East Coast, West Coast, Everyone's A Killer: Dreams

Have you ever gone to sleep with more than an hour of sun left in the sky? Well then, my friend and secret confidant, you are...........an Actor!*

5 am alarm this morning. Worried that I wouldn't hear it as I sleep with earplugs**, so I kept waking, checking the time then falling back asleep. Because of this, I had several dreams...

The first involved me in some NBC show, whether real or imagined, in a scene with Kristen Schaal and Colin Quinn. He could not remember his lines, somehow struck by stage fright. He said "Eunid States" instead of "United States", "thanking. You." instead of "thank you", then, placed a bagle on his head, rather than his hat.

The second featured my friend, Bill Kates showing up at my childhood home in New York with a bunch of actors to give them some sort of lecture. I was handed a huge tome written by Tony Danza. I could not tell you what it was about. These were some of the most obnoxious actors I have ever had the displeasure to dreaMeet.

Third was pretty focused on me trying to figure out how to get tickets to a Nine Inch Nails concert supporting their new album. The site had rehearsal footage, pictures and whatnot. There was a song playing in the background on the website as well and it wasn't great.

The final dream, or the final one I can recall, was a bawdy college campus comedy starring Chad Radwell from Scream Queens. It was basically a National Lampoon origin film for Chad and I would pay folding money to see it in its entirety.

In ten minutes or so, I'm heading out to Glendale for some scenes, then, I'm wrapped, an early one for me. Plans for Saturday are moving forward, and, soon, I shall take zee Gaza Strip.

AGAIN, if you've got eyes and like using them for pictures, follow @YouAndMeMovie on The Social Network. You might see a picture of me and freaking Sally Struthers.


* Or a toddler. Or both!

** To keep Ol' Scratch from putting his bifurcated penis in my ears, natch. ;-)

Such Sickness...

Since Friday, I have been sick.
I have also been squatting in my own living room since the AC has gone in and Chris has gone away to the West.
I feel like the smartest, sickest homeless man ever.
I can hear virtually NOTHING out of my left ear due to weird sick pressure head issues and I can't seem to smell anything either.
I have a 2000 word recording session with TransPerfect Thursday morning at 10.
Fuck. Yes.
I also received an e-mail yesterday from my manager checking my availability for next week to go in for a rerecord for a session I did back in March.
Now, here's the deal, the folks from that session back in March, have yet to send my payment.
So.
Here's what I'm thinking...I won't set foot in that studio until A. we get that payment from fucking March and B. we get a written guarantee that we'll have the payment from this session within 2 weeks.
This company makes, literally, billions of dollars a year, they can fucking expedite this.
I don't think that's unreasonable at all and, if it is a little, I have never been a diva in my career and this is as good a place to start as any.

In other "news", since I've been delirious with sickness I have watched the 8th season of The Office (loving almost every second of it, and, although HE says he's never gotten it, I think Flans resembles Ed Helms XMAX), the 6th season of 30 Rock (I saw where my part would have been and, although it would have been awesome to put 30 Rock on my resume, I'm fine now that I did not get it; it was for the voice of Mayor MacBeth/Cheese from the credits of the episode where Liz finds her book from the year before and starts solving all her problems before they occur. I had to do a Patrick Stewart impression. And the addition of Kristen Schaal to the cast might have made one of the funniest things on television even funnier. She is perfect), Red Dragon (Ralph...Jesus...you're a nightmare. Also, I'd probably sleep with a serial killer if I later got to pet a tiger), Paul (the movie, not the me), that Rob Zombie animated film, the Haunted World of El Superbeasto (such a wonderful and pus-filled universe he has created, Sherri Moon Zombie-- which might be the coolest name ever-- does a great job as Suzi X...and Paul Giamatti is one of the most versatile voice actors I've ever heard) and the Doctor Who 8th Doctor TV movie (which was shitty trash ass and pure piss awful. Fear and burn this.).

I also played through Resident Evil 5 on Hard...which is less than Hard when you have a lot of super powerful weapons with infinite ammo, and I finally finished Max Payne 3, which was good looking and functional with a solid noir story, but nothing more.
I'm trading it in for something as soon as I have the time.
Not sure what though, as the new Silent Hill (SH: Downpour) got nothing but shit bags for reviews.

Aside from not really being able to hear out of my left side, I'm actually feeling better, so, tomorrow, Jen Rock and I are going to play through as much of Silent Hill 2 as we can without tumbling into the crimson maw of terror and darkness...so, like, forty minutes.  I might put the mattress away...if I have the energy and wherewithal.

