Hey Tuesday:
the usual thing is to have dreams where you're frustrated, everything goes wrong and your teeth fall out, and you're running through quicksand and you open your mouth but can't scream. but the past two nights i've had weirdly satisfying rock dreams. first there was the dream sunday night. (miss whitesnake's already heard this one.) i dreamed i was going to be attending a one-week rock star immersion course, where I would pay a lot of money to take a one-week course in how to become a rock star.
I showed up the night before classes for the orientation. My parents came, too. I didn't feel like going around to all the different classrooms and hearing the teachers talk about the classes and sitting quietly with my parents and crap, so i skipped out and just hung around outside smoking and watching the suckers walking from room to room. I was dressed good enough to be a rock star, I thought, and I was being a rebel and everything.
afterward there was a reception, and i was mortified to learn that the scholars addressing the parents were: David Bowie, Paul McCartney, and I can't remember who else--probably Mick. I was so bummed. I had missed my chance for face time with Bowie. This sucked because I couldn't very well go up to him afterward and say Hi, I missed your lecture cuz I was smoking.
Instead, in the post-orientation melee I found myself somehow on the arm of Snoop. He was two feet taller than me and had on a roomy pimp-coat with a gun in the pocket, and he had a lot of bodyguards and stuff. I figured since this was a rock star night I would probably end up with someone, but I had been hoping, like I said, for Bowie. But then I saw Snoop and me in the mirror, and I figured, hey, that's a pretty good second choice. Then Snoop and I ended up lying on a couch and doing inappropriate things underneath his pimp coat, in public. Let's say I got extra credit that night in groupie studies. Then I woke up because I got shy in front of all those people.
Then last night I had a very nice dream about Kurt Cobain. I won't go into the details but he had a really nice warm sad vibe and I wished I could take Courtney's place. It was obvious in the dream that even though they were going to be divorcing and he would be with other girls, he was still in love with her and really just wanted to be her husband.
Sometimes I have the most fucked up dreams. I think the first one was partly inspired by the Simpson's where Homer goes to rock-star summer camp. Also, I had just visited the web site for the School of American Ballet, and noticed how all the faculty are former world-famous ballet dancers. they have their own school, you see, to make sure that the ballet world continues to produce greatness. maybe there was also a bit of "school of rock" in there. i've also been thinking a lot about the Rock 'N Roll Hall of Fame and the museum-ification of rock. the NY Times had an article Sunday whose subhed promised to answer the question, "what are music museums doing to the music?" Sadly, the article never ever got around to addressing this issue at fucking all. All it did was sort of obliquely imply that rock museums take the fun out of rock--instead of coming out and screaming about it. I feel that rock should be documented, because it is an important part of America and humanity, but that the documentation and analysis should be entirely different and new and completely strange--something intuitive and fun and alive and wholly in tune with the energy of the music itself. Not a museum, for erotic jesus' sake!
xo
me
the usual thing is to have dreams where you're frustrated, everything goes wrong and your teeth fall out, and you're running through quicksand and you open your mouth but can't scream. but the past two nights i've had weirdly satisfying rock dreams. first there was the dream sunday night. (miss whitesnake's already heard this one.) i dreamed i was going to be attending a one-week rock star immersion course, where I would pay a lot of money to take a one-week course in how to become a rock star.
I showed up the night before classes for the orientation. My parents came, too. I didn't feel like going around to all the different classrooms and hearing the teachers talk about the classes and sitting quietly with my parents and crap, so i skipped out and just hung around outside smoking and watching the suckers walking from room to room. I was dressed good enough to be a rock star, I thought, and I was being a rebel and everything.
afterward there was a reception, and i was mortified to learn that the scholars addressing the parents were: David Bowie, Paul McCartney, and I can't remember who else--probably Mick. I was so bummed. I had missed my chance for face time with Bowie. This sucked because I couldn't very well go up to him afterward and say Hi, I missed your lecture cuz I was smoking.
Instead, in the post-orientation melee I found myself somehow on the arm of Snoop. He was two feet taller than me and had on a roomy pimp-coat with a gun in the pocket, and he had a lot of bodyguards and stuff. I figured since this was a rock star night I would probably end up with someone, but I had been hoping, like I said, for Bowie. But then I saw Snoop and me in the mirror, and I figured, hey, that's a pretty good second choice. Then Snoop and I ended up lying on a couch and doing inappropriate things underneath his pimp coat, in public. Let's say I got extra credit that night in groupie studies. Then I woke up because I got shy in front of all those people.
Then last night I had a very nice dream about Kurt Cobain. I won't go into the details but he had a really nice warm sad vibe and I wished I could take Courtney's place. It was obvious in the dream that even though they were going to be divorcing and he would be with other girls, he was still in love with her and really just wanted to be her husband.
Sometimes I have the most fucked up dreams. I think the first one was partly inspired by the Simpson's where Homer goes to rock-star summer camp. Also, I had just visited the web site for the School of American Ballet, and noticed how all the faculty are former world-famous ballet dancers. they have their own school, you see, to make sure that the ballet world continues to produce greatness. maybe there was also a bit of "school of rock" in there. i've also been thinking a lot about the Rock 'N Roll Hall of Fame and the museum-ification of rock. the NY Times had an article Sunday whose subhed promised to answer the question, "what are music museums doing to the music?" Sadly, the article never ever got around to addressing this issue at fucking all. All it did was sort of obliquely imply that rock museums take the fun out of rock--instead of coming out and screaming about it. I feel that rock should be documented, because it is an important part of America and humanity, but that the documentation and analysis should be entirely different and new and completely strange--something intuitive and fun and alive and wholly in tune with the energy of the music itself. Not a museum, for erotic jesus' sake!
xo
me
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