I took a nap this afternoon in between my GRE studying sessions and had one of the most interesting dreams. To set the stage, every night my roommate comes home he brings with him a movie rented from Red Box (that Stop & Shop video dispenser with B rated releases never in theaters) which always ends up being one of the same three or four movies. Nevertheless, this time he didn't disappoint; he rented "Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen" for the UMPTEENTH time. No problem, because I had things to do and wouldn't watch it. Anyways the occurrence must have made an impression because later the next day I found myself seamlessly remembering that moment in an exciting and nerve-racking dream during my cat-nap...
I was myself-- a regular human being just as you see me know. However, my cohorts in this dream were literally a meshing of transformers and characters from the video game and pitiful adaptation into a movie of that video game named, "Street Fighter". Anyways, I was just hanging out and kickin' it with my "good" transformer/streetfighter friends who for the remainder of this entry will be referred to as "Bots", both good and bad (the distinction will shortly prove salient and important to the dream).
All of a sudden I'm abducted by the "bad" Bots. In fact, the Bot that took me was a transformer version of Blanca-- the green scientist with orange hair from Street Fighter. As if he wasn't bad enough as a inorganically created war creature with fangs and claws, he now had fucking wheels, hydraulics and machine guns! Yeah. So he races me through a tunnel system much like that envisioned in Tim Burton's "Nightmare Before Christmas" when the goon-squad kidnap Santa Claus. We finally reach our destination which is a huge sand pit much resembling a construction site. However, there is a huge pyramid located directly to my right as I exit the tunnel shaft and the pyramid is surprisingly not made of Egyptian stone at all, but to my dismay, C-4 explosives. That's right. The whole pyramid reaching hundreds of feet into the sky is comprised of an interlocking, sensitive system of explosives. I remember this next part very distinctly from my dream: I look upon this pyramid and just say, "Fuuuuuckkk!".
So the leader of the bad Bots-- who looks more like a transformer now than all of the others --approaches me and quickly dispatches his plans for me to set off this C4 pyramid. I'm supposed to do so that the blame won't rest with them and ignite a world-ending transformer/streetfighter Bot civil war. There's no way in hell I'm gonna let that happen so I quickly create a ploy to escape the scene. I tell the bad Bots that, in actuality, the independent C4 blocks are not systematically connected to each other, thus prohibiting the chain reaction they had hoped for (a caveat to readers: it's a dream and they would probably set each other off anyways but it was a full-proof plan at the time). They notice the mistake and while they are correcting it, I nimbly sneak back into the tunnel system and crawl as fast as I can until I reach a hallway very much resembling that of a level from 007 on Nintendo 64.
I hear my pursuers coming through the tunnel system so I quickly hide myself under a nearby dark blue blanket. It conveniently does hide my silhouette well, considering the dark lighting in the hallway. Blanca transformer Bot is in the hallway and is looking for me. He searches everywhere in the hallway and comes close to discovering my location numerous times. Finally he decides that I'm not in the hallway and must therefore be further up the passage and he proceeds to the corridor's exit. I continue to hold my breath, however, knowing better than to get up before the coast is assuredly clear. And my fears materialize when he takes one more look back down the hallway. "Ahhhh-Haa" he sighs as he recognizes my figure lying huddled up against the wall. He walks closer and closer saying, "I almost didn't see you there boy". I still don't move holding on to what little defiance is still mine. He grabs a hold of the blanket and tears it off of me...
I wake up immediately in the same rigid, nervous position huddled close to-- not some obscure hallway wall-- but my couch dripping in sweat. After a moment of recollection, I shake my head lauging and jump into the shower trying to understand how Blanca and the other Streetfighters found there way into my dream...
-Pierre
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Wrong Classroom Dream
The dream I'm about to describe is re-occurring and was especially vivid last night...
It takes place in the high school I attended and begins with me standing at my locker in between class periods. I chat with my friends and scout the beautiful talent as it strolls on by my locker. Soon, as time passes, I begin to feel very anxious because the next class period is about to begin. So I bid my friends adieu, and walk to my next class. I don't get there though. In fact, I have to re-check my schedule multiple times to determine where my class is even though it's my Senior year.
Every time I arrive at the class it turns out that some other teacher and group of students have occupied the classroom. It's no rare occurrence though; I simply forgot where my classroom is. So again and again I move from room to room as time passes by bringing the 'late bell' closer to ringing. And it does finally ring. Instantly my anxiety is multiplied ten-fold because now I'm going to be late to class - if I ever find it - and need to make up a wild excuse or beg forgiveness.
