Happy Holidays

Happy Holidays from all of us (ok, all of ME) at jiminysnap.com!

What A Difference A Bus Trip Makes

October 28, 2006

I'm on a school bus in somewhere in Pennsylvania. I'm with a group of people and we're headed to a school in New Jersey for mentally challenged children. It is unclear if we are students or just going to visit.

Our bus driver is a black woman of about 60. I recognize her immediately as the legendary singer Dinah Washington, the Queen of the Blues. I am stunned to see her and spend the rest of the ride figuring out what to say to her.

The bus makes a left hand turn into the parking lot of a strip mall. Apparently, this is our real destination. Everyone shuffles off the bus but I hang back so I can speak with Dinah. As I approach her perch in the driver's seat I say, "I just wanted to tell you I am a great fan of your work. I have dozens and dozens of your albums."

She thanks me and I tell her I hope she's still singing, "at least for your own pleasure." She tells me about a gospel song she sings from time to time, but that it has been about 13 years since she last sang professionally. I tell her that the Jazz stations still play her songs regularly on the radio. She asks me with true humility why did I think they continue playing her records. "Because they're great," I exclaim.

As she thanks me, I notice a black gentleman sitting about three or four rows from the front of the bus, nodding in agreement. He is what you might call a hepcat, dressed in a brown zoot suit and tie.

Gathering the courage to speak freely, I tell Dinah that I think there are still many of her records that could be even more popular if they were reedited. She asks me what I mean. "Well, you know what they said about some of your later work."

She nods her head, slightly pained at the memory and says, "Yes, I know...the background singers, the strings, too..."

"Syrupy," I finish her sentence. "But we could strip all of the syrup away and still have your heartfelt, soulful vocals, than we could add better arrangements to accompany them."

"Yes!" shouts the hepcat, "the technology exists to do this."

Seemingly at peace with her current life, Dinah is unsure about reentering the music business.

As I head off of the bus to rejoin my group, I ask Dinah if I could bring a CD for her to sign the next time she drives this route. "Sure baby," she replies.

Once off the bus I realize we are at a night club where Jazz chanteuse Blossom Dearie is entertaining the crowd on the sidewalk. I see a woman I know, Sandra, an old classmate from a songwriting workshop I participated in many years ago. Sandra wants to know why I've begun to cry. I explain that I am overcome with emotion at the thought that Dinah Washington has been reduced to driving a school bus. She dismisses me as sentimental.

"That's show business--get over it," she tells me.

"Well," I shoot back, "I guess you're a better man that I'll ever be."

*********************************

The great Dinah Washington actually died about two years before I was even born, but the thoughts I expressed in this dream pretty accurately sum up my own feelings about her work. If you are unfamilar with her, seek out her music; it is well worth a listen.

Black Is The Color of My New Dog's Tail

July 19, 2010

I'm on my way to a train station with a handsome but scruffy young man whom I do not recognize. He has told me about a discount ticket program for a super fast train that will get us from the United States to Great Britain in just under four hours. As we stand behind a wrought iron gate, I realize I do not have my passport with me.

"Maybe I can go with you next time," I tell him.

I return to my house to discover that I have adopted a lovely female dog. This is very happy news until I feel the dog's forehead and notice that not only does she have a fever but, even more disturbingly, she is not actually a dog; she is a girl, a little human girl.

I am truly horrified that I could have made such a mistake. I become hysterical, running around the house asking everyone what I should do. Finally, I come upon my mother who tells me calmly, "You know what you should do."

"Yes. Yes," I reply with new found composure, "I will teach her to walk on two legs and raise her as a human being...and I shall call her...Nina Simone!"

Go In Peace

May 27, 2010

I wake up on a hot summer day--it is my birthday.

My father drops me off at church. A young priest with blond highlights is celebrating mass. There is a lectern on either side of the priest. At one Jon Stewart stands smirking as he sniffs an over sized orange flower; at the other Anderson Cooper delivers the homily.

"Wait a minute," I call out, "Isn't Jon Stewart Jewish?"

"Um, well, uh," Anderson stammers before resuming the homily. As he continues, the young priest is joined by two assistant priests, one of whom appears to be a drag queen in a wedding gown.

Through a parted curtain behind the priest I notice several large bowls and buckets shaped just like the smiling K00l-Aid pitcher. Anderson tells the crowd, "those are for the church Penny Party, which is being held--"

"Last night!" the drag queen interrupts him."

"Oh, Last night."

