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Tuesday , November 3, 2009
We Dream of Beatles, and of Stones: Rockstar Cameos in Our Nighttime Reveries
Not so many moons ago, a reader named Laney asked nogoodforme.com: "When you dream, do you dream of Beatles?" "Why yes!" we cried in unison. "We do dream of Beatles, and of other rockstars too!" And so for the third edition of our long-abandoned Dream Girls, we present the weirdest and wackiest rockstar dreams we ever done dreamt. Please oh please: analyze away!
KAT'S DREAM: PJ HARVEY MAKES A MEAN EGG SALAD
My favorite rockstar dream features probably my favorite rock star of all time, PJ Harvey. It can be said that I have worshipped at the altar of Polly Jean for many years of my life, and although this feeling may have waned a bit in recent years, she's such a part of my DNA that she's become an avatar of what it means to be a creatively fulfilled human being, which is very important to me.
My dream begins backstage at a concert hall of sorts. For some reason, it resembles the classroom of my first elementary school, even though I'm an adult in my dream. The room has an old piano, a zylophone and a set of bongo drums. I'm really nervous because I'm supposed to go onstage to sing some fucking aria and I've never sung in front of a crowd before. I can hear them from the other room, and I can see the crew setting up lights just outside the door. Polly bustles in, looking like she does during her Uh Huh Her years with the cool haircut and ironic clothing. "Kat!" she exclaims, both friendly and impatient. "What are you doing? You've got to start warming up!" I tell her that I've lost my voice. For some reason, in my dream, I have this weird vision flash to a tiny key in my throat in the shape of a bird (a la Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.) Polly just sighs, saying she's been there before. She runs back out, leaving me to glance out onto the stage area, which is dark and kind of foreboding. She comes back in, lugging a gigantic crate of hardboiled eggs. "I know just the thing," she says, and starts preparing an egg salad. "You need lots of protein to support your voice. Otherwise it won't be strong enough to reach to the back of the hall." She starts mixing in other random ingredients, telling me what the function of each one is. She's very friendly throughout, finally handing me the largest salad I've ever seen in my life. I start to panic, saying I have to go on in ten minutes and there's just not enough time to eat it all. She nods, knowingly, as if anticipating this response. "Trust me, it's magic salad." So I have a bite of the PJ Harvey egg salad, and the strangest thing happens: it's as if I can feel my throat expand. Not like it's getting physically bigger, but like the muscles are widening to make room for some big sound. Consequently, it makes eating huge amounts of the salad easier. Finally I finish it, and PJ rushes me along to the stage and I go onto it. I can't see anyone but then I let out the first note of the aria and it's GIGANTIC and I'm like, "Yay! Thank you, Polly Jean!" (Kat)
LIZ'S DREAMS: DAVID LEE ROTH AND MICK JAGGER SAVE THE WORLD, AT THE MALL
As it turns out, I had a Paul McCartney dream just the other night: I was going to see Paul play a show, and had seats right up against the side of the stage, and of course I was just pleased as punch. All I really remember is that between songs Paul kept wandering over to where I was standing, and he'd stare down at the crowd and smile and shake his head in this doting-grandfather kind of way, like: "Oh, you kids are just too adorable for words!" It was so nice of Paul to make us feel loved like that.
But yeah, I dream about famous people all the time; it's "my thing." Here's some of my fave rockstar dreams, or at least my faves of the dreams I can remember right now:
+ There's an intergalactic war on, and for some reason it's taking place entirely at Westfield Shoppingtown Topanga (which is a mall, FYI). I'm a little girl and John Krasinski's my guardian and I'm kind of in love with him. We're trying to get to safety and there's all this Star Wars-esque laser gunfire all around us and it's so scary but I feel really safe with my hero Jim Halpert. And then David Lee Roth magically appears, does many backflips down the length of the mall, and all of a sudden the war's over and intergalactic peace is achieved. Well done, Diamond Dave!
+ I'm in the mall again! But in Rhode Island. Everything in the world is sad but I can't remember why. And then 1972-ish Mick Jagger magically appears, grabs my hand and kisses my wrist, leaving an imprint of his mouth on my skin forever. All of a sudden the sadness is gone and worldwide happiness is achieved. Well done, Sir Michael Philip!
