Thursday, September 06, 2007

Will the real John Glenn please stand up?

Is anyone out there sick yet of hearing about my dreams?

No? Good, because I'm about to tell you about another one. I'll be brief, I think.

So, in this dream I'm at a theme-amusement park with the Things. It's one of those parks made to look like a European town, and at the start of this dream-snippet we were walking down a side alley (I believe toward the bathrooms, which is a rather utilitarian thing to dream about when you think on it) that was flower-bedecked and in the middle of which stood a girl of about 14 years old who was holding a platter of grain in front of her like she was a waiter at a black-tie affair tasked with proffering canapes or champagne cocktails. She was wearing some kind of German-ish costume, a straw hat, and obviously fake brown pigtails a la Britney Spears.

"Cute" I thought in the dream "But what are the snacks for?"

I never got my answer, because it was at this point that she started to sing. And then there was the dancing. And the spinning, and the grabbing of Thing 2's hand, and the marvellous swanning about that the two of them did, muchlike a slo-mo "High School Musical" dance, and I was amazed that Thing 2 knew what to do. He was really impressive, what with the arabesquing and the long sweeping arm motions and the interpretive dancing. Who knew the kid had it in him?

It dawned on me at this point that we were not in a theme park, but rather we were engaged in participatory theater, and everyone around me knew their part except me. No matter! I was hustled off to get into costume and hit my mark, even though I had NO CLUE what I was supposed to do.

My costume included a hookup to some electrical items that I was told "would shock me if I was doing the wrong thing." So, yeah, no pressure. I got the big wig on and the "fat" costume and headed out onto the stage for the crowd scene of which I was a part, trying to keep the shameful wires hidden under the vast amounts of white plastic hair that had been deposited on my head.

Except, the stage was a hallway, and our "crowd" in the final climactic scene of the play was actually being broadcast over closed-circuit teevee to the audience, which was kind of a letdown really, and which the critic who came right backstage after performance told the director absolutely ruined the play.

Sigh. Hey, at least I didn't get shocked.

After de-costuming myself (being careful to avoid the network of black wires, lest they still carry some juice), I was walking with a few new actor-ish friends to the afterparty and chatting excitedly about the whole experience. A man fell into step by my right side. He was short and slim and tan and older, wore a blue ball cap on his head, and had a farmer's squint. He introduced himself as John Glenn, at which point I squealed

"THE John Glenn, the astronaut? You walked on the moon! That must have been exciting!"
(his eyes squint harder)
You did walk on the moon, right? Didn't you? Oh, gosh, WAS that you?"
(his eyes are mere slits by this point)
Oh dear, I'm so confused. Shoot........"
he looks remarkably dejected for someone whose eyes are very nearly closed)
(he changes the subject as I sweat in embarrassment over not actually KNOWING if John Glenn walked on the moon).

Apparently my dreams are so boring, even to me, that I have to introduce random astronauts into them to deliver the moment of horrific self-esteem shattering that features so prominently in many of my dreams. There's always one, you know. Whether it be riding on a parade float down a crowded main street completely naked, or asking John Freaking GLENN if he walked on the moon, there's always one.

I'm betting we can all interpret what this means about me.


For the record - John Glenn did NOT walk on the moon. His is, however a Presbyterian minister, which not every OTHER astronaut-turned-politician can say.

So, how YOU doin'?

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