The lack of my One and Only plus the effects of my sickness have made me part bachelor (in five days, I have used one bowl, one spoon, one plate and nothing more) and part wounded baby elephant (I've been eating a lot of peanuts and trumpeting).
In short: ay-ee-thang-SALL-fuk-dup.

Finally, after my day of Resident Evil 5, I had an awesome and intense zombie apocalypse dream that was actually a sequel to an earlier zombie apocalypse dream. It involved a secluded lodge house in the woods near a small town with an underground...something...that was causing all the zombie stuff. Aside from regular zombies, there were also huge Lovecraftian mutations running around as well. Utterly horrifying and extremely exhilarating. One part I remember very clearly was sneaking around inside the lodge house and slowly closing the blinds and locking the doors and windows so no zombies saw the people inside. It was during the day and very intense. Then, while making sure everything was shuttered, I saw a massive creature swimming in the river behind the house, something very much like Cthulhu, but more squid-like. If could just plug my brain into my PS3, I'd be the best survival horror game designer in the world.

And my fingers have just stopped working.

Sleep, Perchance To Dream...Then Perchance To Die By Sniper Fire

2.22.10

3:24 pm

So, I am in the process of getting sick.

Last night, with the help of my Beloved, I consumed a whole bulb of garlic, most of a bag of spinach and about three pounds of fresh ginger soaked with lemon Zinger.

When I get sick/am sick, I tend to have very fitful, realistic dreams.

I had two that I remember last night, one involved being unable to shut my computer down for the numerous fake virus warnings I kept getting.

The computer was unable to heal itself for the attacks coming in.

The whole thing spoke very clearly of frustration and insurmountable difficulties.

It was annoying as hell and it kept me awake, not fully, just in that place of no sleep where you lay down and just...lie there.

The other, brought on no doubt, by the HOURS of Uncharted 2 Multiplayer I've been playing, involved walking down a street in Manhattan with my sister and noticing a red beam of light resting on a man about ten feet in front of us, then a crack, then the man falls.

I reported the building's address to the police and they, apparently, arrested the sniper.

But, going down that street later, there were DOZENS of red beams cutting through the air and me and two nameless, faceless yet dedicated friends went to find the real sniper, who had escaped.

We broke into this woman's apartment and found him there and fought him and got all cut up in the process, then we followed him to some lab where we really beat him this time and I had a cut across the underside of my fingers and the woman whose apartment we broke into bandaged it up, but I bled through it.

Man.

I love how my dreams are so unintelligible to anyone but me.

And, upon rereading this, unintelligible even to me.

I am a stew of fucked up at the moment.

Enjoy my carrots.

Oh, I also watched the latest Coen Bros. movie, "A Serious Man".

I think if I were orthodox Jewish and 41 years old, I'd have enjoyed it more.

ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

7.29.08

5:28pm

Man have I been looking forward to writing this down...

Last night I had a Zombie Apocalypse dream.

It was fucking awesome.

I was visiting Michael J. Fox (who was playing a character for some reason) in his office with a friend of ours named Steve.

We arrived as Michael J. Fox was leaving a message for his wife that he loved her very much when we found out she had just filed for a divorce.

Then we heard noises from on the street below.

Zombies attacking and killing people.

Then, for some reason Steve turned into Will.

Hm.

That's really all I remember.

Hm.

This was much cooler if you had been there.

Very good tension...

This this is mostly because of this new game that is sort of a Japanese survival horror that I'll be checking out later tonight.

I dig zombies.

Man do I ever.

Avoid elevators

When I returned to my apartment, the doorman had his hands full with a group of Irish women in their late 20's/early 30's.

They were a group of friends that all happened to babysit children in my building and none of them had their ID.

They'd all worked there long enough to know that you need ID to get in if you aren't a resident, but they'd also worked there long enough to develop a proprietary sense that the doormen should all know them by sight and "just let them up".

I squeezed by, smiling at the doorman who gave me the look of a drowning man.

I sympathized, but only on the surface; I was too tired to care about his little problem that would inevitably be sorted out in a few short moments.

I turned the corner and stood waiting for one of the two elevators to arrive.

They are notoriously slow and while waiting, a man from the building who I knew had some debilitating disease that had yet to debilitate him approached.

I knew about his disease but I did not know his name.

There appeared to be some depth of feeling between us, but I didn't know where it had come from.

He looked like an old Shakespearean actor.

After a time, the elevator arrived.

