The Gay Detecting Douchebag Bus Driver

I don't know what's wrong with me these days: I can hardly remember any of my dreams. And the ones I do remember, get this, there are no celebrities in them. I can't even get, say, Brendan Fraser to star in my dreams these days. I suppose this may be my brain's way of telling me that my life is way too full at the moment for me to let random celebs take up my energy. But I am seriously not sure that that is a price I'm willing to price for living a full life.

Here's a dream that I somehow managed to remember in details (still no celebs, though, sadly): I was with my friend Laura somewhere in a Danish called Køge, and we decided to climb a near-by mountain. There are virtually no mountains in Denmark, so there isn't any truth to this, geographically. It was late afternoon and sort of dark and rainy, but we were determined to go anyway. It was a bothersome trip. Most of the time we were able to trek, but for some parts, we needed to crawl and climb our way up. When we finally reached the top, we sat down at some kind of café and started talking about various university papers we had written during our studies. For some reason I had my master thesis with me, so I took it out to show her. When I looked at the front page that the title of it was "The Henchman and the Landscape in Nature". This struck me as a horribly clumsy title (indeed it is not the title of my actual thesis), but I seemed to remember that it was a title I'd picked randomly a few minutes before deadline. I was sort of glad, however, to find that I had encarved tiny little words into the letters of the word "landscape": I didn't really remember doing that, but I knew that I must have done it in order to graphically emphasize a point in my thesis about the landscape of a traumatic event carrying a certain signifiance, like a secret code, to a second hand witness trying to gain access to said event (which is indeed an actual point in my thesis. Although I never actually incarved tiny words into any letters).

After a while, we wanted to head home, but it was getting dark outside now, we realised. If we started climbing down the mountain at this hour, chances were that we would get stuck somewhere half down the mountain in the dark. Somehow we were now in Salzburg, where they don't have the light Scandinavian summer nights that we have here.

Luckily, however, we realised that there was a bus going down the mountain that we could get on, and incredibly, the bus was supposed to depart from where we were situated in just one minute. Sure enough, after a few moments we saw the bus approaching - except it wouldn't stop when it saw us. Instead it went on a little, and then the bus driver shouted to us that we had been too late for the bus. We protested and followed him, but then he drove a little further before stopping and shouting at us some more. This repeated itself a few times before we were finally let in.

Half-way down the mountain, however, the bus driver suddenly stopped and left his seat. He walked into the aisle where he intended to perform what he called a "magic show". His trick, he said was this: He was capable of telling if any person he met was or straight, and he would like to demonstrate this on a few of us. Every single one of us found this offensive, and people protested, but the chauffeur insisted. For his show he picked two men, a woman (whom I somehow instinctly knew was a Lesbian) - and me. I told him that I didn't want to be in his show, but the driver said that if I didn't want to participate, I'd have to leave his bus and make my way down the mountain on foot. By then it was pitch dark outside, and there was really no way I'd be able to find my way down by myself, so I had no choice but to stick around and be a part of his stupid gay-dar show. I don't remember how things turned out with the show. I just remember intending to file a complaint to the bus company, demanding that the chauffeur be fired.

Sarah Jessica Parker and the Chocolate Figurines

I recently had a dream in which I was at the top floor of Illum, a Copenhagen department store. I had somehow got my hands on three chocolate figurines, like the ones children get for Easter. Except these figurines weren't Easter bunnies or anything like that. Instead they were made out to look like Thor, Siff, and Loke from Norse mythology. For some reason, I was devouring these chocolate figuring, with a ravenous appetite. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a door opened and Sarah Jessica Parker stepped into the room. She was wearing a beautiful silver dress, Charleston-like, and her hair was short like it was in the fifth season of Sex and the City. Upon seeing me and my wild consumation of these chocolate figurines, she got this completely horrified look on her face, and rushed out of the same door that she'd entered Illum through.

That's all I remember from that dream.

The Art Salon

Last night I dreamt that I was going to attend some kind of art salon, and I had to prepare something for it - a song or a poetry recital or something. For some reason, I was going to recite a piece of dialogue from the 1990s TV series The X-Files. I have no idea why. I guess maybe it was somebody else's idea. I certainly wasn't very happy about it. I don't remember which dialogue it was, except for two lines: "The egg hatched..." "The egg hatched... and a hundred baby spiders came out...". Which isn't even a piece of dialogue from The X-Files. It's from Blade Runner. And thus I have now, indirectly, dreamt of Harrison Ford for the fourth time, since Martin and I started this blog.

