Tag Archives: dreams

Being Paul Giamatti

9 Aug paul giamatti movie

Due to being unemployed, I’ve been sleeping in and experiencing really strange dreams. They’re the type of dreams that, crusty-eyed and trying to stagger past the small diapered child who follows me around — I’m renting a room from a family that has 3 kids — its exactly what you imagine it to be — I silently pat myself on the back for being capable of such weird yet coherent dreams.

In my latest dream, Paul Giamatti is starring in a movie in which he’s cunning and quick enough to escape the clutches of two faceless cops. I say “movie” because I was somehow aware during the dream that I was inside of a movie, and after the last scene ended, my brain told me to wake up.

paul giamatti movie

About halfway through the movie, I became Paul Giamatti. In one “scene” I shimmied on my stomach through a small, long wooden area. I looked down and saw, through the slats, that my two nemeses were also sliding on their stomachs below me, trying to catch up. There were meaningful glances and sweating.

We emerged all at the same time. I ran to a car and the next scene was all about driving around a parking lot trying to escape bullets and trying to not hit anyone in my way. I hit a lot of cars and knocked a lot of stuff over, but knew the audience would be all “Ohhhh, no he didn’t! Ahhh but I guess it’s okay, he needs to escape for the greater good.” I think I overestimate the emotions of my audience. Generally when I watch a high-intensity scene in an action movie, I end up thinking “ooh, who’s going to fix that bridge?” or “that was a lot of shrapnel, I hope that the resulting wounds of passerby do not cause someone to need to cross the bridge to get to the hospital, because they will likely bleed to death or drown trying to cross that river.”

Thoughts on Blake becoming the next Batman in the Dark Knight Rises

But I got caught. The two cops took me to the top of a grassy hill, where my entire extended family sat on picnic tables underneath a patio tent, eating peanut butter sandwiches. The cop that was escorting me opened the flap of the tent, and then somehow I escaped. Then I became Director again, and watched as Paul Giamatti got into a car, waved, and drove away on the dusty road. Then I woke up.

Looking back, it looks like my dream involved:

  • Paul Giamatti
  • parking lot
  • police
  • peanut butter
  • patio
  • picnic table

I’m not quite sure what that signifies. Maybe I should just stop watching Lost before going to sleep.

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The Budding Career of a Professional Greeting Card Writer

15 Jul

My parents are trying to sell our house. I know this because A) I found The Idiot’s Guide to Buying and Selling a Home in our living room and B) turning up all over the house are things from the past — things that have spent years gathering dust in corners and closets underneath stacks of old National Geographic magazines. This means that they must have already read Chapter 8: How to Get Rid of all the S–t You Accumulated over the Past Twenty Years. I was looking for a stamp today when I came across a ziplock bag filled with a snapshot of my childhood. Here’s what I found.

Rejected Hallmark Applicant: The Complete Works

All signed by me.

Which led me to the shocking conclusion… As a kid, I wanted to be a professional greeting card writer. For some reason I repressed this memory — I remember always wanting to be A Writer as a kid. Which is, still, far less cool than wanting to be, oh a firefighter or professional soccer player, you know, something unattainable for the average person but at least it sounded cool during recess. On second thought, maybe I repressed the memory after everyone laughed at me during recess.

Anyway, here’s your chance to be floored by the budding career of an aspiring professional greeting card writer.

slumber party

get well soon

Get well soon — Feel free to wipe your germ-infested boogers on this card

hallmark applicant 2

Congradulations on your recent marriage!! Your ex-wives from your last three marriages sent these razor-edged pinwheels in honor of your newest matrimony

[Inside]:

awkward family

Wishing you all the happiness that life has to offer to two people with a bastard blonde child; why do you think we picked out a card with a bride in a yellow wedding dress? That dirty whore you’re marrying obviously isn’t fit for a white one and you’re too busy giving mustache rides to Wendy’s employees to know the difference

fun

[Inside]:

Nope, I’ve had funner

And two postcards:
postcards

Hello! from Hallucinating Rainbow Island, Tennessee and Bad Acid Trip Shards of Glass Raining from the Chicken Pox Clouds, Minnesota

“Demain, le Bubblegum pour tout!”

2 Oct

“A very hard word. MASSACHUSETTS!”

I’ve dreamt about visiting Paris since January of seventh grade, when my foreign language teacher stopped teaching us Spanish (hated it) and began teaching French. She pulled down a map of the country and pointed out les Alpes, le Seine, and le big yellow star which was Paris. The first French word I learned: le crayon. French for pencil, in case you didn’t know.

louvre-museum-picture

In my third year of college, I signed up for an extra class to brush up on my conversational French. I planned to spend that spring’s semester in Paris. Two weeks into the class I realized only one class at a French university would apply towards my degree… It didn’t make sense.

I’m 22 and I’m still dreaming about walking up to the giant glass pyramid in front of the Louvre. I want to see the city as the Impressionist painters saw it (and I’m sure if I take out my contacts I very well could). I want to nibble on a croissant in a cafe like Gene Kelly did in An American in Paris (disregarding the fact that it was a cafe inside a Hollywood movie studio). I want to think fondly of my cute old high school French teacher and hum “Aux Champs-Elysees” as I walk down l’Avenue. I want to look up at the Eiffel Tower and imagine I am Sarah Jessica Parker except NOT sad about being away from my closest friends. Really, I just want to walk down the adorable little streets and hear people speaking that intoxicating language and see them going about their fabulous European-Union daily lives.

Paris_Street_on_a_Rainy_Day,_1877,_Gustave_Caillebotte

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