Sunday, July 23, 2006


2 parts of a much longer dream...

I’m in a convoy of cars and motorcycles heading west through the mountains east of Salt Lake City. It’s late spring and there is still snow at our elevation, but we can see that the city below is clear of snow. Sister (S) and Mom & Dad are in the convoy and we’re going to visit sister (G) who, in the dream, lives in the city.

I’m in a little silver Honda and decide to take the lead. I roar past the lead motorcycle, a classic Harley hog ridden by a classic 60s biker (long hair, fringed leather, the works). I’m really moving. It’s all good natured; he doesn’t care that I’m passing him. Everyone’s been taking turns at the lead. The roads are plowed and mostly clear - but as I round a curve, I hit an icy patch and loose sight of the road. The car careens into the air, but it isn’t at all frightening... the car is simply airborne, flying toward the city like a small plane.

I’m flying over the city now, looking for somewhere to land. Sort of an industrial part of town. The car has disappeared - I’m just flying on my own. I fly low along a street lined with old brick apartment buildings. There are too many trees and power lines for a safe landing. I circle around and find an open space to land on a parking strip next to a bus kiosk. Sort of a hard landing, but OK.

I’m worried that the rest of the convoy won’t know where I am and wonder how we’ll hook back up. I had meant to tell everyone to pull over at the rest stop in the Bonneville Salt Flats west of Salt Lake City to regroup - and now I wonder if I’ll lose them. I start walking toward a restaurant in a touristy part of town. It’s like Old Sacramento. When I arrive at the restaurant, S is there with Mom. Dad is at another restaurant around the corner. I tell S that she’s at the same table Dad and I sat at years ago.

We’re supposed to pick up S’s car at G’s house. I’ve got the keys. It’s a gold Mitsubishi sedan. I walk with some people I can’t remember and don’t really know to her house - but the car isn’t there. We pile in to a green Miata that pulls up, driven by S’s husband - who’s come to help us find the car. I say to him, “Move over, I’m driving,” and he’s fine with that... almost relieved.

We never do find the car and I’m a little annoyed with G. She had parked it on the street but can’t remember exactly where. I’m thinking, “Why didn’t she make herself a little map?” We think we spot the car in a parking lot at a run down car repair joint, next to a weathered old barn. I find a parking space in front of a semitrailer truck with an empty wine bottle on the hood and we set off to see if it’s S’s car.


I’m an unknown actor cast in a leading role of a B-grade Sci-fi movie. We’re doing a scene where they fly me in a harness around a large, detailed model of a space station. The grips are rigging my harness to wires and this pneumatic machine that controls it. It’s hooked to a computer so the motion can be controlled and exactly repeated from take to take. They need to do it this way to match the motion with computer graphics of stars and planets that will be added to the shot later.

The sound stage is a rusty old warehouse with a bar. Everyone who isn’t working at the moment is crowded around the bar drinking, partying, making lots of noise. While I’m waiting for the scene, I sit next to the director. We’re discussing the scene and I say, “Don’t you remember when we shot it before?” I describe the previous takes and the way the harness is supposed to circle around the space station model. “When we shot it before, my feet brushed the ground at one point... when I’m circling around those white solar panels on the model. We need to raise the harness a little higher at that point.”

The director is a little surprised that I know so much about the tech involved. He looks at me as if he’s taking me seriously for the first time. He’d made many successful films during his career and would rather have cast a name actor in my role. He just didn’t have the budget. He’s past his prime and this project is definitely a step back.

He confides that we probably shouldn’t worry too much about it because, “this thing is going straight to cable.” But I can tell he’s a little more interested in the project than he was before... he’s glad to know someone here is taking this seriously and wants to make some work that’s worthwhile. I say, “Expect expectations that are beyond your expectations.” He beams.


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