Back at a Favorite Place, But with a Major Problem

Before beginning tonight's musings, I need to correct part of yesterday's entry, in which I said that three days is way too long for me to read one book. I left out 800+-page biographies, such as the one I'm reading about FDR by Jean Edward Smith, and the new biography of Eisenhower, also by Smith, which is 766 pages up to the acknowledgements. I can get through over 200 pages in a day, if I really like the book, but 766 pages in three days is impossible for me.

I went to bed at 1:55 this morning, feeling more settled than I usually am when I go to bed, because I'm thinking of many things, mostly the book, such as interviews still to do, interviews I've done, thinking about the questions I still have for which I'm seeking answers (I keep having to remind myself to open up those files whenever I'm writing interview questions, since I watched all the Airport movies anew when I began this project and took notes during them), the book proposal I'll be writing, the query letters as well, and not so much near-panic now as it was when I wrote my share of What If They Lived?. It's more like mild concern. I'll get it all done. But it still takes me just a bit of time before I fully settle down before I go to sleep. This morning, I hadn't done as much work as in past days, so while I was thinking about some of the work, I simply stopped thinking about it and settled down and rested. Sleep came, along with quite possibly my most favorite place in dreams.

I've described this place before, but not as well as I believe I can. It is exactly as written in that link, such a calm presence. There's clusters of shops all around, like a shantytown, but not spreading out in every direction. There's space to walk past the shops, sometimes dirt roads, sometimes sidewalks. It's random. And it's all mine.

In the first dream I had which involved this wonderful place, I met a girl that I liked and she felt the same way about me. I showed her around this place, and after it got dark, we went to the convenience store near where I live here in Saugus, which also has a pizza takeout joint, and that's about all you'll find on this side of the street. The girl, whose name I didn't know, started becoming more and more overbearing. Nothing she suggested for the future, just her nature right there, demanding that we do this and that, and I couldn't take it. I had to get away from her. I sped up the hill to what I thought was my neighborhood, but it wasn't. That speed was incredible, faster than anyone could dash up that hill, with houses whooshing by me. I stood there after reaching the wrong neighborhood, looking at a house under construction right in front of me, trying to figure out what to do. Was she looking for me? Could I dash to the next entrance to other developments, hoping to find my neighborhood, without her finding me?

I woke up right when the phone rang. It was Meridith calling Mom to let her know that she and Dad arrived at work. That means it was 7:25. I had slept a little over five hours, but was still too tired to get up. I wanted to so I could force my body to adjust more, but I gave in, and fell asleep again.

This time, I was inside a casino with various sun designs. Sculptures, carpeting, paintings hanging on walls, suns painted right on walls. I encountered Al Pacino as Willy Bank from Ocean's Thirteen. Pacino wasn't playing the guy again, he was the guy. He owned this casino. But he was much more benevolent than he was in the movie, though he had the look of "Don't mess this up," and so did some of his associates. He was trying to come up with a name for this new casino, and I thought of "Million Suns Casino," (Because of all the sun design), or "Aztec Casino," because I think the Aztecs worshipped the sun.

Willy didn't think much of either name and continued walking around with his associates. Unlike the Chinese-themed casino he was so keen on in the movie, he seemed relaxed with this one, a project to be enjoyed and not to be used to lord over the other owners on the Las Vegas Strip. It looked like semi-retirement for him.

And then I woke up again, at 11:24. Better than 12:30, and I'll keep rolling it back. Tomorrow morning, I may have to force myself up whenever I wake up just to get myself back to where I want to be, but this was a really good sleep, the nicest I've had in months, even with the overbearing girl. I would like to go back to my favorite place, definitely without that girl. But this time, I'd like to actually go inside some of those shops. I don't want to try lucid dreaming, since I do enough work during the day, and would rather hand myself over to my subconscious so I can get to sleep. But I hope my subconscious is aware of my desire for deeper exploration and brings me there again someday.

Movie Dream

I found myself in the lobby of a massive movie theater last night, holding the leash of a fluffy white cat, who seemed content with my company.

