Courtney Cox Stole My BFF, or Why Tim Roth Picked Up My Teeth
I dreamed I won a raffle contest the other night, but before I could collect the prize a woodchuck came up and claimed it. -Woody Allen
Maybe 'tis the curse of being a shrink's kid, or merely the blessing of an inquisitive mind, or, arsy-versy. Either way, my grey cells like a challenge and refuse to take much at face value. I rarely let a brow twitch, a head scratch or a stutter go by without a "Hmm. Sehr interessant." Naturally, near the top of the hierarchy of subliminal interpretation is the almighty dream; ergo, dreams absolutely fascinate me.
Fortunately, Dear Old Dad (shrink in question) is rather knowledgeable where such matters are concerned and I've often gone to him to find out what this-and-that symbolize. Sure, there are the standard tent poles of dream symbolism: teeth falling out and being nude in public tend to represent, depending on the scholar or psychologist you ask, a loss of control or feelings of vulnerability; flying generally means escape and is commonly cited as a frequent fantasy of prisoners, college students and military personnel alike; snakes and, well, tent poles for that matter, can mean, if you're a Freudian ... you know!
Those are all amusing; but, I like the really wonky dreams, the wild, Fellini-esque (who, by the way, kept a diary of dreams
I often dream in mostly complete story structure: beginning, middle and denouement. Additionally, I dream in vibrant color and with loads of minutiae. The teeny location coordinators, set designers and costuming departments in my noodle are efficient, hard-working and very detail-oriented. Nice work, folks! I see this as a sign of too much imagination, so much that the mere daylight hours of the mortals cannot contain my mischievous medulla. The most complete dream in my recall is a full, feature film, some twenty years ago, starring Steve Martin. Fun-ee! (Daddy says recalling too many aspects is a strong sign of making it all up, that dreams are too vague and nebulous. I disagree. My dreams have very vivid features.)
Other reveries include a veritable cavalcade of stars including David Duchovny, David Hyde-Pierce, Marilyn Manson, Johnny Depp, Juliette Lewis, Miss Piggy (as noted) Luke Perry, Lois Griffin, Peter Griffin, Chip an' Dale, Chris Matthews, Anderson Cooper and a further-odd assortment of minor figures from obscure animation to local news broadcasters. Of course there are friends, fam and literary figures whom all play the occasional role. Happily, I can say, mostly, that not many including family and friends are too bizarre ... although, I wouldn't share those here, now would I?
I did dream once that my brother-in-law, a professional pirate who goes by the name of Captain Maurice Bloodstone and on whom a character was based in my Savannah of Williamsburg: The Trials of Blackbeard and His Pirates, was staying the weekend with us at our home in San Clemente. Our pup at the time, Herr Ichabod, a black Tea-cup Pomeranian, often enjoyed sleeping with company and did so even in my dream. Yet, in this vision, as my pirate-in-law slept on the sofa in the living room, Ichabod came marching into our bedroom, stood at the side of the bed and in his thickest Scottish brogue (Weird, because I always thought he was more Teutonic than Celtic.) said, "For fak sake! Yer bleedin' snore-pig is keepin' me awake and I won't take it anymore!"
A nagging habit of mine (nagging to others, too) is to relay dreams of my husband and friends to Daddy and divine what they mean. (My husband would prefer I not do that. Point taken.) Pop always says the same thing, "You can't interpret someone else's dream. It's their subconscious, not yours." Puh-shaw! I'm really good at it! Once I learn of, then commandeer, your dream, it's like the pretty bauble you left in our guest room, it's mine, all mine!
A dear friend once told me she dreamed that she, my husband and I were all lying in a very fancy bed, straight as boards, hands down at our sides and all wearing powdered wigs, white makeup and frock coats and knickers, "Like Amadeus!", she said. Years later, she dreamed I was dressed like Morticia Addams and taking my very proper, Wednesday Addamsesque daughter or neice to Grammy's mansion in New Orleans or somewhere to collect an antique of some sort. (She's got me nailed, I'd say!)
In clear need of a Disney-, Hallowe'en- or a deep sea Alaskan fishing-fix, I dreamed of late that Captain Sig Hansen of Deadliest Catch called me up to his wheelhouse in the dead of night and, with cigarette in one hand and running his other hand through his hair, asked urgently, "Jen! You gotta tell me. Where's the best place to drop these Opilio pots?" Naturally, I replied, "The Haunted Mansion!" He then stroked his hair harder and said, "Fuck! Yep, you're right. Fuck!" and began to input coordinates to get the Northwestern to Disneyland as quickly as possible.
Recently, I sent a birthday gift to a friend. It was belated, so, to be honest, I imagine there was some leftover guilt and the need to assuage that by knowing the gift was a hit. (Thankfully, it was!) Obviously my brain wasn't all too certain because last night I dreamed that the friend in question and I went out for the evening, but she invited Courtney Cox to come with us, which was awesome ... except for the fact that Courtney was wearing the gift: a lovely top from Saks Fifth Avenue. When I asked why Courtney was wearing it, my friend replied simply, "Because it's ugly and it looks cuter on her anyway."
"How could you say that?" I cried. "Why not just give it back to me so I could return it or wear it myself?" They laughed, so I left, only to become lost in a vast parking lot whereby my teeth kept falling out. Thankfully, the actor Tim Roth came by and in his odd yet charming Vincent D'Onofrio-meets-Captain Jack Sparrow kind of swagger, addled up to me and helped me pick up my teeth. He then offered to drive me to the dentist, in my new Prius.
A fave dream of mine, not to mention the most easily decipherable, was one in which Darth Vader slowly chased me up and down the escalators, over and over, at the Saks Fifth Avenue at South Coast Plaza. Neither of us walked or ran, we just rode the escalators up and down, bodies and arms straight as boards, staring ahead, never looking around and always with about ten steps in between us. No, I didn't have a Saks credit card, or any store card for that matter (I like cash; it doesn't creep up on you later.), but I think I may have had a problem and it was creeping up on me in the night.
Now that you're frightened, your faces frozen, aghast in fear and awe, please share avec Moi. What are your wackiest dreams? Please though, no horribly emotional divulges. Remember, as Ross said to Chandler when sharing his Slave Leia fantasy, "I said share, not scare!" Oh, also, do you think other mammals dream: dogs, cats, badgers, wabbits, squirrels, Bigfoot? I sure do!
May you dream of me tonight and wake up disturbed.
-Joan Crawford, The Gorgeous Hussy
