Dreams Are Weird
The other night I had a dream about Christian Bale. Well, peripherally about Christian Bale. Mostly it was about me, as is the case with most dreams, and (coincidentally) this is also the reason that posts that start out by saying, “The other night I had a dream about . . .” usually suck ass. You should also know that I’m not somebody who is in the habit of sharing my dreams, mostly because I rarely remember them, but also because YAWN. What were we talking about?
So why am I writing about this dream? I don’t know. It seemed significant for some reason, and when you break up the pieces of the dream, there is not a clear reason for this significance. So I’m doing what I like to do with things that confuse me: write about them. After all, Freud said the importance of the dream is in the dreamwork itself, i.e. the significance that I assign to this dream, and stuff that I pull out whilst doing so, constitutes the underlying meaning. Well, that’s what he said before the long tangent that eventually degenerates into second rate New Age interpretations of dream symbols, anyway.
Mr. Right-Click just read off my screen that I had a dream about Christian Bale and said, “Listen, you wouldn’t like it if I told you I had a dream about Cyndi Lauper or some other sex symbol and then decided to tell the world about it” (italics mine.) I leave this comment in as to function as a kind of truth claim. Because WTF? Cyndi Lauper?
First of all, Christian Bale is not a sex symbol. Or, at least, maybe he is to some people, but not to me. I do like Christian Bale’s movies, though, because I think he’s a really good actor and I admire his dedication to the craft. If you have not seen The Machinist or The Prestige, I highly recommend you do for examples of what I’m talking about. But yeah, not a sex symbol. And I also suspect that he’s an asshole in real life, both because of the recent tirade against a Director of Photography (that was recorded and leaked from the set of the remake of The Terminator), but also because I think he hit his mother or something a few months back.
Anyway, that’s besides the point. Because Christian Bale was in my dream the other night, and he was riding around in some kind of drop-top limo with a bunch of standard-issue, holier-than-thou Hollywood hangers-on, and there was a new ride at some amusement park that was supposed to be like a movie tie-in with a remake of Battlestar Gallactica. And Christian Bale was there promoting it (he was in this movie, apparently, in my dream–which? in itself a head-scratcher), and for some reason I was in the really long line of people waiting to ride the Battlestar Gallactica ride (also a head-scratcher). Except it was a younger, idealized version of me, a version that was really thin and tan and could look good in clothes off the rack from Lisa Klein. And without shoes, which is something I would never do, but I guess the sundress this fake version of me decided to wear was calling for a kind of boho chic approach, à la Kate Hudson. Or something.
And then they announced that Christian Bale was going to choose one person, one very special person, to join his entourage from the masses of humanity waiting for this stupid ride. I’m not exactly sure what would happen once you joined the entourage. But it was definitely going to be BIG. And in that moment, I was like, “It’s gonna be me!”–yeah, just like the N’Sync song, I knew while they were scanning the crowd with a camera that I would be chosen, and I was just waiting for them to figure it out. So I sat there, laughing at the jokes being made by someone, and sure enough, I was chosen, but–and this is important–not for how I looked, but rather the fact that I was chuckling at the jokes, I was chosen for having a good sense of humor?
So then I got all excited and went to get in the drop-top limo with Christian Bale, et al., and thought I was all special, but they just kind of looked at me like, yeah, well, you’re here now. Like they didn’t dispute the fact that I should be there, but they weren’t going to fawn over me or anything. Because who am I, anyway? And I was thinking, yeah, that’s about right. And then I woke up.