The priest walks down the church's center isle followed by Jon Stewart and Anderson.

I call out, "Is it over? No one said, 'Mass is over, go in peace.' "

I sneak behind the curtain and nervously take a large Kool-Aid pitcher. It is so large I can barely carry it as I run out the back door and, with great difficulty, climb over a wooden fence and make my escape.

An Offer I Can't Refuse

June 5, 2010

I'm in a giant warehouse/movie studio. I've been summoned to play the lead role of Dr. Brennan in a low budget zombie movie. I'm worried because I haven't actually read the script yet and filming is about to start. I also haven't met the producers or the director yet.

I am the only person to have arrived, so I eat a bowl of oatmeal and wait. Finally, a gaggle of people comes in and introductions are made. A young blond man, apparently one of the producers, tells me not to worry about missing the rehearsals. Next, I am introduced to the director, a heavy set man seated on a red leather couch sipping a glass of wine. I am thrilled and terrified when I realize he is none other than Francis Ford Coppola.

"I'm sure you don't hear this very often," I tell him, "but Peggy Sue Got Married is my favorite movie. I think it's extremely underrated, the way you capture loss, regret, acceptance...and that score!"

"Thank you," he responds in a thick Italian accent as he gestures for me to stop speaking.

"Now that you've finished with that, who are you?" he asks me.

"I'm playing Dr. Brennan," I reply.

He looks me over thoroughly, then glances at my resume, which is attached to a picture of me from four score and twenty pounds ago.

"No, no. Another part for you, I think."

I hold up my phone and try to play for Francis a voice mail that confirms I've been offered the lead role but his mind is made. I'm sent off to a quiet auditorium strewn with half finished costumes and sets to learn my new lines. I am officially no longer the lead but rather the goofy best friend/second banana.

A Holliday Feast

July 27, 2008

I'm standing in line waiting to buy a bus ticket to take me home after a vacation in Las Vegas. I very politely try to cut in front of an elderly couple because my bus is about to leave. The woman at the counter refuses to sell me a ticket and the bus pulls away without me.

Suddenly, I'm working in a large office. Everyone is all abuzz because Broadway belters Patti LuPone (Evita) and Jennifer Holliday (Dreamgirls) have arrived. It seems they are going to perform for the staff. Patti, dressed casually, strolls through the office all confidence and brass as she announces to everyone, "I'm goin' out front for a smoke; Who's comin'?"

Perhaps intimidated by her presence, no one moves a muscle. Patti shrugs and heads out the door.

Meanwhile, Jennifer, dressed in an orange wig and Little Orphan Annie dress, is preoccupied with finding out what time lunch is being served and asks the staff, "Can someone show me to the buffet?"

Between the eating and the smoking, we never do get them to perform.

A Porous Line

Summer, 2008

I'm having after dinner tea with my sister and her neighbors, Tony Award winner Kelly Bishop (A Chorus Line, Gilmore Girls, Dirty Dancing) and her husband. We're all enjoying ourselves but the mood darkens when Kelly's husband tells us they have to move so he can be closer to his job. Everyone seems heartbroken that they will no longer be right next door but instead a 45 minute drive away.

A Few Nights Later...

It's opening night of a big Broadway show and the management of the theatre has a severe shortage of bathrooms. It seems that one enormous and elegantly appointed washroom, which could service dozens of theatre goers, has been set aside for my exclusive use. A panicked usher steps up to talk to me.

"Please, can you help us?"

"I'm sure we can work something out," I tell him.

As the curtain rises for Act II, it seems I've traded my bathroom privileges for a part in the show. I find myself onstage desperately trying to keep up with Kelly Bishop as she dances circles around a group of dancers less than half her age.

Outrageous Acts and Everyday Snack Foods

May 21, 2010

I'm walking around Manhattan with my Dad and Gloria Steinem. We decide to go to a movie, so we head down the stairs into a subway station on Madison Avenue. I am the last one to make it downstairs, but I already have my ticket. While Gloria and my Dad wait in line, we miss our train.

Somehow we make it to the movie theatre; we're now climbing up a set of red carpeted stairs. We walk through a glass door into a small glass enclosed vestibule. We open a second glass door and that's when it happens. The vestibule is flooded with popcorn. We are nearly chest deep in buttery popped kernels. It doesn't seem cause for panic, but we clearly miss our movie.

We dig ourselves out and head to Gloria's house. As I play with her dog, I notice a little girl and her grandmother who hover around, seemingly lost. That's when I realize that this is not actually Gloria's house, but rather a set built to stand in for her house. Now I understand--we're on the back lot at Warner Brothers where Gloria is playing herself on an episode of Gilmore Girls.