I got on as did a young boy.

The old man got on, then got off, either forgetting something or remembering something.

I pressed my floor, eight, and, although the boy must have pressed his, I hadn't noticed.

I then saw the emblem sewn onto the left breast of his blazer.

It was that of my alma mater, St. Bernard's.

I asked him something about his school and he replied.

Apparently, he'd done badly on a test that day and was disappointed in himself.

I told him that, no matter what he thought at the time, that St. Bernard's is an excellent school and he should be enjoying every minute of it.

He didn't disagree but hearing it helped.

He was relieved to know there was something beyond the fourth grade.

I then noticed that he was the spitting image of my old next door neighbor's son.

"Is your last name Goldman?"

He answered yes.

Around that time, the elevator arrived at my floor, the eighth.

The doors opened and I saw that the landing was about two feet over my head.

For some reason I didn't consider this abnormal and I was about to grab the landing and climb out when I turned back to the boy.

"Whatever the case, have fun at six Bernard's...seven Bernard's..."

He was giggling and I was smiling, but, for some strange reason, my tongue was tangled and I was unable to say "Saint Bernard's".

I had just arranged the sounds required to express myself when the elevator began to fall.

No small lurch to indicate something was wrong, simply the feeling that the massive hands of gravity had disappeared.

I had time to see the terror on the boy's face and was considering saying something or taking him in my arms when the lights flickered and everything went dark.

Another unreasonably beautiful day outside. I suspect treachery...

I just woke up from a dream in which 95% of the Earth had been destroyed by an alien missile. The only surviving chunk was a large patch of forest in which there was a mall. All the survivors were in the mall and at the point I woke up tensions were running high. The food was starting to spoil and the first anger killing wasn't too far away. Chris and I were there with someone else. The stress was about to warp Chris and we had just met up with Sarah Vaghari (who seemed to be in some kind of shock) when I woke up.

3 Dreams

7.25.05
9:03 PM
I’ve had three dreams of note lately.
The first two I had while sleeping in the Alexander Bed & Breakfast in Philadelphia, PA Saturday night and the third I had last night.
In the first, myself and someone I couldn’t recognize had this tree creature (looked like tall, wizened old man, but with something fronds for hair) that was about to die. We had to find a place to put him so he could regain his strength. We were running around Philadelphia desperately looking for anywhere because he was about to die. We set him down only to realize he was already dead. I was incredibly saddened by this and a woman walking her dog allowed her it to piss on the face of this dead creature. I was immediately enraged and spit on her. I screamed, “Don’t you have any respect?” and that was all I remember of that one.
Next, I was somewhere and I walked passed a music store that has appeared in several of my dreams over the past few years. In my mental geography it is located on First Ave. between 68th and 69th street, right where I grew up. The first time I saw it in my dream, it was brand new and had grand opening signs up as well as posters for a Heavy D album, (maybe). The next time I was there, there were ads for the new Nine Inch Nails album (this was around 2001 or 2002) and last night it had yet another new Nine Inch Nails album. The title was “NIN:NIN” and the cover was just Trent Reznor in a red baseball cap. After I saw the store, I saw a person I was supposed to know that did stunts for the Matrix and was walking towards a scene they were shooting a scene in the street in which Agents fired a line of shots to the left and then to the right. The person (who was on crutches) dodged the shots to the left, but then I was hit two or three times in the chest by the shots fired to the right. I lay in the street dying and then I wasn’t me; I had a third person view (from above) and my body wasn’t mine either, it was Kyle from South Park. He was lying there dead and all I remember after that point is staring at the body for a long time and really feeling the finality of death. This wasn’t a cartoon character; it was me in the shape of Kyle from South Park, but actually shot dead in the street. Both were very powerful, and I felt very ‘there’.
The third dream took place in this terrifying version of the New York Athletic Club. The Club is normal in some places, but in others the hallways are broken down and dilapidated, there are doors that lead to rooms made up of piping and chain links fences and stairwells and a room that holds a very dark unseen thing, like a force.
The dream started at some hotel where I was with Beck. He was talking about using cool noises and sounds on his albums and I told him I know of a room where the wind makes a really cool noise that he should record. He was interested so we went to find it. It happened that the room I was talking about is the room that contains the really terrible thing I mentioned above. I knew that, but the me in my dream didn’t, or he didn’t know EXACTLY what was there, he might have had an idea there was something bad, but couldn’t remember the thing itself. Anyway, the NYAC happened to be right across the street so Beck and entered and started looking for the room. We found ourselves on the roof where a person was proclaiming or preaching to a group of little kids. I remember this figure screaming that someone’s enemies would all die although I can’t remember whose. From there we continued looking for the room and found ourselves at the foot of a staircase covered in red velvet. The way was blocked by a bronze statue of the founder of the Club reading to kids (it looked a lot like the Hans Christian Anderson statue in Central Park), and I knew there was a reason the statue was blocking the way but we climbed around it anyway. By this time, I was with Beck and some girl. I don’t remember anything except she was rather attractive and wearing sort of a wife beater. We climbed the stairs and found ourselves in a room with red walls and ceiling and red carpet on the floor. Against the wall was an elaborately decorated red coffin that I knew held the body of the founder of the Club. The girl was scared, Beck didn’t really react and I was in the grip of a fear so intense that I woke up. Right before I did, I noticed that beyond the coffin was a doorway that lead to a place even worse than the room with the coffin. I can’t be sure but it might have been the room containing the dark thing that I mentioned. That room was frightening in a way that only objects imbued with a strong emotion can be frightening. This room was drafty at first with wind whistling through an open window or a crack in the wall or ceiling or something, but the whistling wasn’t just the wind, it was a sound made by this unnamable thing that represents everything I relate to fear in my subconscious. When I woke up after first being in that room, I was unable to move in my bed. I think the entrance to that room was in my sight at the end of this (Beck/NYAC) dream.
I had come to a room before (what might have been) that room a long time ago in 1997 or 96 maybe. I wrote about it in my real journal. There were two or three rooms that, for some reason, held religious significance (one room was John the Baptist’s, one was Christ’s and one belonged to Satan) and one that held a small sand pit the size of a doorway on the floor (Satan’s, if I remember correctly). I knew in that dream that I was not to touch that sandpit EVER. But for all the fear the first two or three rooms held, I knew there was a final room. It might or might not have been the same room. I had the dream in the room a long time after the one with the religious significance, but who knows how things like this work.
Anyway I have had three dreams in two nights that focus on death, loss, dying, sadness and utter, abject terror.

