Dream Rock
I've always liked Chris Rock, ever since I first saw him on Saturday Night Live all those years ago, but last night he really pissed me off.
I suppose I should mention here that I've never met Chris Rock in real life, I haven't seen him on TV lately, and I haven't even thought about the guy in God knows how long.
And yet he walked into my head last night and wouldn't leave until I chased him the hell out.
I was in the middle of a strange dream, which sounds redundant in light of the technicolor skull busters I've experienced in my life, but at least this time it wasn't one of those horror show nightmares I've been known to have.
In this latest psychodrama I was sitting in a doctor's office, which makes some sense as I'm due to see my surgeon this week. However, this setting looked nothing like my doctor's waiting room and I wasn't wearing these godawful leg braces that I'm saddled with in real life.
And then Chris Rock walked in the door.
Yes, he did, and he sat down right next to me. I wasn't star-struck, but I was pretty impressed. We started talking about something which I have since forgotten and at one point I said, "there was a story on NPR about that last night."
"Oh, yeah?" the dream-edian snarked. "I didn't think bald guys from Brooklyn listened to NPR."
What the flaming fluff? I know these delusions aren't supposed to make sense, but even for a dream this joke bombed.
I've been putting up with bald jokes for far too long. Some people seem to think I consciously decided to start losing my hair one day, where in reality in was very upsetting for me. And believe it or not, rude, stupid jokes about it don't make me feel any better.
I recently tanked a Facebook friend request from some ass monkey I worked with 20 years ago largely because he was always making stupid bald jokes. I'm partially to blame here, as I've had trouble speaking up for myself, and I thought I should be a good sport-even though he was being a prick.
A Streetcar Named 'Yo Mamma'
Now I haven't had any contact with this dickwad in two decades and I didn't like him when I worked with him, so why in the five-alarm hell would I want to bring this putz back in my life after all this time? Delete, delete, delete…
In this age where fat-shaming has become a capital offense, and "body positive" has replaced "unhealthy," why is mocking someone else's hair loss is still acceptable? I want to join the oppressed minority and wrap myself up in a blanket of offense.
Don't get me wrong. Fat-shaming is a terrible thing to do and I was most definitely guilty of that in my younger days-something I deeply regret and sincerely apologize for. I just want a little understanding sent in my direction.
But first I've got to straighten out Chris Rock.
"Are you serious?" I snapped. "You're the bigtime comedian and that's the best you can do?"
I got so nasty that this world-famous performer got up and changed his seat.
I know I overreacted but on the bright side none of this was real-except for the lingering resentment I have stored up in my subconscious.
Dreams don't spring out of nowhere, so clearly, I've still got a lot of hostility buried in my psychological bedrock. I haven't figured out the Chris Rock angle, but perhaps my inner mind wanted to shake things up by pulling in a famous person.
The scene shifted and then I was watching very crowded trolley cars pass by me somewhere in downtown Brooklyn. I think I wanted to board one of them, but they were all so crowded I couldn't get on.
This seems logical since I've been watching a German TV show on Netflix called Babylon Berlin, which takes place in the eponymous city during the Weimar Republic. The show has excellent production values and sets, including a street scene with trolleys rolling back and forth.
And by the way, even though the trolleys were all packed to the gills nobody made any wisecracks about my hair.
I woke up, relieved I hadn't insulted a star and that I hadn't been run over by a trolley. I'm going to see my doctor on Tuesday and if Chris Rock sits next to me, he'd better keep his mouth shut.
I suppose I should mention here that I've never met Chris Rock in real life, I haven't seen him on TV lately, and I haven't even thought about the guy in God knows how long.
And yet he walked into my head last night and wouldn't leave until I chased him the hell out.
I was in the middle of a strange dream, which sounds redundant in light of the technicolor skull busters I've experienced in my life, but at least this time it wasn't one of those horror show nightmares I've been known to have.
In this latest psychodrama I was sitting in a doctor's office, which makes some sense as I'm due to see my surgeon this week. However, this setting looked nothing like my doctor's waiting room and I wasn't wearing these godawful leg braces that I'm saddled with in real life.
And then Chris Rock walked in the door.
Yes, he did, and he sat down right next to me. I wasn't star-struck, but I was pretty impressed. We started talking about something which I have since forgotten and at one point I said, "there was a story on NPR about that last night."
"Oh, yeah?" the dream-edian snarked. "I didn't think bald guys from Brooklyn listened to NPR."
What the flaming fluff? I know these delusions aren't supposed to make sense, but even for a dream this joke bombed.
I've been putting up with bald jokes for far too long. Some people seem to think I consciously decided to start losing my hair one day, where in reality in was very upsetting for me. And believe it or not, rude, stupid jokes about it don't make me feel any better.
I recently tanked a Facebook friend request from some ass monkey I worked with 20 years ago largely because he was always making stupid bald jokes. I'm partially to blame here, as I've had trouble speaking up for myself, and I thought I should be a good sport-even though he was being a prick.
A Streetcar Named 'Yo Mamma'
Now I haven't had any contact with this dickwad in two decades and I didn't like him when I worked with him, so why in the five-alarm hell would I want to bring this putz back in my life after all this time? Delete, delete, delete…
In this age where fat-shaming has become a capital offense, and "body positive" has replaced "unhealthy," why is mocking someone else's hair loss is still acceptable? I want to join the oppressed minority and wrap myself up in a blanket of offense.
Don't get me wrong. Fat-shaming is a terrible thing to do and I was most definitely guilty of that in my younger days-something I deeply regret and sincerely apologize for. I just want a little understanding sent in my direction.
But first I've got to straighten out Chris Rock.
"Are you serious?" I snapped. "You're the bigtime comedian and that's the best you can do?"
I got so nasty that this world-famous performer got up and changed his seat.
I know I overreacted but on the bright side none of this was real-except for the lingering resentment I have stored up in my subconscious.
Dreams don't spring out of nowhere, so clearly, I've still got a lot of hostility buried in my psychological bedrock. I haven't figured out the Chris Rock angle, but perhaps my inner mind wanted to shake things up by pulling in a famous person.
The scene shifted and then I was watching very crowded trolley cars pass by me somewhere in downtown Brooklyn. I think I wanted to board one of them, but they were all so crowded I couldn't get on.
This seems logical since I've been watching a German TV show on Netflix called Babylon Berlin, which takes place in the eponymous city during the Weimar Republic. The show has excellent production values and sets, including a street scene with trolleys rolling back and forth.
And by the way, even though the trolleys were all packed to the gills nobody made any wisecracks about my hair.
I woke up, relieved I hadn't insulted a star and that I hadn't been run over by a trolley. I'm going to see my doctor on Tuesday and if Chris Rock sits next to me, he'd better keep his mouth shut.
Comments
"A Streetcar Named 'Yo Mamma'"
HAHAHAHAHAHA! That was brilliant!
Isn't it funny how in our dreams we sometimes bring in people who we don't even know? There was a time in my life when I randomly dreamed of celebrities who would be incorporated into whatever I was dreaming about. I would have these deep and involved conversations with them, as if they were my best friend and I was confiding in them. Barbra Streisand was one of them!
The best to you in seeing your doctor on Tuesday. Hope all is well and that you're healing quickly.
Have a super week, buddy!
It never ceases to amaze me at all the freaky stuff our minds can came up with while we're asleep. Dreams are the funhouse mirror reflection of our thoughts and fears.
Barbra Streisand visited your dreams? She should be so lucky!
Take care, buddy!
I thought so, too, but every now and then I hear from some loser who thinks they're a great wit--they're half-right anyway.
Take care!