About Nothing within the same day.
Miller's Crossing I watched on purpose, since it has been languishing in my Netflix pile for about, oh, I don't know....12 months? DA DA DAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUN!
The rest I came across on television. It must have been Must See TV for the Mentally Deranged night.
Cuckoo I only caught the last hour or two acts of, but mercy. What an awesome film. If you've ever wondered why people make a big a deal about Jack Nicholson, watch this film. There's an extremely brave shot where they just let the camera linger on his face for about three minutes, and you get to see him think. It's fucking great. There is no way he's Acting! in that shot, he's really thinking, and feeling, and remembering.
And maybe I'm still operating under the influence, but did anybody else get a "Catcher in the Rye" vibe from Cuckoo, especially the dialogue? Makes me want to read the book. Was that Kesey? Of Electric Kool Aid fame?
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Are the Oscar's tonight? Is is odd that I'm asking this? I wish Ricky Gervais was hosting. Franco and Hathaway seem nice enough, but the move seems cold and calculated. Though if the fates see fit to transform into looking like anyone else anytime soon, Hathaway would be just dandy, thankyouverymuch. I will also accept transmogrification into: Salma Hayek, Natalie Portman, Iman, Zoe Salramdanahana, Paget Brewster, Madonna (circa "Bad Girl" or "Human Nature"), Sophia Lauren, Lisa Edelstein, Jodie Foster, Audrey Hepburn (wtf, ya know? go big or go home), or Claire Forlani. I'm sure I'm forgetting scores, but just in case the Universe is handing out Freebies today. . .
*************
And so we close, gentle reader(s?), another chapter here at BlatherBlahg. Wherein you have gotten to hear all my weird ass shit because, frankly, no else cares to. Aren't you lucky?
Great post!
ReplyDelete1. The person you saw in your dream is the real you--the you that everyone else who knows you sees. Wild hair and all. Wild hair especially. Remember what she looks like.
2. Yes. The same Kesey. If you think Cuckoo was good, read Sometime a Great Notion. I read it probably 30 or more year ago and it still haunts me.
3. Oscars were worse than ever. The clothes weren't even interesting. In three hours even Anne Hathaway cloys.
4. Go for Sophia or Audrey-- my personal faves of all time.
Cheers!
--bubblebabble
Yes, the Oscars were less than fabulous, tis true. I'm trapped between appreciating that Hathaway was trying to be a good host, and gagging so hard on her saccharin coated delivery that I'm in pain.
ReplyDeleteI mean, I appreciate the effort. And yet, I have this suspicion that Hathaway's demeanor, straight down to the goofy giggling, was 100% calculated. Not an ounce of genuine emotion, all a carefully crafted front.
It sounds paranoid, and I can't really support it with lots of details. It's just a feeling. Franco is catching a lot of shit, but the truth is they were handing shit material and there wasn't much to e done to elevate it. As others have pointed out, they usually hang the success or failure of the Oscars on the hosts, independent of any other factors.
I thought it was at least blissfully short and to the point. Now I feel compelled to go back and watch old broadcasts with Crystal, Jackman and Stewart, just for comparison.
Didn't Steve Martin host once? Has Alec Baldwin hosted? He's damn funny.
Maybe there shouldn't be a host. Maybe there should just be a series of presenters, with the focus on playing to those presenter's strengths. Or maybe people should apply to host/write different segments. That way you get folks who are passionate about the subject.
Or maybe it should be industry outsiders that do the presenting. Let's have a contest and let normal folks audition for what they'd like to present, and why.
And the fashion--I was also disappointed. You expect outrageous beauty and colossal blunders and daring attempts. It was all kinda meh. I did like Kirk Douglas. And I like Melissa Leo's acceptance speech.
And Colin Firth. So cute. So damn cute. Darcy.....*sigh*
Right about Darcy, Jane.:-)
ReplyDelete--bubblebabble