I walked into one of the auditoriums, which was equally massive. The screen seemed to stretch the length of a football field, and it wasn't like the old CinemaScope screens. No curves. Completely straight from left to right.

The rows were the same length. I sat in the second row, the cat next to me, and watched what looked like another Simpsons movie. In fact, if the production team of The Simpsons Movie decides to make another one, Another Simpsons Movie would be a perfect title in keeping with their brand of humor.

In another theater, without the cat, I saw The Avengers, which is being released on May 4. My only thought throughout it was, "Doesn't Joss Whedon know how to shut up?" He wrote and directed the movie and it was like his dialogue never let up. It doesn't seem like that'll be the case with the actual release, but I was pretty teed off at having to sit there for what might have been three hours, watching a bunch of superheroes explore more of their emotional minefields than was absolutely necessary for a feature film. It felt like it.

That wasn't even the half of it. Before these movie theater dreams, I had another dream in which I met the cast of The Big Bang Theory, lost a shoe, and watched as Kaley Cuoco unsuccessfully tried to start her junk heap of a car. Jim Parsons seemed put off by all of it (Not possible in real life since he's fascinating to watch in interviews), though Simon Helberg was genial toward me. I have no idea where Kunal Nayyar was, or Johnny Galecki for that matter. So not the entire cast, since Melissa Rauch and Mayim Bialik also weren't there, but I consider Jim Parsons the power center of the show, so it worked out for me.

But this was nothing compared to the dream I had the night before these ones, in which I raved to Wesley Snipes about how awesome he was in Demolition Man and how he seemed to have so much fun doing it. He said to me, "I wouldn't have taken the role otherwise."

In dreams, my head is a fun hangout spot. I've heard about lucid dreaming, controlling your dreams, and it might work, but it's not for me. I spend enough time during the day in control of my reading and my writing, doing what I want to do in both, and what I need to do in order to make progress on my second book. I prefer to give myself over to whatever my dreams have in store, letting my unconscious do the work for a while so I can take a break. With dreams like these, and the ones I described in previous entries, why would I want to control them?

Profitable Dreams?

Every night, settling into bed, I don't know where I'll be. I could be at yet another variation of Walt Disney World, making sure I don't forget to ride Space Mountain (as I did many times many years ago), or at another school campus, deciding I could miss math class without consequence, or climbing opulent marble staircases to the roof of those campuses to get such an expansive view of the city around the campus. In the past few months, I've gotten back a dream where I'm walking the streets of a very shiny-looking town, easygoing atmosphere, with some stores bearing bead curtains as entrances. The big square of this town has many brick buildings surrounding it, and though I haven't seen what's in those stores yet, I'm just happy to be amidst such peace, and such a big town to explore. I don't even remember seeing any cars driving by.

Lately, my dreams have been giving me creative injections to put toward my projects, whether or not I'm currently working on them. I had a dream last week that I was interviewing George Kennedy extensively for Mayday! Mayday!: The Making of the Airport Movies, and I came up with questions I didn't even think of while I was awake. Then last night, I had a dream involving a time-travel idea. I can't say whether it's a unique time-travel idea because I don't know. It may have been on the level of that time-jump device thing that's used in the upcoming Men in Black III, which I don't like. It seems like merely a screenwriting device just to get Will Smith to the late 1960s, rather than anything remotely imaginative. I know that my dream didn't have anything as creative as the DeLorean or the TARDIS, but I know that the guy I saw in this dream had time traveled somehow, but very low-key.

I don't want to write a screenplay for this because I've been near enough to Hollywood for eight years, and been to 20th Century Fox in Century City, to know that I do not want to ever get involved in that merciless muck. I'm thinking of a novel, but I don't want to get fouled up by what's come before me. That's not to say I won't read what's come before as inspiration, but I have to remember that it is inspiration, and I can try this however I want. I'm not going to work on it right away, since other books have priority (Not just the Airport book, but the ones I want to write after), but I'm going to start reading time-travel novels to learn what's been explored. And yes, I've read The Time Machine. I don't think I could call myself an avid reader without it.