+ Flea and his beautiful bride Frankie Rayder have invited me and my friends over to their house. When we get there, Flea and Frankie tell us all: "You can hang out with us and stuff, but only if you answer the doorbell whenever it rings and do the dishes when everybody leaves." And then they put us in another room to watch movies on cable while they and all their friends have dinner. It's kind of a drag, but I'm not terribly bummed out, because I'm just happy to be there.
+ I'm in college again, which is also kind of a drag, because post-college life generally kicks college life's ass (IMHO). I'm living in the dorms with one of my BFFs, but she has to go home a lot since she's married and has a one-year-old baby and stuff. The dorm janitor is Peter Wolf from the J. Geils Band, but he has huuuuuge hair and wears tons of makeup and generally looks/dresses just like one of the New York Dolls. Actually, he talks just like one of the New York Dolls as well (David Johansen, to be exact), and it's so endearing. Whenever he comes into my room to empty the trash cans, he gives me love and life advice, really nonsensical but still inspiring stuff that I really wish I could remember. I'm sure it was all very wise! Now I'm in love with Peter Wolf a little.
+ I'm babysitting and the doorbell rings and I answer and Kurt Cobain is lying on the front steps in a heap and he needs my help. I drag him to my car and pull him into the front seat because he can't walk, and he can't talk either. He's just slumped over looking really helpless and small and I know I'm supposed to take him to a hospital. So I'm driving and I turn away for a second and when I turn back Kurt's gone, disappeared into thin air. That's all. (BTW, I had this dream in between that time he tried to kill himself in Rome and the time he actually killed himself, and it made me so sad. Probably because it is so sad. Poor Kurt.)
+ One time in college I had a sex dream about Polly Harvey. IT WAS HOT!!!!!!!!!! (Liz)
WOULDN'T IT BE WEIRD IF I DIDN'T WRITE ABOUT JOHN LENNON?
I am a terrible dreamer. My dreams are dreary and spiritless. Here is a dream I recently dreamed: I am checking Twitter, and all the green Iran protest userpics have turned ungreen again! I have trouble figuring out who is who on my Twitter feed. I also dream many stressful dreams about having to complete a nonsensical task that I am incapable of carrying out due to an aggro shitstorm of unforeseen obstacles, and then the taskmaster yells at me. But mostly, yes, I dream of Twitter.
I dream of Beatles infrequently. I have no recollection of ever dreaming about Paul McCartney, which I can only assume is because Sir Paul doesn't Twitter. Recently, I had a great dream wherein I lucked into a bunch of never-before-seen footage of 1964 Ringo & George. They were both very drunk. George Harrison was so wasted that his eyes kept rolling back into his head, which was troubling. Ringo was dancing wildly, and I could communicate with him through the video screen. He gave me a thumbs-up sign.
John Lennon is the Beatle I dream about most. I have a recurring John Lennon dream that I've been having about once per year since I was sixteen. When I was depressed and a stoner and living in Montreal two springs ago, I thought my John Lennon Dream might give me a boost, so I got into the habit of drawing hyper-detailed "DREAM ABOUT JOHN LENNON" doodles in my notebook every night before falling asleep. I hoped that by doing so, I would tip off my subconscious to the possibility of Having My John Lennon Dream, but it never worked. You can't force these things, you know?
+ Continue reading "We Dream of Beatles, and of Stones: Rockstar Cameos in Our Nighttime Reveries"
Tags: David Lee Roth, egg salad, Flea, ice skating, John Krasinski, John Lennon, Kurt Cobain, Laura Jane Faulds, Laura loves the Beatles, LJ ON JL, Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, PJ Harvey, sex, Star Wars, the mall
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Monday , November 10, 2008
Dream Girls: Liz Brings Magic Frosting to Kat's House, Wreaks Havoc
This installment of Dream Girls, our new dream analysis column, doesn't have a high celeb quotient (unless you count Steve Aoki) but it sure is weird. AND it features appearances by Liz and Laura Jane themselves -- kind of.
