First. I watched, on the advice of big brother The Wooly Mammoth, a documentary entitled "Rivers and Tides". It profiles the life and work of Andy Goldsworthy, a Scottish artist that creates ephemeral sculptures out of objects he finds in nature. I highly recommend it. Even better than Steven Kenny. Barely.
Second. I dreamed a dream and in that dream I dreamed about the girl that I always dream about. Actually, the girl changes, but the role of the girl remains the same. Thus, throughout my life, I have had, I would guess, three prototypical dream girls. The first lasted from middle school through high school. The second, through the parts of college I was sober. The latest, since college. Last night I kept dreaming about the girl that I always dream about and I kept waking up. She was not the way I remembered her. She was uglier, fatter, louder - she was older. She had changed. Yet I was more attracted to her. I kept waking up. At around four in the morning I woke up and debated whether I should stay up. Obviously, I went back to sleep and in my dreamstate the girl that I always dream about was getting married to a man from my hometown who played Varsity basketball. This man is the same age as King Koopa, his last name is the same as the first and middle names of a certain cartoon coyote, and I'm certain that he and the girl I always dream about have never met. I don't know why this person was in my dreams. I haven't thought about him for years.
To add insult to injury, this quick and limber point guard and the girl that I always dream about were getting married in the same church that I had grown up in and that I had attended for the first 18 years of my life. It seemed like quite the affront, as neither have ever visited the church. In my dream, I tried calling the girl I always dream about but, in typical dream fashion, I was having a difficult time pressing the buttons on my phone and kept dialing other people, asking them to stop the wedding.
All of this to say that I wish I were a bit more like Andy Goldsworthy, and dreamed about leaves washing down a river and giant stone beehives and not about old point guards on the high-school basketball team.
And I wish the girl I always dreamed about looked a little more like this:
7 comments:
Hmmmm, interesting indeed...I shall require more details on the identity of dream girl #3 if I am to propose my normal halfassed, hairbrained explanation for your dream sequence.
However, I know when I realized who the guy in the story was, one particular detail/story popped into my head: Mr. Point Guard and his goodygoody head-cheerleader girlfriend were Homecoming King and Queen of Mastodon High (they'd been dating since 8th grade). At the senior party right before graduation, he was drunk and she was much drunker and they were sitting around the campfire with a bunch of people. Yada yada yada, dude gets fellated in front of half the class until her friends come over and yell at her to stop. That was likely the catalyst to that same girl dating the bassist from Third Eye Blind while at Mastodon University. I have no clue how this totally awesome story could have caused the events in your dream, I just thought the blogosphere would like to hear it and you should be reminded of it. And, it adds a little color to the tapestry that is Mastodon City.
Now that you mention it, the girl in your story did attend my church. That may explain, at the least tangentially, why the point guard and the girl that I dream about were married in my old church.
Also, she was (is?) one of the nicest people in this whole big world. I forgot about the BJ story.
High school.
And seriously, check out that picture of Audrey. You know? I mean.
Damn.
I agree, she is one of the nicest girls I've known, I went to school with her since preschool. And actually, that story puts her in the running for nicest all time...I know I would've found it an exceedingly nice gesture had I been in Mr. Point Guard's place.
And, this is totally off topic, but has anyone here read Chuck Klosterman's 'Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs'? I think the AM's blog is in-step w/ the spirit of this book and I wondered if anyone had read it. I highly recommend. Tip of the iceberg: The first chapter blames Lloyd Dabler (and by extension John Cusack) for all the author's failed attempts at love.
Listen Koopa. Fuck Klosterman. You know who I remind me of? Ever heard of Chekhov? Maybe Hemingway? A little fellow used to write stories - guy was from Ireland - Joyce maybe was his name. See what I'm getting at here?
Step off thizz shizz.
Brilliant, that sounds exactly like something Klosterman would've written! Excellent faux rant in the persona of Chuck Klosterman! You never cease to surprise me, Masty.
Chekhov? Hockey player, right? Dated Kournikova? Who knew he was an author? Obviously you did. I didn't know Muriel Hemingway wrote stuff? Cool. I'm with you on Michael Joyce, he's good too. I agree with you on that comparison.
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