None of this compares to a dream I had that still haunts me. In it, I had an idea for a fully-fleshed out novel, characters and all. I knew how to write it, where it was going to go, and as soon as I woke up, it faded before I could write anything down, as if the Fates were telling me, "No, no, you do your own work." I know I could have had a first draft in a couple of weeks. But in the year that followed that dream, I realized that I was being told that I could do this; I could write more books. And that's exactly what I'm working on right now, and why I have ideas for six other nonfiction books after this one, why the number of novels I want to write has risen to two, why I've got a few ideas for plays that I want to attempt.

There are some dreams where I'm at a Six Flags-like park, but it's much larger than the average Six Flags and sometimes, I'm walking right next to a rollercoaster. I always look closely at the color of the coaster, the mechanics, the ride vehicles, marveling at how I'm right there, right where I want to be, my imagination never letting up. I'm in the right line of work, right where I want to be, and I hope dreams like these will pay off in the years to come. I'm going to try.

Here's a Different Kind of School Dream

Some dreams of mine relate to what's going on in my life, and some are random, complete "Where the hell did that come from?" moments. They're the ones I treasure the most, save for one really awful dream, only because it presented to me a full outline for a novel that I could have started writing as soon as I woke up, if it had not insisted on fading from my memory so quickly. It was like the universe saying, "No, boy, you're doing this on your own. We're not giving you a freebie."

For the past few months, I've had dreams that took place on college campuses, some with a theme park adjacent to it (Think Six Flags Magic Mountain, with more rollercoasters than anything else), one with a full-service McDonald's and an arcade on campus, always with the choice of going to math class or not. In those dreams, I wonder if I really need to, if my world will be so affected if I didn't. Always, I end up not going, always I feel really good about it, not wasting my time on what I don't want to do.

A dream I had early this morning was far from what seemed to be that norm.

I was back at Silver Trail Middle, where my dad taught computers and business education when I attended in 7th and 8th grade, and beyond that. I was standing in the empty hallway where Dad's class was, remembering such personalities as the apparently-repressed science teacher who, when he spotted Monica Haynick and her boyfriend holding hands between class periods, called out "Daylight!", and they separated, probably reconnecting once they were out of view of him. I never understood it. Young love is hard enough to manage as it is. But it never affected Haynick, a strong spirit and mind who I imagine retains those qualities today.

Standing there, rooted to one spot, I was taking in the knowledge that my parents had bought the entire school property, the connecting buildings, the cafeteria, the gym, the music rooms. This was our new home. I don't know how they could manage the upkeep on such a place, but that wasn't part of the dream. I was thinking about the two years I had been at this school (Actually a year and a half because my 7th grade class was at a portables site in another location in Pembroke Pines while the campus was being built, and during winter break, my dad and the other faculty members and staff moved into the new campus before the start of the next semester), and now these halls were mine to roam, free of educational residue. I was thinking about what classroom to choose as my own room, based on where I might have had a good time each day in school. But that's all the dream offered. I woke up, it was 10:26 a.m., and it was time to start the day.

Recurring Dream

This morning, I had the same dream I've had for the past few months, though some details change in each incarnation.

I was on a college campus, which this time had an arcade and a McDonald's, not a big one, but the logo was noticeable enough and though the ordering area was small, there was still enough going on in the back to show that this was a McDonald's important to the company, important enough to keep supplying it as if it was a location in the real world.

The other times I've had this dream, I've been on the roof of one of the buildings of the campus, I've climbed up a wide, glistening, marble staircase, I've walked through crowds of people, and I think I once caught a glimpse of a few theme park rides. My imagination goes anywhere.

This time, I was at this McDonald's, and it was already 11 a.m. with the rest-of-the-day menu on the display boards, but a few Egg McMuffins were still available, so I got two. And then I began thinking about the math class that was coming, the one in which the teacher had told me the previous session would be important to attend. A test? More notetaking for formulas that mattered nothing to me? I wasn't sure, but I also wondered if it would really matter if I was there. Was there a good grade to pursue this time? Probably not. Just another lecture to sit through.