The situation gets so desperate that I'm running up and down the empty hallways losing sense of where I am and where I'm heading. I actually believe that if I run faster, I'll finally get to my class. As a little sidebar, every time this dream has occurred the class I'm late for is Science. Definitely an interesting thing to analyze. Needless to say, I never get to the class. As I'm roughly fifteen minutes late, I finally decide to skip this lass class of the day and escape school.
The new part of this dream, which also re-occurs as the final segment, finds me snooping around hoping not to get caught while leaving school. For some reason, my escaping school is a 'life-or-death' struggle. There's random administrators roaming the hallway looking for me (I fear this is the case at least), and I dodge in and out of every nook and cranny in order to escape detection. Finally, I find the side-exit to the school along with a couple other students who are also leaving school. We cautiously search the back parking lot's perimeter anticipating our final dash. The time comes and we sprint to the wooden posts separating school from the free world. The thirty-foot sprint feels like an eternity and my usual quick pace is reduced to the speed of a jog despite my great efforts. It's not a problem though because I finally get there. I've reached freedom, but feel a hand violently grab my shirt and yank me 180 degrees around. The hand belongs to an evil administrator who throws me to the ground while cursing me and expressing my punishment. I don't stay long on the ground but jump quickly up and in the direction of freedom.
Freedom isn't the back road however, but my bed and the dark light of dawn creeping through my single-paned window. It's five minutes til eight; five minutes of sleep I won't get because my alarm is about to ring, starting another day in reality.
-Pierre
It takes place in the high school I attended and begins with me standing at my locker in between class periods. I chat with my friends and scout the beautiful talent as it strolls on by my locker. Soon, as time passes, I begin to feel very anxious because the next class period is about to begin. So I bid my friends adieu, and walk to my next class. I don't get there though. In fact, I have to re-check my schedule multiple times to determine where my class is even though it's my Senior year.
Every time I arrive at the class it turns out that some other teacher and group of students have occupied the classroom. It's no rare occurrence though; I simply forgot where my classroom is. So again and again I move from room to room as time passes by bringing the 'late bell' closer to ringing. And it does finally ring. Instantly my anxiety is multiplied ten-fold because now I'm going to be late to class - if I ever find it - and need to make up a wild excuse or beg forgiveness.
The situation gets so desperate that I'm running up and down the empty hallways losing sense of where I am and where I'm heading. I actually believe that if I run faster, I'll finally get to my class. As a little sidebar, every time this dream has occurred the class I'm late for is Science. Definitely an interesting thing to analyze. Needless to say, I never get to the class. As I'm roughly fifteen minutes late, I finally decide to skip this lass class of the day and escape school.
The new part of this dream, which also re-occurs as the final segment, finds me snooping around hoping not to get caught while leaving school. For some reason, my escaping school is a 'life-or-death' struggle. There's random administrators roaming the hallway looking for me (I fear this is the case at least), and I dodge in and out of every nook and cranny in order to escape detection. Finally, I find the side-exit to the school along with a couple other students who are also leaving school. We cautiously search the back parking lot's perimeter anticipating our final dash. The time comes and we sprint to the wooden posts separating school from the free world. The thirty-foot sprint feels like an eternity and my usual quick pace is reduced to the speed of a jog despite my great efforts. It's not a problem though because I finally get there. I've reached freedom, but feel a hand violently grab my shirt and yank me 180 degrees around. The hand belongs to an evil administrator who throws me to the ground while cursing me and expressing my punishment. I don't stay long on the ground but jump quickly up and in the direction of freedom.
Freedom isn't the back road however, but my bed and the dark light of dawn creeping through my single-paned window. It's five minutes til eight; five minutes of sleep I won't get because my alarm is about to ring, starting another day in reality.
-Pierre
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Golden Globes: Golden Day
Despite not leaving the house today, I ventured miles.
While watching the Golden Globe Awards today/night, I couldn't help falling prey to the electric emotion present at that award ceremony; in fact, I imagined my own rise to stardom as an actor...
In realistic terms, my move to L.A would parallel that hard-fought battle for success as portrayed in "Swingers", starred by Jon Favreau and everyone's favorite Vince Vaughn. I'll bus tables-- as I've done numerous times in the past-- with no gripes. After all, I'm trying out for D-list pilots on start up networks or serving as a glorified extra in club scenes (which is not my fort-ay).
But, if there's anything to understand in L.A, it's the fact that your BIG CHANCE comes by sheer luck and happenstance. So I wait. I wait with that sanguine outlook which always sees the sun over the horizon; a long time before everyone else I'll add, too.
