[Author's Note: This began as a submission to Slow Wave. Receiving no response and still concerned about my dream, I drafted this letter and mailed it to the President of the United States.]
July 10, 2006
George W. Bush, President of the United States of America
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Ave. NW
Washington, DC 20500
Dear Mr. President,
Two nights ago I had this dream: My wife and I are in a public library (not our local public library, which is fairly modern; this was older and darker, and a bit more like the main branch of the Detroit or New York Public Library.) We've just found volume one of the George Gershwin Yoga CD, and are pretty excited because we've been trying to get it for weeks, but it's always out. The CD has a purple cover and looks pretty new-agey, which isn't generally our thing, but we're still very into this CD. Then I look up and see John Malkovich. He's really angry. Malkovich is holding volume two of the George Gershwin Yoga CD (which is much crappier; we'd been stuck with it for several weeks, waiting for volume one to become available.) He really wants volume one. There's no way we're going to surrender the CD, and so Malkovich starts insulting us, but the insults are bizarre, and it takes me a little while to realize that they are intended as insults (which should be immediately obvious from the tone of voice he's using.) Among other things, he calls us "plant genitalia" and "vindaloo." His wife is there—his dream wife, not his real wife; she looks sort of like Winona Ryder—standing back and off to the side, and looking pretty bored as Malkovich rants.
The creepy part is that, in the days since having the dream, I've seen at least a half dozen old men around town who look like John Malkovich. None of them seem to notice me, which is a relief.
I'm 6'2", thin, white, with brown hair that goes past my shoulders and is thinning on top (not as bad as Ben Franklin, but getting there.) My hair has a stiff enough wave that, when long, it curls in barrels (like Shirley Temple, or an Orthodox rabbi's side burns.) I also have a droopy mustache and goatee. My wife and students think it makes me look like a pirate; I take this as a compliment, although they do not mean it as such. I wear glasses with wire frames and small, oval shaped lenses. My wife is 5'4", paler than me, and has very straight light-brown hair. She is athletic (swims miles at a go, runs triathlons, does yoga—has very well defined delts, biceps, triceps, etc.) and has round hips (please don't tell her I said that.) We're both almost 30.
John Malkovich and Winona Ryder are John Malkovich and Winona Ryder, and look like they do in movies. Specifically, Malkovich looked like he did in Art School Confidential, and Ryder looked like she did going to court for shoplifting, but was wearing a long, white sleeveless dress that was sort of like a nightgown or slip. Malkovich was wearing dark pants, a t-shirt, and a soft, slouchy black sports jacket.
David Erik Nelson . . .
P.S. After writing all of this down, I abruptly stopped seeing Malkoviches around town. Thank you.
[UPDATE: This dream ultimately was selected to be made into a Slow Wave comic, entitled "Yoga CD."]
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