The time for the beginning of the class came and went as I walked through the campus, going into the arcade, looking closely at what the claw machines had as prizes, seeing that the basketball game (where you throw basketballs into the hoop) was still there, and then walking out, walking a long way. To where, I don't know, but I determined that I didn't need to be in that math class today. It didn't affect me, and why should I spend my time not doing what I wanted to do?

This was not the only class I've ever skipped in these dreams. There was an English class, a science class, and probably a few others. And I'm never sure what it means. Is it related to some part of myself that I'm ignoring that I don't know that I'm ignoring? Is skipping these classes my way of reclaiming myself? I thought I've already done that with rediscovering my passion for reading, and considering what book I want to write next, and filling my life with what I love, including ambient music. I'm not sure what it could mean.

James Cromwell at the Supermarket

I went to bed at 2 this morning and drifted into a dream that carried me all the way through to 9:14 a.m. It's amazing how dreams that seem to only happen in an hour or two turn out to have encapsulated seven hours of sleep.

Last night, I was thinking about the supermarket, any supermarket here. I need more frozen blackberries and yogurt for the coming week. In that dream, I found myself at a supermarket, looking for yogurt. Not many Greek yogurts in one refrigerated case, and then I encountered apparently a former co-worker at The Signal, even though I didn't recognize him, and I would have. We reminisced about our days there, I asked him what he was up to, and we moved on.

And then, in an aisle full of crackers, I was behind a tall man who was picking up a box from the top shelf, and it turned out to be James Cromwell. Yes, Farmer Hoggett from the Babe movies, but for me, a West Wing fan, former president D. Wire Newman in the 5th season episode, "The Stormy Present," one of only two episodes I liked from that season, but a slight disappointment to me, because though I could get the feeling of life after the White House from Newman and his deceased successor Owen Lassiter (the funeral in the episode takes place at his presidential library in Costa Mesa), there wasn't enough discussion about the personal impact of the White House from Newman or from former acting president Glenallen Walken. Instead, the focus was on the protest situation unfolding in the Middle East, and Newman's experience with the same royal family during his term, and Walken's opinion about what should be done. I liked the scene of Newman telling Bartlet how he felt after his MS was revealed to the world, and of Walken talking to Bartlet about a trip he took to China with Lassiter. But there was that golden opportunity, squandered, also because of a "B" story of Josh trying to negotiate a settlement between North Carolina and Connecticut about a copy of the Bill of Rights stolen by a Civil War soldier.

In the dream, my intention was to ask Cromwell if there had been anything changed in the script, any sections of exactly what I had hoped for that were excised. I began talking to Cromwell, telling him that I know others would ask about Babe, but I really wanted to know more about his role as former president Newman, to learn about the filming, to see if anything had been left out.

Also at the supermarket was a contingent of his family, on hand because his mother or father was dying, which is strange to me now because his mother, actress Kay Johnson, died in 1975, and his father, director John Cromwell, died in 1979. Or maybe it had been an aunt or an uncle, but either way, they were there for support and to get him back to the hospital in due time. I remember also nieces and grandchildren there too, and at the end of the dream, a 14-year-old granddaughter who had actually seen the episode I was wondering about, but all I could muster was telling her that her grandfather did was excellent in it. Some things are too important to let questions about other things creep in.

There seemed to be his family in nearly every aisle. There were instances in which he dashed off, and I encountered them, and they answered some of my questions, but not what was truly important to me. It was remarkable how tight-knit this family was, a rare quality.

That's all I got out of the dream. I think if I'm to get any hypothetical answer about the missed opportunity, my next dreams are going to have to involve John Sacret Young, who wrote the episode. Or maybe even executive producer John Wells, since he was at the head of that atrocious fifth season after creator Aaron Sorkin and chief director/co-executive producer Thomas Schlamme were fired at the end of the fourth season.

Dammit!

The residue of feelings from what might have been is still somewhat in my body, less in my shoulders now and more around my heart, where I'm sure it'll fade. It hasn't left my mind, which is still mulling over it and trying to figure out what I was after.

