I had this scary dream that woke me up at the ungodly hour of 7:30 this morning. In the dream, it was Friday, Monterey, MotoGP ’07. We went to our hotel after a long day at the track, only to find they’d given our room to someone else!!! And of course there were no hotel rooms left in Monterey. I was sooo pissed, and couldn’t stop thinking about it. It got me so mad I was wide awake, and could have started my day early. But no, instead, I went back to sleep and had a wonderful dream. In it, I realized I had a camper so I didn’t need no damn hotel room! The hotel we’d had was a funky old hippie B&B, and I walked out the door into my camper, parked out front. I also had something else really cool, but forget what it was. I wondered where I’d park for the night, and kinda drove around Monterey checking out different spots. Being a dream, of course one could park and sleep in their camper anywhere they damn well pleased. It was a small and kinda ratty camper, but it was a free place to crash in a town notorious for hotels doing their best to scare off tourists by completely gouging us.
A lot of friends suddenly appeared, also in need of a place to crash, so it was a real party. I carefully counted the beds, knowing that campers usually have stow-away hidden beds, and was bummed to discover the only one with a door was very small and consisted of wooden slats over the bathtub. I figured it was still better than sleeping in the same room with everyone else, and thought I’d find a mattress somewhere. The interior of the camper kept shape-shifting, though, getting bigger to accomodate all the new friends showing up. There was some super tall, light-skinned black guy with a beautiful pastel pink mohawk, like a wide swath of fun fur. He was laying on the large bed, fully clothed in a leather jacket and some kind of pants, looking very butch, punk, and adorable all at once.
On the floor nearby I found a bejeweled pink satin pump, big enough for a drag queen’s foot. This guy was just my type! But he wouldn’t cop to it being his shoe. Kind of a Cinderella in reverse story or something, partially inspired by the fact that I had just seen “Marie Antionette”. Which, by the way, is a fabulous movie, and historically accurate, (for the big picture anyway) to boot. Ms. Coppola does an excellent job of showing what it was like in a way the modern young person could understand. Hey, they were just kids, not ready to run the country, still wanting to have some fun, etc. Great movie. But I’ll always wonder why they stuck a pair of Converse into the shopping scene, right in the middle of the screen. Was that necessary to impart the pop-punk/1980’s vibe the movie was also referencing? I doubt it was a mistake.
Anyway, I think I’ll buy a camping spot for next year, and have my bro bring the camper. Plus write a letter to the Monterey Chamber of Commerce…
But what I’m really concerned about is all the fabulous and entertaining dreams I’ve missed out on because I got up too early. It’s not like chocolate ice cream, where if you don’t eat it that day, it’ll still be there tomorrow. Dreams are completely different from one day to the next. Like, if I had that dream on Saturday instead of Wednesday, perhaps the mohawk would have been some boring color like black. It seems the best ones are always in the morning. So off I go to bed to get up at 7 so I can see what it’s like to sit in a Master’s level Finance class at USC at 9am. I figure if it makes sense to me at that hour, I won’t have any problems at Haas.