I've been having some really great dreams lately. I love my dreams, always have, even when they're scary they're interesting. Last night I dreamt that I was in Paris; I dream about Paris a lot;
I am wandering the city at night. (In these Paris dreams, it seems like I am always trying to make my way back to my hotel.) I'm crossing streets and speaking broken French to people. I'm in some sort of theatre/militant group. We are trying to save the world from something, demons, maybe, (but not those Buffy/Angel demons with the protruding foreheads, they never scare me) something evil that we have to go out and fight. We are brave soldiers and are having to fight some sort of evil foes. I am horrified by the violence and bloodshed, I want to break down and cry but I feel the need to remain brave for everyone else.
Our barracks is this big building, it's several stories high with a kind of huge atrium in the middle dividing these two halves. Russell Crowe is here (woo woo). He isn't really Russell Crowe the actor, but more like Russell Crowe as he was in Gladiator, strong, brave, stoic, devoted to his family, unbelievably heroic. I so wish we were stationed next to each other but he has been assigned to a bunk and a space across the way. I am in love with him but so is everyone else here. I have to figure out how to win his affection. At some point he comes over and talks to me, he seems to like me. I find out that he has a girlfriend but he seems to be tiring of her and possibly on the verge of breaking up with her.
We go on a kind of date thing. He comes to my apartment/hotel room in the city. We are with another woman, a younger, lamer, more immature woman, who thinks it's exciting that he might be interested in me. I am trying to play it cool so as not to scare him off. He is shy and reserved but is making small overtures. I am so excited. I think everything will be all right if he loves me. Just as he is about to declare himself in some way this dumb gal who is with us pulls out an old fashioned tin that is filled with condoms. She says, "Heh, Heh, well I guess you guys will be needing these," in this creepy lascivious way. It completely breaks the mood and scares him away.
This is Russell Crowe's CD with his band Thirty Odd Foot of Grunts. The tracks are; Things Have Got To Change � Memorial Day � Hold You � Sail Those Same Oceans � The Legend Of Barry Kable � Somebody Else's Princess � Wendy � The Night That Davey Hit The Train � Swept Away Bayou (Facing The Headlights Alone) � Judas Cart
These are hysterical. These are Russell crow pillowcases that different sellers have for auction on eBay. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha. Okay now I may like the man and have fantasy dreams about him and spent precious time buying up videos of his that I've never seen but I just don;t think I could bring myself to go this far. Plus well, he's so broody and it didn't work out with Meg and all ; ) I wonder what really went down with that, beyond the he lives there she lives here story.
Later I am in Paris with an older Fred Astaire. He is my date and I love and adore him. We are with another woman as well, off and on. He doesn't mind that I'm in love with Russell Crowe. It doesn't occur to me until later that it's mean and inconsiderate of me to share this with him. We go to a restaurant, there is a man near the entrance who makes fun of us. He makes rude comments about our age difference. I am enraged at him and attack him.
We are upstairs in this tiny restaurant. Fred has disappeared. I am worried about him. Eventually he comes back with another woman, an older woman, and they sit together opposite me, against the banquette. It takes me some time to realize that they are lovers. It's unfair of me but I am jealous and flee.
I am in an airplane of some kind, it's more like a giant floating bus depot. I am with two other people. One of my friends says something nice about a gangy looking group of guys as we pass them. Rather than walking on by I go over to them and explain what my friend said. They seem to think it was an insult directed at them because they are black. I try to explain that it was actually a compliment but then I notice that they have all kinds of weapons, they are throwing off their blankets and getting up. They have automatic weapons and grenades. I'm thinking this is a pretty extreme reaction as I run towards my friends, but then I realize these guys are terrorists and are taking over the plane. They do something and suddenly the plane is failing and is going to crash, although it takes a long time to do so. We are running out of oxygen. Stewardesses make their way along the aisles and are handing out masks and giving people weird injections. They are sticking a needle in my arm, trying to find a vein, and telling me that because of the cabin pressure, my arm will make a popping sound.
Somehow knowing that we are all about to die, I am transported to this earlier scene in my life where I am at a presentation ball or some kind of elaborate elegant prom. We are wearing ball gowns. My friend has gone to the stage, where there is this kind of forties standing mic and some other young women, and she is going to make a speech and sing a song. I want to do it too. I know that this is a dream so I change the circumstances so that I have been invited to speak as well. I want to give a good farewell speech and sing something since we are all about to die.
Back on the plane I have climbed onto the roof. We are whizzing along over dark French fields at night. I can feel the cold air and see the stars above. Now we are over water. We are gliding now, coasting towards the inevitable crash. I say something to the stewardess about having heard that there is somewhere on the very tail of the plane where eight people can hold on and get closer to the ground before letting go.
My cat Baby comes and talks to me in my dream at some point. I am so happy to see her, I think she is really here with me on this dream plane.
I don't think I've ever had a dream about Fred Astaire before. Of course I've always loved him. He was eighty-eight when he died of pneumonia in hospital here in Los Angeles. I hate that his second wife was forty-four at the time. I just don't want to think of him as being like so many of the other men around here who trade up, or down as the case may be, ending up like Tony Curtis getting married for the fifth time to someone who could be his granddaughter. I do like that Astaire was a hard worker who rehearsed everything tirelessly, as opposed to Bing Crosby who hated to rehearse, and would only run a song through twice before an upcoming performance; once for the key, and once more for tempo. They had conflict over their disparate styles when working together. It made Fred angry that Bing would just breeze in minutes before a recording or a performance, when he wanted to meet early and get it right, he said, "It's not my way of working. It may be OK for the great Crosby to stroll into a studio and turn on the magic, but I can't work that way. I've got to rehearse with somebody."
I feel the same way. Charm and charisma will get you so far but you have to do the work; you have to rehearse, well at least I do. It's kind of like that Carnegie Hall joke; How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, Practice, Practice! I'm sure you've all heard this, but it can't hurt to recall that in one of his first go see's at Paramount, an executive there wrote famously, "Can't act. Can't sing. Balding. Can dance a little." In terms of success, it reminds me that what they think just doesn't matter, neither do trends or popular tastes or opinions. It's what's inside you, your faith and belief in yourself that counts. I have to remember that when I feel too tired or worn out, or think I'm too fat, or too old to succeed at something that is so dear to me, and that I know in my heart I am truly good at.
"You know, you're the most emotionally unstable girl I've ever met." Fred Astaire as Guy Holden in THE GAY DIVORCEE (1934).