Somewhere Over The Hillside

April 20, 2010

I'm riding my bike with a group of married friends through a well manicured neighborhood in the Los Angeles hills. It is a strikingly beautiful Sunday afternoon, and the landscape is dotted with palm trees and ranch style houses.

Two of the men in our group have broken away. Having raced a head a block or so, they challenge the rest of us to ride further up into the hills. With great effort, my bike and I climb higher and higher above the houses.

I look up from the road and am confused and astonished by what I see: a self contained wall of ocean sits on the side of the hill defying both logic and gravity. Bobbing up and down with the waves I notice an even more incredible sight--it's Judy Garland and Liza Minnelli happily bellyboarding in the sun.

This Is No Dream...This Is Really Happening!

July, 2008

I'm on vacation with my cousins. We're sitting by a pond listening to a radio and reading the Sunday comic pages. Everyone leaves, but I stay to watch the sun go down. It becomes so dark, I fear I will be unable to find my way home.

Just as I begin to panic, a single headlight appears in the distance. As it draws near, I see a motorcycle driven by my Aunt Eileen. She beckons me to hop on the back of her hog, which I do. We ride for a while on a dark highway, eventually arriving in a small town where we pull into the driveway of an old farm house. This is clearly not our home, but we sneak in the front door and have a look around.

We are searching for something, but I don't know what. There are movie posters and books everywhere, and one that particularly catches my eye is a large coffee table edition with a painting of King Kong on the cover.

We hear voices on the second floor and creep up the stairs to investigate. An elderly woman has fallen asleep watching television. I know instantly what she was watching; it's Rosemary's Baby, but it's not like I remember it. I protest to my aunt, "I don't remember this scene with the mummies. Where did the mummies come from?"

*****

This dream freaked me out when I had it. I didn't like being lost in the dark and I hated the feeling of sneaking around someone 's house...but I do love me some Rosemary's Baby!

Roosevelt's Whores

December 1, 2009

I'm sitting on a giant bed which has an ornate frame that seems to be carved from mahogany, or perhaps cherry wood. It's a bed fit for a leader, and in fact this is the White House, and that bed belongs to President Jeb Bartlet (Martin Sheen) from TVs The West Wing. I have no sense of being on television--President Bartlet seems every bit a real life world leader as he strides confidently into the room. He is greeted by a throng of children who present him with drawings of Washington and Air Force One.

The children, like myself, are here for a pajama party with the President. I have a feeling that I might work here, but I know I am not very high level because when and aide whispers in the President's ear that a military situation in South America will necessitate the cancellation of the sleepover I am ushered out into a rotunda like hallway with the children. A cloud covered, snow dotted Washington skyline is visible through slotted windows.

"I feel like one of Roosevelt's whores," I mutter as I am led down the hallway still in my pajamas, my clothes and shoes gathered up in my arms.

I hear a sharp, distinctive laugh. I look back to see First Lady Abigail Bartlet (Stockard Channing) surveying the scene. She looks amazing as she warms her hands in her over sized muff, or perhaps it's really a stole.

I am mortified that she has heard what I've said. I try to explain that I didn't mean to imply that her husband has whores, but she waves her hand as if to say, "Think nothing of it." She is clearly tickled by the situation and I find myself greatly relieved.

The Hostess With The Mostess

8/12/2001

I’m standing on the sidewalk outside Radio City Musical Hall. I walk through the lobby and into the theatre, which is completely empty. I head down the aisle and take a seat in the third row and wait for the show to start. It turns out I am here to see the Tony Awards. As the lights go down the opening number begins; a big production with lots of chorus boys. Suddenly from within the midst of the chorus boys a lone and rather tiny female figure is hoisted into the air. It’s our hostess for the evening, 5-foot-nothin’ Nancy Walker! Still all alone in the auditorium except for the performers on stage, I leap from my seat and cheer enthusiastically.

******

I had this dream during an afternoon nap I took while on vacation in San Francisco. When I awoke I was truly disoriented for several minutes. At first I felt a sort of drunken happiness because I love the Tonys and I love Nancy Walker, whose Ida Morgenstern character was really my first surrogate mother. After a few minutes, I remembered that she was actually no longer alive and I experienced an almost suffocating sadness that lingered with me for the rest of my trip.

