Brad Pitt at Waimea Bay
Nightmare | February 1, 2009
Before all this I was a French teen in the 17th century and my father had just come home and we had to clean our neighborhood and I met a lovely French girl and I gave her a butterfly...
Then, after a bunch of strange random stuff, I'm on a street corner at dusk with a small group of friends and we're hanging around a sodium halogen street lamp talking about inventions and Brad Pitt is there. I think I suggested something about a nose-related device and he elaborated on it and suddenly he's like let's go start a company and build that thing! And off he goes down the dark, lamp-lined street and his enthusiasm draws me after him a few paces back.
I'll never forget the animated figure of Brad Pitt about 10 feet ahead, kinda skipping along and yelling stuff out loud in a happy-go-lucky way and his personality is gushing forth in a contagious way so that I find myself hopping and strolling and dancing and skipping along in my own way. I hear the guys behind insinuate that I'm some kinda groupie copy-cat or whatever and I wonder if I just imagined that in a self-conscious way. Then I counter to myself that I have tremendous personality and I do stuff like hopping and jumping along in a free-spirited way and that I cannot let them damper my enthusiasm coz that's how I normally am, regardless of whether someone has inspired me to be less self-conscious about being my effusive self in front of a celebrity.
Suddenly we're turning a corner and Waimea Bay rolls into view and we're on the bluff on the south side of the Valley and it's a beautiful day with the sun shining and I wish I had brought my camera. Brad and I are walking together and talking and I tell him I dream about Waimea Bay a lot and that he was in some dream once a long time ago, but I don't remember about what. He kinda grins and I figure he's probably in lots of people's dream. Women mostly.
Now, instead of a 100-foot hike down the the shore there's just a narrow rocky berm and the water is right there. We found a gap in the jumbled lava rocks and he immediately waded into the water. The surf rolled in and I did a shallow dive into the rocky water and swam to the right where a rocky divider led into a swimming area. The rolling waves shoved me right through the entrance and past some people but someone grabbed me and held me while I gained a footing.
Brad was wading towards an inner area of a resort-like setting with natural-looking beverage bars amidst a grouping of trees. So I followed and noticed one or two of our party were also coming along through the water.
In a shady inner pool a dessert bar is waiting, and I ask someone if it's free. But without waiting for an answer I grab one of the delicious deserts and pop it into my mouth. Man, that was good! So I grab another and gulp it down. All of them were different and look absolutely scrumptuous. About to grab another I notice that each has a small price stamped into a tiny brass tag near the plate, and that an LED above the dessert bar is tallying my total, about $5.00 now. So I figure I have to pay that. I notice a ladder against a tree near the desserts and Brad is climbing up, followed by a father and his young son and daughter in swimwear. So I'm about to follow and I climb up a couple rungs but the honest side of me says I should take care of my bill first. I recite my credit card number in my head and take a guess at the expiration and security number on the back of the card, then climb back into the water and look around for someone official-looking who can charge my card.
As it turns out, this person is sitting behind a register, which is sitting on a table in the water about four feet away. So I turn around and tell him I ate two of those desserts by jerking a thumb over my shoulder at the aforementioned confections. He sits up slowly and asks me if I have some paper to add up my bill, which I do happen to have..and this paper is wrapped around another dessert I seem to have myseriously acquired. So I put it on the table in front of him and he lazily starts to tally up my bill with a pencil, working figures around the dessert item which is leaving a clear oil stain on the sheet of stationery and he's puzzling over whether to add that piece too since it hasn't been consumed yet.
While he's doing that I wander off behind a cartoonish car driving down the roadway with Homer Simpson at the wheel, narrating how awesome and modern this car is, even though it looks like a 50s-era car designer's concept of a futuristic modern car—which is to say it looks like the old Batman car with huge tailfins and rocket engine holes in the rear and it's pink and gets 150 gallons to the mile. Homer is describing it like I'm watching a commercial for the Car of the Future, perhaps an allusion to the infamous car he helped design while working at his long-lost brother's car factory.
The car begins to pull over and along each side is a set of tentacles moving the car along like feet rather than the expected whitewalls. Just to prove how ridiculous a vehicle it is in my dream, the car begins to separate into several chunks to demonstrate its standard parking procedure. The middle half becomes a kind of crab-like utility driven by Marge in a bubble cockpit that picks up the other two pieces—one containing Homer and the other a small useless body part with classic taillights sticking out like pointy red lipstick from an applicator—and lays them on the side of the road. Smoke is chugging from the crab-utility's vertical exhaust pipes and I think I imagined Marge smoking a cigarette like a forklift operator, pleased with the job she did.