Anyway, a friend of mine, Cat, from high school, was also to attend the salon. She was doing something way more fancy and appropriate than a piece of dialogue from a TV-series, but I don't remember what it was. I just remember that on the night of the salon, I met with her and I told her: "I can't do this. I cannot get up in front of a bunch of people at an art salon and recite a piece of dialogue from The X-Files. It will look ridiculous!" She looked at me very sympathetically and said: "You're right, you can't. Listen, why don't you just come up with some kind of excuse so that you can get out of it." I agreed with her that this would be the thing to do. I decided that I would claim to have a sore throat.

It was harder to get out of it, however, than I had thought. As it turned out it was a teacher of mine who had put me up to performing at the salon. And get this; my teacher was Beethoven. Yup. My teacher was Ludwig van Beethoven in the flesh. So I approached him in an attempt to get out of the concert, and I remember wondering if this was Beethoven before or after he went deaf. Because if it was after, that could make things even more difficult. Just in case, I decided to speak very loud. Except I couldn't remember the German term for "sore throat". So I just went: "HERR BEETHOVEN - ES TUT MIR RECHT LEID, ABER ICH HABE SCHMERZEN - HIER." and pointed to my throat before I contintued: "WÄRE ES MÖGLICH, DASS ICH HEUTE NACHT ZU HAUSE BLEIBEN KÖNNE?"
Alas, as it turned out, Beethoven thought of me as his favourite pupil - his protegé - and he was not about to let his prize student out of his art salon. I was going to have to participate, he said, and I got a bit of a creepy vibe from him, because he kept smiling and patting my cheek as he spoke.

So there really was no way out, and I showed up for the art salon. My friend Cat was there, but she was no longer my friend Cat - she was Pamela Sue Martin, the actress who played Fallon Carrington on Dynasty. A young version of actor Tom Hulce was there as well, sitting in the audience. He wasn't dressed up in his Amadeus attire, as one might expect. Instead he looked like himself in Animal House. At some point during the evening, he was fixed up with the best friend of the hostess of the salon, and started making out with her. I got the impression that he was actually mostly invited because the hostess wished to fix him up with said friend.

Meanwhile I became more and more determined not to get up in front of a number of people and recite a piece of dialogue from The X-Files. Instead, on the night of the salon, I decided to do a recital of ee cummings "Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond". Except I don't know that one by heart, so I kept trying to find a computer that worked, so that I could get online and find the poem there. I found a computer, and I managed to print the poem as well, except the paper came out very mangled and torn, and I worried that I might not be able to read the poem.

Seeing no way out, however, I went in there in front of the audience and prepared to recite the poem to them. But then I woke up.

The Autograph

I guess if this blog has established anything thus far, it's that I dream about celebrities a lot. However, my dream brain seems to favour some celebrities over others, and it seems to be particularly fond of Harrison Ford, of whom I've now dreamed a total of three times since Martin and I started this blog.
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The dream was this: I was talking to a girl named Lisa who was in my class when I first went to the university years ago (and whom I've had very little contact with since then in real life). She was telling me that she was going to star in a play along with Harrison Ford and several other A-list actors. The play was to be staged in Greenland, and it was supposed to be about the early history of the country, in celebration of some innuit holiday. In the dream this made sense because, as I thought, Harrison Ford looks vaguely like an innuit. Which makes no sense to me now that I'm awake of course. I don't think Harrison Ford looks anything like an innuit.

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But then the dream changed and suddenly I was on a sidewalk somewhere in Copenhagen, and I noticed that Harrison Ford was standing about near by. I figured that if I wanted to meet Harrison Ford, this was a once-in-a-life-time opportunity, so I went up to him and said hello and asked him for an autograph. Which is a little surprising in and of itself, because I don't think I would ever do that in real life. Besides, does anyone even do the whole autograph thing anymore? I'm pretty sure people just snap a photo of themselves and the celebrity in question with their camera phones nowadays.