It happened in a dream, either in between more dreams about a variation on Walt Disney World (with robot arms on the monorail track putting a monorail train together in front of a crowd), or before those. I had an idea for a novel. Not an idea to work out over time. A full, workable idea complete with well-drawn characters, confidence in plot, mood, the crux of each chapter, and above all, my ability to write it. At one point, I thought I had woken up after the dream, but I was still asleep. And when I woke up, I was still very much aware of what had happened, and mentally beat myself up over not being able to remember any of what that novel would have contained. I knew I could have done it. Had I remembered, had I written it all down, I could have worked on the outline today, finished it, and began writing the first few pages tomorrow. I was that sure of what my subconscious mind had worked out. I don't know if it would have been a bestseller. But right then, I didn't care about that. I wanted to write it. That's all that mattered. I knew I would have been interested in it all the way through the days it would have taken to write it.

I'm sitting here right now, thinking about when it all was clear, and I'm so vastly disappointed. That idea was right there. I don't want to search for it through pieces of other dreams; I wanted all of it whole. I'm mildly comforted by my mind actually being able to come up with a story idea that would have worked, so maybe there'll be something that sparks when I'm awake, but still, I would have liked to have it to work on right now.

Jesus. What the Hell's Going On, Brain?

A suicide? In my dream? The near-heartsickness of yesterday's dream was harrowing enough, but I think this topped it. I had become enamored of a girl I met in a high-end bookstore, full of rare editions and tables filled with people talking about all kinds of literature. I spotted her at one of the tables, but it's still strange to me how I can't remember any pertinent details about her. I think the most I remember is that she was a brunette. She was also apparently a criminal, the crime unknown to me, yet totally familiar to the heavily-armed law enforcement tracking her that I encountered later on.

She kept eluding my grasp and my attempt at a conversation. I don't know exactly what I liked about her, but I wanted her, and so I followed her, running when she attempted to flee the law enforcement that had caught up to her at an apartment complex. She ran to the roof, I was on the third floor in a hallway, and I saw her jump from there, quickly passing from the roof, right by my eyes on the third, then the second, first, and blammo. Right on top of a car, smashing the roof, killing her. I remember running to the car, totally devastated at this tragic outcome, seeing only black pants and high-heel boots splayed out.

What the hell has my subconscious been taking in lately? This is the saddest any of my dreams have ever been. Mostly, I'm at some variation on Walt Disney World. It's not WDW as you know it, but I know it is, despite different rides and merchandise. Or else my dreams are about mutual attraction and the killer internal buzzing from that, as it was with yesterday's dream. This dream is totally unfamiliar to me, and I hope not to have it again. I don't even have nightmares, but I think this is as close as I'll get.

To the Girl Walking Her Dog with a Multi-Colored Umbrella in Hand

(This isn't in the vein of those Craigslist Missed Connections ads, because this girl is nearby, though some height up from me, and there may be another time that she comes down my way when I'm outside again. Plus, there's no way she'd come upon this entry since she doesn't even know who I am, but there are some thoughts that I feel compelled to write as if she might find it.)

I finally had a dream I'd been wanting for weeks, one where I was clear of mind and emotions and knew exactly what I was saying and feeling like it was right. Basically, the person I'd like to be, but only have the courage to be in my dreams so far.

I was in some kind of a classroom, though it wasn't the kind typical of education. Something was playing on a screen and there were people around, but it seemed like so much was going on at once. Kathryn Joosten, who played Mrs. Landingham on The West Wing was sitting next to me and I thanked her profusely for her invaluable contribution to a TV series that's still my favorite, even with it having been off the air for three years.

Then, a beautiful black girl walked in and took a seat in the vertical row of desks next to mine and there was a spark between us. She felt it, because she looked at me again after she'd passed by me. I was intrigued by her because she walked with such self-confidence. She was sure of herself and the world around her and I liked that. There didn't seem to be any mucking about with her, and that's what I like.

I'm not sure if she and I talked while near each other. We might have, though I believe that based on what came next, it was brief. It may have been an introduction, it may have been a comment on the day so far, it may have just been a simple hello. But I remember that the time had come to leave that classroom and she had come up to me hoping for a more expansive conversation. I think I brushed her off indifferently, but I don't know why. My face fell when I saw her rush out with disappointment on her face and she might have been near tears. I rushed out of the classroom, leaving behind my backpack, my wallet, my cellphone. I never do that, anywhere.

