I don't know where I come up with these dreams I have, but they are kind of funny. And most of the time they seem like stories I'm trying to write while I'm asleep.
So, in the dream I had before I woke this morning, I had stumbled into the filiming of a television commercial. I believe it was for a specific brand of cycling shorts. Honest.
Somehow I'd gotten myself into this commercial that featured (brace yourself) Arnold Schwarzenegger and some other actress (whose name and face were unrecognizable in the dream). Arnold was supposed to be some sort of great bicyclist, but he didn't have the right shorts to wear. I was the character who was to point out that didn't didn't have the right shorts. Then this other actress was supposed to come in (like some sort of rescuing angel) to give him the shorts he needed.
And it was all done in a quasi-opera style.
(Note: Do you remember when there was a cereal commercial that was done in opera style? I'll never forget the actor singing ruefully, "No more Rice Krispies!" to the tune of "Vesta la giubba" -- the well-known aria from Pagliacci.)
But it was being sung in Spanish, not Italian.
When it came to my cue to sing something like, "He has the wrong shorts," I decided to ad lib by adding that, in having the wrong shorts, Arnold also looked very ugly and foolish.
Cut to the end of shooting the commercial. The people who are with me (presumably an agent of some sort) are scared because they think I've upset everyone, but they just want to get me out of there before anyone starts screaming at me.
We are walking down a street and talking about it. I'm defending myself saying that it just came into my head and seemed to be the right thing to do. They're still shaking their heads. (My agent and some guy who I think was my publicist, and some gal who was a kind of friend or hanger-on.)
Next, we stop into a little cafe. The agent comes in grudgingly. This is the sort of cafe where only the stars hang out. They are getting manicures and facials along with their salads. Honest! So, we are standing in the doorway not being noticed until the guy who was my publicist says something to the maitre d' that I'm the person who made this latest commercial very famous.
Oh, all of a sudden we're being seated and the chef is offering me all sorts of amazing food (lobster this and linguini that). I tell him that I just like some soup, but that my friends might like something to eat. This chef goes off in a huff because none of us want his rich food.
While we're sitting there and eating, the actress who was to have been the rescuing angel of that commercial sort of slinks in. Apparently her career is on a downhill slide and my upstaging of her has sealed the deal. She is practically persona non grata at this point.
And then it gets weirder: A kind of wall comes up from the floor to partition off the restaurant so that some actors can attend some kind of anonymous self-help/therapy group. It's a therapy group for actors who are having problems with their careers and/or their self-image and whatever else. And Arnold is one of those attending.
Then I woke up.
I have no idea what it means (if anything at all), but it was fun!