I am part of some sort of Olympic sports sub-committee along with my friend Heather C.
It is winter and there is snow and ice everywhere, making travel difficult. A crazy eyed blonde helicopter pilot has to get Heather and me to where we are staying. Through dream montage it takes a range rover, two helicopters and a strange ATV vehicle that resembles a bull shark with wheels that is able to burrow under the snow – like a snow submarine – to get to the run down administrative building where we will be staying for the duration of the Olympic event.
Other residents include Robin Tunney, Jeff Goldblum, Timothy Olyphant, Vin Diesel and someone who looks like Charlize Theron but is not (the feeling is like looking at an image of Charlize Theron with a post it note placed next to it saying “this is not Charlize Theron” – shrug – dream logic is dreamy).
Timothy Olyphant is dressed up as a woman (and a very attractive one at that). The not-Charlize Theron is dressed in a bright blue knit top and deep magenta pencil skirt that really stands out in the bleak, washed out light of the facility. Jeff Goldblum is teaching Vin Diesel some soft shoe tap moves and I overhear a little conversation about “a musical collaboration you would be perfect for” between the two of them.
Not-Charlize makes a speech to the assembled visitors and staff. She begins with “It is a honor and privilege to be at this event as part of this Olympic subcommittee and I would like to talk about why it is so important that we are-“.
Robin Tunney leans over and whispers in my ear “I am in love with him” clearly indicating not-Charlize. Before we can begin discussing why Robin feels the need to refer to not-Charlize as a “him”, we get several severe looks from the people sitting around us. It is very uncomfortable, so I excuse myself to walk away.
The building is very large and run down. Bits of rotten plaster and displaced tilework, water stains, rusty puddles. As I am walking down an enormous hallway, a sequence of dream “location shifts” occurs; the wide tiled hallway becomes the bottom of an empty swimming pool, bottom of empty swimming pool turns into an ice cave, ice cave into my kitchen. These are all very gradual, organic transitions that occur as I move forward.
I am sitting at my kitchen table reading a letter from Heather C. which had arrived earlier that morning along with a large, awkwardly shaped box that dwarfs the table.
The letter comments on what a tremendous job Jimmy and Stacy D. are doing advertising the new business with wooden, stylized Tikki Head mailers (please see attached package) and that Heather C. is planning a trip out to visit the spiritual guru Amma in late May, in case I want to coordinate a get together of some kind.
I put down the letter and make a conscious force-of-will effort to remember this. Speaking quietly to myself, late May visit. There is much frowning and concentration. I want to be absolutely sure I will be around, which is tricky because this conflicts with the Olympic committee commitment.
“What would not-Charlize and Jeff Goldblum think?”
It is my mission to get Heather C. in a room with my wife – as I have the feeling that the two of them would get along famously.
I turn to Paul Rudd, who is sitting at my kitchen table. He is playing a Cardinal in a film production next door. He is drinking coffee in full red robed Cardinal regalia and looking lazily out the window at the snow and ice outside.
Paul and I strike up a conversation about the end of the world, the anti-Christ, and the nature of free will. His answers are thoughtful, playful and provocative and I wish I had better dream recall to include more of it here. He offers up his impression of Sarah Palin and then (suddenly, dream jump cut) I am walking downtown in a city that resembles Seattle.
In a valley of concrete between two high-rise buildings with no windows, there is a spontaneous parade of a herd of rusty El Camino (what is plural of El Camino? Los Caminos? a clutch of Camini?) hauling trailers full of BRIGHT colorful oversize lawn ornaments; frogs, snowmen, polar bears, green men, angels, fairies, butterflies). As the final trailer passes by, Paul Rudd leaps from it, doing an impressive full body roll in the asphalt. He bounces up, brushes himself off, says “I do my own stunts” with that registered trademark, charming Paul Rudd grin.
…and then I wake up to White Stripes “Fell in love with a girl” on the radio. I groggily grab a pen and write all this down before it fades to nothing.