Steve Aoki, kinda impersonating a wrestler from Turkmenistan
Kat's Dream:
I should set this dream up with the following circumstances: 1) I had it the night after Halloween after many, many drinks. And 2) On Halloween night on the way to a party in Williamsburg, I saw a group of little people emerge out of the Graham Ave. L stop dressed like 1930s Chicago gangsters. So I'm sure this, along with the veil between worlds being so thin on All Souls Night and all that, has a lot to do with how weird and Lynchian this dream kind of is.
Anyway: I am walking through my childhood home in Illinois getting things ready, and for some reason, despite having the same type of body and physiology I have now as an adult, I feel I'm really about five or six years old. I'm making my way from the backyard through my kitchen/dining room, where my parents are sitting at a table with this new couple they're best friends with. This new couple seem really uptight and stern, and across from them my parents are giggling and conspiring like two rebellious teenagers against them. (If you knew my parents in real life, you would know this is completely the opposite of how they'd act!) I pass them, trying to go unnoticed by the new couple, and I fervently hope that my parents diss them soon as friends.
I go to the front door of my house and open it, where lo and behold -- Liz and Laura Jane are standing on my porch, all ready to play! They look like how they do in real life, but in my dream we all feel like kids. Liz is my "age" and LJ is a few years younger, which I guess makes her a toddler in my dream world. They come inside into my living room and we sit on our yellow shag carpet. Liz is wearing pigtails and LJ's looking a little freaked out by everything around her, paying real close attention to the cellophane wrapping around our VHS tapes. (This was actually a fascination of one of my real-life sisters when she was little.) Liz has this little backpack on, and she opens it up and takes out a can of frosting. For some reason, this frosting kind of weirds me out -- I think it's too buttery, but does that stop Liz from taking out a spoon and eating it? NO! Liz will eat her frosting if she wants to, which she does, with great calm and determination. I look over to LJ to see how she feels about the frosting, but LJ has wandered off with the VHS cellophane wrapping and I have the feeling that she is okay, even if the frosting is now starting to give me a lot of anxiety.
Of course, I am totally right, because suddenly the door opens and these big weird wrestler dudes from "Turkmenistan" come into my house, wearing traditional Turkmen costume. (Note: I have no idea what this really looks like.) They sit right in front of Liz and stare at her in this weird ceremonial way, and she calmly doles out some frosting to them. One by one they kneel in front of her and get their frosting, and then they each take a place in my living room, as if waiting for something to happen. I'm kind of worrying inside that my parents will walk in, but then I remember that they're teenagers and will probably be okay with a wrestling team from Turkeministan invading their home if it'll help get their new friends out.
Then, finally, Steve Aoki walks in, only he's dressed like a Turkmen hipster (and not, I guess, like a L.A. hipster.) He's got this cool embroidered vest on and very creative facial hair. He doesn't speak at all until Liz gives him some frosting. I get the feeling that this silence is part of the "ceremony." Finally he eats his frosting and tells us the frosting is like a weird throat remedy for singers and that he's looking for some new bands for his label and heard something was going down at my house. Suddenly this MAGIC TURKMENISTANI DUDE walks in. He's like the most majestically huge Turkmen dude ever, wearing the best costume (lots of pink and lots of flowers) and he just takes the can of Liz's frosting and eats it all. Liz doesn't complain one bit, and then I realize that SHE KNEW ALL ALONG that this was going to happen. (That Liz! So sneaky!) The Magic Turk stands at the front of the room after eating all the frosting, and he starts singing. And it's pretty much the most amazing music ever. (This is the coolest part of the dream, when there's really indescribable music.) The man has this amazing, beautiful voice, and the song itself is really graceful and melancholy but oddly joyous, and it makes everything in the dream really lovely and serene. One of the wrestlers listening to the music lies back on the carpet, and soon he starts floating around on it, like he's on an inflatable raft in a pool or something. For some reason, this violation of the laws of physics really bothers me and I get freaked that my parents will walk in again. In fact, I look over at Liz, who's just totally sitting there with her pigtails and chilling with the song and trying to eat more frosting, and I remember thinking, "BarKER!!!!!" Which made me laugh, and then I woke up!