I caught up to her, stopped her and first told her that I left everything behind in that classroom to quickly catch up to her, and I never do that. Then I explained straight out why I had done what I did: I was 25 years old and hadn't had a girlfriend since I was 14. I wasn't sure how to act, I wasn't sure what to do. This surprised her, but also relieved her in showing that it wasn't her personally that made me act like I did. I liked her very much too. Unfortunately at that moment, I woke up. But in that dream, I felt like my heart was soaring when I saw her, like I could make this work. It felt like there was nothing inside my body dragging me down. I could have floated.

And, as if some force of nature had sensed my disappointment in that dream ending abruptly, you were outside, walking past my neighborhood. It was raining and I had just walked both of my dogs because they hadn't been outside since early this morning. I hadn't expected it to rain like it was, thinking that the weather would have held off until early tomorrow morning, as was predicted. But there was the rain, and after seeing the garbage and recycling bin lids open outside, I knew I had to dump the water out of my family's garbage bin (the recycling bin lid was closed), and I had to do it soon.

So I did, right after drying off Tigger (part miniature pinscher, part Italian greyhound). I went to the curb and you were coming up the street, holding a multi-colored umbrella (sections of separate colors in a circle), and walking what looked like an unhappy pitbull. I glanced at you and then put the garbage bin on the ground and pulled up the bottom so the water would fall out. I put the bin back on the ground, pulled it back up and quickly closed the lid. I took the recycling bin and began to roll it back to the house. But I stopped. You intrigued me. You looked to be about my height, 5'5" or 5'6", and perhaps my age, or maybe in your late 20s. I hoped you weren't 44 years old, just to pick a random older number. I still don't know, but you looked like you were about as old as me.

You either live in the development right above mine, taking the road up there, or the one at the top of that mountainside with four houses there. After I rolled the recycling bin back into the garage, I went back out for the garbage bin (always an order: recycling bin first and then the garbage bin because it sits next to the garage door), and I saw a piece of your umbrella from where I was standing. Then, I saw you walk back down with your dog, even though it was still raining. Did you sense me looking at you? Were you possibly interested too? Did I idiotically lose yet another chance with yet another girl? If you were coming back down to complain to me about my staring, I apologize. But to see the sight of you walking your dog, with that umbrella that was happier than my own (stripes of dark colors), in noticeable, though not heavily pouring rain, it was inspiring to me. I wonder if you were out with your dog at that time because he (or she) had to go out or you just liked that weather and wanted a reasonable excuse to go outside to experience it. If the rain starts up again later this morning, I don't think I'd go outside to stand in it, even with a proper coat and umbrella. Not that I think I'd look crazy, but there's much work I have to do and I don't think there'd be another sight as enchanting as you. I don't remember seeing your face, but I think with how you were walking, interested in the rain, that I'd easily give it a chance. I don't walk my dogs in the front that often. I use the patio because it's a simulation of the terrain in Las Vegas, so my dogs are used to it when my family and I eventually move there. I didn't want to reveal that, just in case there might be a chance to get to know you and possibly more, but we've been here six years and there may not even be a job for my dad next year as a business education teacher based on how they keep talking about cutting education in this state.

If we meet each other again and talk, and if there's a connection there, I'll be disappointed only because having lived here in Saugus for five years (our first year was in an apartment in Valencia), you might have lived here around the time I moved here, and maybe even earlier, and I could have had more time with you. It would have made the days in this valley far more interesting than they usually are. And if we don't meet again, you've done well as my temporary muse. I wrote this not only to go over the event in my mind again, but also to get mentally limber to continue my share of a book project. Now I want to write that essay on James Dean just for you. I know you'll probably never read it since you don't know me or my name, but what the heck, motivation to write for you is enough for me.

I love the rain, especially after the hot, dry winds this valley endured some weeks ago, so thank you for making a bright day even brighter.

P.S.: If you were actually attracted to a guy wearing a zipped-up, thin black jacket and red sleep pants with the Dr. Pepper logo stamped all over, then I made a huge mistake in not starting a conversation with you.