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But Harrison Ford was very friendly and not at all as grumpy as he is often rumoured to be. He looked younger than in real life - he looked like himself in the 1990s. He started writing his signature on a sheet of paper that I'd handed him. "I really admire your work, Mr Ford," I then blurted out and he replied, still very friendly and smiling, "Yeah? What movies have you seen me in?" I panicked for a moment here, because once I got to thinking about it, most of the movies I've seen him in aren't very good. Like, I was wracking my brain trying to come up with a good title, and all I could think of was Regarding Henry which is an awful, awful film. I considered mentioning Blade Runner, which I love, but then I remembered that Ford reportedly had a terrible time shooting that movie, and I didn't want to run the risk of alienating him. I finally managed to tell him that I really like the Indiana Jones movies, "especially Raiders of the Lost Ark", and that I also love Witness. I then added a semi-nonsensical and much too long sentence about how I thought that "great acting, a great script and wonderful art direction really went perfectly together" in Witness and things got a little awkward again, because I could tell that Harrison Ford was thinking that I was starting to ramble a little there.

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He handed me my signed piece of paper, and I was going to thank him and walk away, but then it occured to me that I ought to get an autograph for my dad as well, who loves Harrison Ford. So I asked Ford for another autograph. But it turned out that he was a little pressed for time, so instead he just suggested that he possess me, you know, kind of like the Devil does in The Exorcist. Yeah. As weird and/or scary as this sounds now, it seemed perfectly reasonable to me in the dream, and Harrison Ford was very casual about the whole thing. So he just possessed me, and then I felt my hand moving on its own, putting the pen to the piece of paper and scribbling a greeting and an autograph in Harrison Ford's handwriting. After that, Harrison Ford's spirit or whatever left me, and I thanked him politely and walked away.

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I was eager to see what he'd written so after a while I took out the pieces of paper. I noticed that he'd written quite a long message for me on the first piece of paper I'd given him. I managed to read the first sentence. It read:

"I am a gorgeous man."

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But then I was suddenly unable to read, and I couldn't make out the rest of it. Then I woke up.

Harrison Ford, Pierce Brosnan, and The Elephant Man

I had a dream some time last week in which I was still with my ex-boyfriend Jonas (a relationship that ended years ago). This is a recurrent dream scenario of mine, and in the dream I’m always in a state of panic, because I don’t want to be with him, I don’t understand how I even got back together with him, and I want to break it off, but I worry about hurting his feelings all over again. I was thinking about these things in this dream while I was hanging around in some kind of house. My mother was there, and we were discussing something or other. Suddenly, however, my mother left, and in walked Harrison Ford! And we’re talking young Harrison Ford here. Like, Harrison Ford from before I was even born. Hot.

For no apparent reason, Harrison Ford walked over to me and started kissing me. As already mentioned, he was hot, so I was all for that, until I remembered that I was still with Jonas, and then I felt terrible and freed myself from Harrison Ford's tender embrace. I walked out of the room – only to realize that the house I’d been in all along was Jonas’ house! And that he was sitting in a pink office chair in the room facing the one I was just in with Harrison Ford! Meaning that he’d had a clear view of what I’d been up to in there. I walked up to Jonas and tried to be all casual about it, thinking that just maybe Jonas didn’t see any of it after all. However, Jonas was looking glum and hurt and poignantly told me: “I demand to know why you were kissing Harrison Ford just now!” Which, when you think about it, is a sentence you get to hear much too rarely in every-day conversation.

I don’t remember how I managed to get out of that situation, but soon after I found myself in the kitchen of that same house, along with Jonas, Jonas’s mother, and Jonas’s younger sister. Jonas does not even have a younger sister in real life, but in this dream he did, and she was about eleven or twelve years old. Jonas’s mother knew all about the Harrison Ford incident, so things were incredibly awkward. Also, there was a television on in the kitchen, and we were watching the news. On the news it was announced that actor Pierce Brosnan had died. The anchorman explained that Brosnan had for years suffered badly from the same disease that the Elephant Man had in David Lynch's movie: Big tumors grew all over his face and made him look completely deformed. They showed a picture of him from during his illness, and he looked terrible. Somebody moved to switch off the television, worried, I believe, that Jonas’s little sister might be disturbed by the images. However, the little sister suddenly piped up, asking us to leave the television on, because she, so she said, had been a great fan of Pierce Brosnan and had for years been sending him implants for his face, and also other things, among these decorative little pushpins, trying to encourage him in his weakened state, so it meant a lot to her to hear his obituary on the news. And that is the last thing I remember from the dream.