LJ's Psychoanalysis:
What the hell?!?!?! Why am I not eating the frosting? I should be eating the frosting. I want frosting!
Second and foremost, I find it highly intriguing that Kat dreamed up the nogoodforme.com troika as being lil' babies. This is bunk, Kat. Everybody knows that the ngfm troika are mature and sophisticated women of the world. I imagine that K's subconscious most likely positioned us as children to represent the obviously obvious fact that the nogoodforme.com Lifestyle Media neo-Martha Stewart Living Empire is, at press time, merely in its infancy. Once this metaphor is accepted and recognized, every other aspect of Kat's dream falls immediately into place:
1. Dream-Laura Jane is ripping cellophane off a VHS tape. Said VHS tape acts as a symbol of COMMUNICATIVE MEDIA. Laura Jane is breaking down the boundaries that exist between her and (the idea of) Film, ie. Laura Jane is facilitating the growth of nogoodforme.tv. This is true about Laura Jane. Duh.
2. I thought for a second that perhaps The Frosting was meant to embody Michael Showalter, and that Liz's eating of the "frosting" was Kat's-dream-Liz's way of saying, "Hah! Take that, LJ! Sho is MINE ALL MINE," but then I realized I was being a little self-centered.
3. In actuality, the frosting is emblematic of nogoodforme.com's je ne sais quoi. Dream-Kat's sketchiness about the frosting being "too buttery" serves as a metaphor for IRL-Kat's deep fear that perhaps nogoodforme.com is just too damn good (and/or "buttery") for the sorry state of contemporary popular culture. Don't fret, Kat! When it comes to nogoodforme.com: the butterier the better.
4. Magic Turkmenistani Dude= the Blogosphere. THINK ABOUT IT.
5. Dream-Liz's pigtails represent the fact that, in real life, Liz Barker often wears her hair in pigtails.
6. THE MORAL OF THE STORY: When Magic Turkmenstani Dude (the Blogosphere) eats The Frosting (the magic of ngfm), he makes music so beautiful (The Beatles?) that people (the Earth's General Populus) begin to FLOAT AROUND (have their minds blown by the mind-blowing coolness of nogoodforme.com). 'Nuff said.
7. I'm not entirely sure what Steve Aoki represents. Perhaps Kat's dream is "starring Steve Aoki as himself."
8. Kat is drunk.
Liz's Psychoanalysis:
Unlike Laura Jane, I think it's so fantastic that Kat dreamed up the nogoodforme.com troika as ickle little scamps. There's this quote from Courtney Love that goes: "If you can't embrace your daily life properly with an enthusiasm that's unfettered, like a child, then fuck you." The nogoodforme.com troika is so obviously all about childlike and unfettered enthusiasm for (as LJ would say) This Grand Old Dame We Call Life, and so the idea of us-as-tiny-tots is so spot on. That said, I also fully dig on the suggestion that nogoodforme.com may only be at the very earliest stages of its transition into a Lifestyle Media neo-Martha Stewart Living Empire. Plus, last night I dreamed I was hanging out with this really awesome baby at some weird rock show, so right now I'm all about the youth. Gaga googoo gaga!
Now, a point-by-point response to the remainder of LJ's psychoanalysis:
1. VHS tape as a symbol of communicative media = right on. Though, truth be told, I never would've thought of that on my own.
2. Ewww, Michael Showalter is so not the frosting! Gross. Just the suggestion that Michael Showalter might be the frosting completely neutralizes the last strains of my Sho lust, and it also makes me not want to eat cake ever again. I'll definitely get over the latter in about five or six minutes, but maybe not the former.
3. I like the idea of the frosting representing nogoodforme.com's je ne sais quoi. I think maybe it could even mean something more magical and mystical, although I'm not sure what that magical/mystical thing might be.
4. I don't know about the magic Turkmenistani dude representing the blogosphere. I tend to think there's something more magical and mystical at work there too, like he's some sort of spirit guide sent to help elevate us to the levels of greatness we're meant to achieve (the Lifestyle Media neo-Martha Stewart Living Empire thing, benevolent domination of the entire Milky Way galaxy, etc.). Maybe he's Bono! And maybe the reason I knew about him all along is Bono's my secret uncle and he called my mom before coming over to Kat's house and then my mom slipped a note in my backpack.