July 20, 1982

July 20, 1982

I walk into a pet shop accompanied by an Irish Setter on a leash. Immediately, we spy Queen Elizabeth II of England all decked out in a dazzling tiara. Her Majesty stands next to a massive, beautiful brown horse.

Once the animals notice each other it doesn't take long for their true feelings to make themselves known. The dog growls ferociously as he bares his teeth at the horse; the horses rises up on his hind legs, jerking his head violently as he whinnies and nays.

The Queen approaches me.

"Your dog has spooked my horse," she says icily.

"No," I tell her firmly, "your horse has spooked my dog."

*********
This is one of the most disturbing and fascinating dreams of my entire life. When I woke up that morning, I discovered that while I slept there had been a pair of bombings in London. From the BBC:

"Eight soldiers on ceremonial duty have been killed in two IRA blasts in central London...The first blast, in Hyde Park, killed two soldiers and injured 23 others...Seven horses [from the Queen's Household Calvary] were killed or so badly maimed they had to be destroyed."

Though I did not hear this news on the radio or from a television while I slept, as people have suggested over the years, I am not claiming to have somehow predicted these events since they either were happening or had just happened while I was dreaming. Whatever happened or didn't happen, whatever I may have seen, or whatever vibration or energy I may picked up on, this is the dream that rattled me and prompted me to pay attention to my dreams.

(As for the art, I just couldn't decide which one to use.)

Prickley Heat

April 6, 2010

I'm wandering through a glass enclosed atrium at a large modern airport. The sky around me is a thick dark blue, almost like an oil painting. I am startled to see a passenger jet fall from darkness and burst into flames, but I regain my composure and quickly walk away.

As I contemplate what happened to the plane, I see SCTV station manager Mrs. Edith Prickley, all decked out in her traditional cat rimmed glasses and leopard skinned jacket with matching hat, walking in the direction of the crash. Just as we approach each other Edith literally fades away until she is completely gone.

I walk on a little further and as I'm passing by an office on my right, I peer into the room and what I see captures my attention so completely, every thought of the doomed plane rushes out of my mind and I am unable to turn away. It's Mad Men's Don Draper and his enormous, perfectly formed penis relaxing on a couch on the verge of being pleasured by Mrs. Prickley.

My Fair (and-in-every-way-Equal-if-not-Superior) Lady

April 10, 2010

I'm in a sleep loft, but really it seems more like an old barn, staying up late watching old movies with Gloria Steinem and two or three of her friends. As the sun begins to rise and everyone else lapses into sleep, Gloria and I climb from the loft down a wrought iron ladder. I notice that Gloria's right foot is in a cast and she struggles as she descends the ladder.

At the bottom, we find ourselves in a sun-drenched, white bricked living room. It occurs to me that this must be some one's summer home. We have a look around, searching for something to eat. I start dancing and singing "Wouldn't It Be Loverly" from My Fair Lady. Gloria and I are actually trying to stage a musical number in the Summer house! She hands me a woman's straw hat covered in enormous flowers in shades of violet. As I come to the lyric, "with one enormous chair," I plop myself into an overstuffed white canvas armchair.

"Oh, that's good!" Gloria exclaims.

"Wait, wait, wait," a voice calls. It seems we are not alone. To our amazement, a 10-inch claymation version of Katherine Hepburn leaps from the fireplace mantel onto the arm of my chair.

"I want to sing, too," she insists.

We bend to her will, as if we ever had a choice. With her hands placed defiantly on her hips, Claymation Kate bellows at the top of her tiny little lungs another song from My Fair Lady. Naturally she's chosen"Without You." a song expounding the virtues of independence and self reliance.

Ma Vie en Porn

4/7/90

I'm in a library compiling research on Dinah Washington and Edith Piaf. I find a book called Queen of The Blues, and a volume of plays that Piaf appeared in, along with one that she wrote. A rack of pornographic magazines distracts me. I look around to make sure no one sees me checking them out, but two men, one of them wrapped in a towel, spot me flipping through the magazines. We start to talk about sex, and the man in the towel says to me, "I bet you've never even had sex with any of the women here...well, maybe just that one."

**************

I found this dream in a journal I kept when I spent a semester in Costa Rica 150 years ago. Well, it feels like 150 years. I'd completely forgotten this dream, but it made me think of another I had when I was 17.

I had a vague notion of Edith Piaf but I knew very little about her. Mostly, I knew that Barbra Streisand had recorded a song called "Le Mur" for her album Je Me Appelle Barbra, which I had purchased that summer. The song had been written for Piaf but she died before she could record it and, as I learned from the liner notes, the song's composers witheld the tune from other artists until after Barbra had recorded it.

