Hey, last night I had a celebrity dream -- my first ever, I think. (I say 'I think' because I tend not to remember most of my dreams. For all I know I've been having nocturnal escapades with A-list types for many years. Or not. I have no idea.)
The celebrity: a Jack Nicholson who didn't give a shit about my humble self, despite me being genuine, sincere, wearing my heart on my sleeve.
In the world of this dream, Jack was in charge of... er... a community of some sort. A bunch of people living together in a village or a cluster of buildings around a two-lane road, the area looking West-Virginia-esque. A cult for all I know. The cult of Jack.
I'd been part of that social milieu at some point in the past but wasn't when the dream took place, due to vaguely unpleasant circumstances I did my best to ignore and rise above.
What I remember: I'd been out doing errands, then stopped by the community's village/compound, pulling up near their big three or four-bay garage, parking, getting out of my vehicle. I'd picked up two or three bags of groceries during my travels, apparently didn't want to cart them around during whatever errands remained to be done. So I transferred them to one of the community's vehicles, a minivan parked in a garage bay. Why I thought that would be all right I can't explain -- I can only assure you it made perfect sense to me at the time.
A woman I knew was in the minivan, not pleased to find me storing my groceries in the back seat. "Hey!", she said in protest. I politely ignored her.
Word of all this apparently made its way around the community instantaneously, reaching Jack at lightning speed. I found myself summoned to his small, unassuming, country-style office where we had a chat. After the briefest possible small talk, Jack let me know that me warehousing my groceries in their vehicle was not appropriate, that the bags needed to go back to my vehicle. Pronto.
He did this in a way that attempted to turn giving me an order into getting me into the spirit of doing the right thing. I in turn tried to communicate a bit of the pain I felt at the earlier falling-out with the community and with the current situation. He brushed that casually aside, continuing with the attempt to make me feel some enthusiasm about getting with the program. "I really need you to get behind me on this," he said.
"I've never not been behind you, Jack," I answered in a tone of reproach.
"I know that," he said smoothly, giving me his trademark heavy-lidded half-smile (as opposed to the devilish, full-wattage Nicholson grin) -- a smile so well-practiced that it had become second nature, something he could do in his sleep. Totally phony, communicating that he knew it was phony and didn't give a rat's patoot.
I had to retrieve my bags of groceries and put them back in my car, waking up immediately after that. Feeling dejected about what I'd just been through, especially the obviously-insincere Nicholson blow-off. (Bastard.)
I spent a few groggy minutes under the covers, grumbling, until I reminded myself I was grumbling about a dream. After which I began feeling better.
Jack, you loveable hardass -- all is forgiven, phony smile and everything.
***************
Seen around Madrid this last weekend --
a) the Plaza de Chueca, Friday a.m.
b) human with vigilant cocker spaniel -- the barrio of Salamanca, Saturday.
c) mural/optical illusion -- la Calle de Montera, city center.
rws 6:17 AM [+]