5. I do often wear my hair in pigtails! And I actually carry a backpack kinda often too. And there's always a can of frosting in the front pouch, but the frosting is NEVER MICHAEL SHOWALTER.
6. YES.
7. Yeah, I don't know what the hell Steve Aoki is doing there either. Maybe Kat's subconsciously remembering the time I went to Kitchen 24 and sat a table away from Steve Aoki and then wrote a post about it. I don't think Steve Aoki could possibly mean any more than that to any of us. Sorry, Steve Aoki.
8. Kat is drunk! Let's all get drunk!
Tags: Bono, Courtney Love, dreams, frosting, Laura Jane Faulds, Liz Barker, Martha Stewart Living, Michael Showalter, neo-Martha Stewart Living, nogoodforme.com's impending world domination, psychoanalysis, singing, Steve Aoki, Turkmenistan
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by Kat in Dream Girls
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Sunday , November 2, 2008
Dream Girls: Andy Samberg Stirs the Soup With His Hands In our quest for the ultimate in awesome randomness, a new column in which the nogoodforme troika analyze one another's dreams. Which is something we do during our teleconferences, anyway. That's why we work together so well. If all offices shared dreams and talked astrology, the world of work wouldn't be such a drag. Liz's Dream: One night last week I watched "Mark Wahlberg Talks to Animals" shortly before going to sleep, and then I dreamed the most epic dream anyone's ever had about Andy Samberg. It started off in a pub/pho restaurant located smack in the middle of the very residential neighborhood I lived in from ages seven to 11: I was on the East Coast because I'd fleetingly decided to move to Brooklyn and become a teacher's aid at an elementary school, which was already starting to feel like a really bad choice even though my job hadn't actually started yet. (This, by the way, is one of two recurring dream-scenarios I've ever had in my life: I fleetingly decide to move away from L.A., get to the new city, and immediately drown in bitter regret. The other recurring dream is that it's Christmas Eve and I've forgotten to buy presents for everyone, so I end up having to do all my gift-shopping at the grocery store.) Anyway, so I'm in this bar on the eve of my first day of my new job, and it's getting pretty late and my friend keeps telling me we should leave so I can head down to Brooklyn and get some sleep. But then just as we're leaving Andy Samberg starts chatting me up from his seat at the bar, and we totally hit it off and he draws me lots of funny stick-figure scenes on his placemat then asks if I want to go hang out at his apartment. My friend nags me to leave again, and Andy Samberg excuses himself and says he'll leave us alone to figure out the plan. My friend gives me some lecture about how it's not super-responsible of me to spend all night hanging out with Andy Samberg when I've got my first day at work tomorrow, but I basically shrug her off. Then Andy Samberg comes back from the bathroom, but he's gigantically tall, practically doubled in height. We all giggle because supposedly making himself gigantically tall is some clever demonstration of his comedic talents. After that I'm totally sold on going home with him, so we walk out of the pub and into the pho restaurant part of the establishment, and this very serene woman is cooking up a huge pot of pho to be served the next day. Andy Samberg, always ready to give up the comedy gold, steps up to the stove and starts stirring the soup with his hands while making a bug-eyed mad-scientist-type face. I'm thoroughly amused, but the cook looks all frazzled and explains how the soup is sacred and can only be touched by monks or people who've been blessed by monks. So then she goes and finds a monk in the kitchen, the monk blesses Andy Samberg, and all is well again. Next we're somehow magically transported to Andy Samberg's apartment in New York. Turns out he lives with this somewhat dowdy but kindly middle-aged woman who vaguely resembles Megan Mulally, and I can't figure out if it's his mom or his wife. At this point it's a little past dawn, and I realize I've got to get to work pretty soon but I'm still wearing my clothes from the night before. Andy Samberg's mom/wife lets me borrow a pair of very fancy/foofy/ruffly yellow pants, and I head to Brooklyn and find my classroom. Then I woke up and I was kind of in love with Andy Samberg a little, but luckily that only lasted about two days. Laura's Psychoanalysis: Everybody knows that Andy Samberg is a culturally complex famous person. Andy Samberg is an enigma. Is Andy Samberg cool? Is he lame? If I were to meet him in real life, would I like him? Hate him? Want