And then it does happen! My short monologue on a pilot for a knock-off, non-musical version of "RENT", catches the eye of a very influential producer. Great news! Despite the pilot's failure I'm now supporting Tobey Maguire as his roommate in a drama set in a rural college near Albany, NY because of this producer who wouldn't talk to me two weeks earlier. A cut-throat business, indeed. Fuck it! Why did I come to L.A in the first place?
... And two years later, I'm the one standing on that Golden Globe stage accepting an award for "greatest performance in a Drama". My acceptance speech will first and foremost serve to excuse my "surprise" and consequent "ill-preparedness". That's a formality, however; every actor is so hopeful, that they prepare an acceptance speech-- quasi-impromptu if needed-- in advance just in case. But I'll thank my family for their support. I'll thank the producers and "genius" director. I'll thank my fellow cast-members. To close, however, I'll thank opportunity. Not my actual opportunity of Deliverance, but the IDEA of opportunity and the cliche "need to take hold of it". And then I'll exit to crowded back-stage hallways thronged with up-and-comers -- not unlike myself years before -- reaching for a handshake or a kiss on the cheek; scavenger-like paparazzi taking photos; new and old producers congratulating me; and actors who are also punch-drunk off of the Golden Globe fever. It's an overwhelmingly positive feeling. I want it to last forever or at least all night. But a bottomless feeling in my stomach momentarily paralyzes me; I fear that in fact, this success and this joy will only last the night! But I soon recover and continue to make my rounds and bask in tonight's Golden sunlight. After all, why worry about tomorrow's future when tonight is so fun! I party and converse with the celebrities until my drunkenness and the early morning sunlight draw me inevitably to bed. To sleep.
Following the famous Golden Globe after-party, and the hang-over I'll wake up on the couch, over-heating because the house has terrible circulation. Soon thereafter (seconds), reality will once again rear its ugly head and painfully remind me that: "It was just a dream"...
-Pierre
While watching the Golden Globe Awards today/night, I couldn't help falling prey to the electric emotion present at that award ceremony; in fact, I imagined my own rise to stardom as an actor...
In realistic terms, my move to L.A would parallel that hard-fought battle for success as portrayed in "Swingers", starred by Jon Favreau and everyone's favorite Vince Vaughn. I'll bus tables-- as I've done numerous times in the past-- with no gripes. After all, I'm trying out for D-list pilots on start up networks or serving as a glorified extra in club scenes (which is not my fort-ay).
But, if there's anything to understand in L.A, it's the fact that your BIG CHANCE comes by sheer luck and happenstance. So I wait. I wait with that sanguine outlook which always sees the sun over the horizon; a long time before everyone else I'll add, too.
And then it does happen! My short monologue on a pilot for a knock-off, non-musical version of "RENT", catches the eye of a very influential producer. Great news! Despite the pilot's failure I'm now supporting Tobey Maguire as his roommate in a drama set in a rural college near Albany, NY because of this producer who wouldn't talk to me two weeks earlier. A cut-throat business, indeed. Fuck it! Why did I come to L.A in the first place?
... And two years later, I'm the one standing on that Golden Globe stage accepting an award for "greatest performance in a Drama". My acceptance speech will first and foremost serve to excuse my "surprise" and consequent "ill-preparedness". That's a formality, however; every actor is so hopeful, that they prepare an acceptance speech-- quasi-impromptu if needed-- in advance just in case. But I'll thank my family for their support. I'll thank the producers and "genius" director. I'll thank my fellow cast-members. To close, however, I'll thank opportunity. Not my actual opportunity of Deliverance, but the IDEA of opportunity and the cliche "need to take hold of it". And then I'll exit to crowded back-stage hallways thronged with up-and-comers -- not unlike myself years before -- reaching for a handshake or a kiss on the cheek; scavenger-like paparazzi taking photos; new and old producers congratulating me; and actors who are also punch-drunk off of the Golden Globe fever. It's an overwhelmingly positive feeling. I want it to last forever or at least all night. But a bottomless feeling in my stomach momentarily paralyzes me; I fear that in fact, this success and this joy will only last the night! But I soon recover and continue to make my rounds and bask in tonight's Golden sunlight. After all, why worry about tomorrow's future when tonight is so fun! I party and converse with the celebrities until my drunkenness and the early morning sunlight draw me inevitably to bed. To sleep.
Following the famous Golden Globe after-party, and the hang-over I'll wake up on the couch, over-heating because the house has terrible circulation. Soon thereafter (seconds), reality will once again rear its ugly head and painfully remind me that: "It was just a dream"...
-Pierre
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