The dream I had was more of a burning vision, but I was definitely asleep when I saw it. It was a poster for a film about the life of Piaf starring Barbra Streisand. The poster showed a dark and shadowy figure on a dimly lit stage. I was confused but completely intrigued. A few nights later my mother and I stumbled upon a documentary on the life of Edith Piaf. It was the first time I was conscious of seeing her and I was shocked at how closely she resembled what I had seen in my dream. That's when I decided to learn everything I could about "The Little Sparrow."

"What's Done Is Done" --Lady Macbeth, Act 3, Scene 2

April 19, 2010

My father takes me into the back yard to tell me something very important. He speaks haltingly, struggling to find the right words.

"What is it?" I ask him.

The man who responds is Morgan Freeman, and yet he now speaks with such authority, I know it is still my father.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you this before, I should have, but...your mother is still alive."

He indicates a short, round, dark skinned woman in the next yard. She is encircled by young boys as she plays a ceremonial drum and chants. The sounds are foreign to my ear and seem to be mostly long stretches of vowels. Somehow, I understand that she is repeating her name over and over again.

"Esther Rolle? My mother is Esther Rolle?"

"Yes," Morgan tells me, "but to hear her name aloud invites bad things."

And how; the group of young boys has now encircled Morgan. They throw rubber tires at him, knocking his body about until he can no longer defend himself. Seemingly resigned to his fate, he sinks into the ground and is swallowed up by the earth.

*******
Leaving aside the family drama, the thing that I find interesting about the dream is this:
In 1936 twenty-one year old Orson Welles directed a production of Macbeth set in Haiti for the Negro Theatre Unit of the Federal Theatre Project. Welles's first great success, the production was commonly referred to as Voodoo Macbeth. In 1977 the production was revived by the Henry Street Settlement's New Federal Theatre starring Esther Rolle as Lady Macbeth. And of course "Macbeth" is the word that superstitious theatre folk believe invites bad luck.

Sisters Doin' For Themselves

January 12, 2010

I am decidedly not myself; I am Sister Mary Patrick, the ebullient singing nun played by Kathy Najimy in "Sister Act." But I'm not just a singing nun. It seems I have some real power, as I am also a judge; a nun and a judge, and my courtroom is the street.

Four dew rag wearing thugs appear in the street in front of me. They are accompanied by Whoopi Goldberg, standing beside a white van, which apparently they have stolen.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here?" I ask.

"Sister, may I say something?" of the the thugs inquires.

"No, you may not." I know the van is stolen, but I pretend to think it is a donation.

"The Children will be so grateful for this gift. Now we can take them on trips. "

"The Children?" another thug asks incredulously.

"Yes, the children," I snap, "they're very grateful."

Whoopi and the thugs shake their heads in disbelief, but they submit to my will and relinquish the vehicle.

I am once again myself, but Whoopi is still with me. She joins my family in the tiny kitchen of my old 5th floor walk up apartment. We are just sitting down for Thanksgiving dinner as the afternoon sun streams through the living room window and drenches the crowded dining area.

Whoopi and I, joined by my middle brother, excuse ourselves from the table and suddenly find ourselves in the back seat of a black limousine.

The car winds its way through the snow covered hills of a local cemetery.

We're in search of my mother's tombstone, and after a few minutes we spot it at the bottom of a hill, but are unable to stop due of the pickup truck full of mafia types that is now chasing us. It is clearly unsafe to stop, and so we exit the grounds of the cemetery and head onto the highway as the sun starts to fade.

God Will Get You For That...Joni!

December 23, 2009

It's a cold, rainy Sunday night in Los Angeles. I'm inside a crowded theatre. On stage Bea Arthur is hosting a birthday party for Rue McClanahan. The party is more of a roast, with performances and toasts.

As Rue watches on from her spot on the dais, Bea crosses and prepares to exit the stage to make way for the next performer. As she reaches the side of the stage, she is greeted by a very grown up, extremely butch looking Joni from "Happy Days."

"Thank you for coming out," she says to Bea.

With a masterful double take crafted from her decades on the stage, Bea clutches her imaginary pearls and states quietly, "I am not a lesbian."

"Oh," and a blank stare from Joni.

"I AM NOT A LESBIAN," Bea bellows.

The whole theatre is buzzing now, as Bea disappears angrily backstage and I find myself in the rainy parking garage looking for my ride home.