I just had the weirdest dream…

I was in Hawaii with someone who looked like Bradley Cooper, and two women who bear a striking resemblance to actresses Emma Stone and Rachel McAdams.  Only this Emma Stone was plucky – very much so – in the same way Scrappy Doo was in old Hanna-Barbera cartoons.  Strangely enough, those animations were more grounded than this hazy fog of ideas my mind swamped through.

The dream couldn’t pick a specific storyline.  At first, I was following Cooper around on the island as he reacquainted himself with a life he once lived, and then we were talking business with a disheveled gentleman.  Picture a Bill Murray-type in need of a comb and a mirror.

Anyways, then, we start talking about satellites, and what’s up in the sky, and how no one can rule the sky because the sky represents so much.  My wife’s name is Sky, so I assume she was on my mind – I’ll go with that.  The dialogue in this story couldn’t be THAT repetitive, could it?

For some reason, my dream was also trying to convince me Hawaii was a beautiful place.  I know this – everyone knows it.  We’ve seen it on postcards, and in movies (Forgetting Sarah Marshall and The Descendants to name a couple of good examples).  Why were some locations trying so hard to sell me on this notion?

People were dancing with moves so gaudy, you would think they were acting in this exaggerated way to cover some of the other blemishes going on.  For instance, I stopped thinking about that gentleman’s disheveled appearance because I was so distracted by his campy dancing.  That man, I don’t know about him.

Everyone sounded…off.  I haven’t heard human beings talk this way before.  It was so unnatural and belligerent with poignancy.  If these people had an epiphany, you were going to know about it – loud and clear.  They were all joking around as if they had rehearsed the repartee a day before for hours and hours.  And then, super spunky Stone put on a hat with built-in sunglasses, and asked to be taken seriously during a tender moment of emotion.

I was all over the map, and tugged in multiple directions.  I was sadistically entertained by every wrongheaded redirection the story took, but after a while, I longed for a plot to anchor itself.

I noticed filmmaker Cameron Crowe was waiting in the wings; overseeing everything that was going on.  I did some double takes and tried to wake myself up.  Crowe likes his fortune cookie revelations as much as Zach Braff does, but this is too messy for anyone to sign off on let alone Crowe.  Surely the talent behind Jerry Maguire and Almost Famous couldn’t be behind this.  Could he?


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