The Big Muddled Sleep

Had a dream last night that was inspired by Chandler's "Big Sleep". It was labyrinthine and convoluted. I believe that Gia was behind everything and people were looking for Kaitlyn. Lots of cool period clothing.

Sweet Dreams

A few nights ago I had this awesome dream where I was in a small apartment with several people and someone owned two or three ferrets. They took a liking to me and would climb all over me when I called them. They were very friendly.
'Life Aquatic' DVD comes out tomorrow. Super Portuguese Bowie Features abound.

I am in a very big house. Twice before I think, but this time I am only on the second floor of maybe three floors (the first time I recall being there it was in a large drawing room in the front of the house with large windows letting in the dusky light. The room was filled with things that used to belong to my dead grandmother-her thick Oriental carpet her large flowered vases-and the room smelled of her. It was a very stifling room and the feeling of death was almost palpable). Very spacious hallways lead into very spacious rooms. I'm here to get my guitar and once I have my guitar, Laurie Metcalf (actress who played Jackie on Roseanne) finds a painting that she painted and gives it to me to take out of here because she is angry that it isn't being appreciated. I am now burdened by a guitar (in a worn rectangular case) and a rather large oil painting (no frame, just the canvas, there are elegantly scripted words on the canvas but I cannot read them) and I am ready to go. I find my sister in a room staring at something and I tell her it's time to go. She doesn't respond and my mother tells me that she was ready to go but now she wants to listen to some band whose name I can't remember and that means that we have to keep a close watch on her because she gets depressed when that happens. My mother and I walk into a bright and foreboding room. It is a child's room. On the bed is a pile of fur with four legs sticking up in the air. I set down the guitar and painting (or perhaps earlier I gave them to Kathy or Laurie Metcalf) and pet the pile of fur. It is a cat. And one of those cats who do not liked being petted. It has light brown fur at its roots but ichor black fur at the tips. It looks like someone dipped it in oil. It has dark green eyes. Very angry eyes. As soon as I pet it, it begins to bite and scratch my hand. I then pull my hand back and exit the room. The cat follows, angry it’s been woken up. I pick it up and hold it to myself and it continues to thrash and try to bite and scratch me. I grab it by the scruff of its neck and throw it away from me and then I run into a different room to close the door to get away from it, but every room I enter has a large pile of books stopping the door from closing. The cat is scrambling towards me and rather than get stuck in a room with the cat, I wake up.