to date him? Is he hot? Is he annoying? Is he even a talented comedian? Why did he agree to be in Hot Rod? Who is Andy Samberg's favorite Beatle? What's his spirit animal? Really: who is Andy Samberg? Elizabeth's dream explores all of these burning questions. Liz feels immensely confused (but also intrigued) by her own diverging feelings towards Andy Samberg. For instance, Liz's inability to figure out whether the Megan Mullally-alike is Samberg's mother or wife is actually representative of Liz's own inner conflict about whether she wants to be Samberg's mother or wife. This also may relate to aging. Perhaps Liz is wondering if Andy Samberg is too young for her. The most relevant segment of this dream, in my opinion, is the "scene" wherein Andy Samberg stirs the pot of Pho with his hands. Obviously, this action functions as a metaphor for Andy Samberg's feelings of entitlement. A significant part of Samberg's aforementioned cultural complexity is that it can be tough to tell if he's a smarmy famous asshole who sleeps around and does coke all the time, or if he's just a chill cute dude who you could play video games with. Whether she knows it or not, Liz is positing that Andy Samberg is more likely the former. Yet, she is not entirely devoid of hope. The monks in the dream are representative of the role Liz wishes she could play in Andy Samberg's life. Liz wants to save Andy Samberg. "What does my wanting to save Andy Samberg mean about me?" Liz is essentially asking herself. Dr. LJ's prognosis is that Elizabeth should probably write an open letter to Andy Samberg and post it to nogoodforme.com. Liz needs to address her Samberg-related anxiety as soon as possible, or the emotional tumult she is presently experiencing may very well destroy her. Kat's Psychoanalysis: This dream is about the anxieties of adulthood responsibility, and your desires to evade the attendant weight of such responsibilities -- or at least integrate them into your desire to retain the joy and carefree feelings of being young. Returning back to your old childhood neighborhood is clearly significant, as is the circumstance of starting a new job. (You're such a Capricorn, Liz!) It is also important that you are on the eve of beginning the new job itself, which indicates you're somehow psychologically negotiating beginning a new phase in your work life, or at least contemplating the new plan of attack in regards to your career. You're probably feeling some ambivalence about this, as this puts you further into the world of adulthood and leaving behind the limitless possibilities of adolescence. Andy Samberg is significant because in our culture (as in this dream) he represents the charm, fecklessness and energy of adolescence. He is fun, goofy, a trickster of sorts, but very good-hearted. Even his ability to become gigantic is experienced not as threatening, but as funny and charming. Despite your friend's admonishments to be responsible and be essentially a grown-up, you still pick Andy. Then you go into a kitchen next door, a space that often represents things you are either nourishing into fruition or plans you are "cooking up." It can also be the space that symbolizes creativity as well. Andy does his soup-hands things, which indicates not the careful evaluation and planning involved in such enterprises, but the direct, goofy, silly, messy interpolation of youth; it is more similar to how children would play. This makes you laugh, but makes the cook a bit anxious. The cook is a significant figure. If all figures in a dream represent aspects of your self, then the cook is like the wizard behind the curtain -- she is "cooking up" the ultimate shape of your life and nourishing that larger part of you. She's initially serene, which seems to me as if she's a bit of a spiritual ideal in your life, perhaps a dream manifestation of a guardian angel or spirit. Ultimately, though, she obtains a spiritual blessing for Andy's sense of fun and anarchy in what you're "cooking up" for yourself. Ultimately, Liz, this dream is saying that, in your quest to be the ultimate primo Don Corleone of Capricorns, it's okay to have fun and be a little immature. The spirit of the ruffly yellow underpants (fun, color, a bit of craziness) is something that you can take with you into the realm of work, and indeed staying connected to this spirit may be significant in the larger creative projects you may choose for yourself. Anyway, this is what I think. Plus, you think Andy Samberg is cute, at least as a friend.
Tags: adulthood responsibility vs. adolescent anarchy, Andy Samberg, Andy Samberg's cultural complexity, dreams, psychoanalysis, spirituality
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