Crumbs from Your Table

One of my favourite celebrity guest stars showed up in my dream last night. And no it was not Jon Bon Jovi regardless of how much I lusted over him yesterday in that lovely brown shirt. Although he is a favourite, he doesn't seem to drop by quite as much anymore . . . maybe that will change when their new album comes out this fall and I go Bon Jovi full immersion again.

No, last night's celebrity guest star in my dream was . . . none other than . . . the delightful . . . Mister Matt Damon. And what a fabulous dream it was! I was working for a television station, writing on a lot of different shows but mostly sitcoms. I think this stemmed from the idea of collaborative writing that we discussed this week in my writing workshop. I decided I didn't like it very much and that I'd never be suited to work on anything like a film or tv show where nothing is ever really your own, it's a group process.

In the dream I was doing a fine job though and enjoying my work very much, when all of a sudden one day Matt Damon walks into a meeting where I'd been pitching a bunch of ideas for new shows. I think I was the head writer on the team, the mouthpiece, and that's why I wasn't bummed out by the whole collaborative process. Anyway, Matt Damon basically sneaks in after the meeting has started and slides into an empty seat around the boardroom table giving a polite nod of hello to anyone who made eye contact. The pro that I am, I didn't lose focus and continued with my presentation. Even when Matt removed a small spiral notebook from his shirt pocket and began scribbling furiously, I kept my composure.

When the presentation concluded some of the network execs thanked me with a hand shake and left . . . but Matt stayed, scribbling away. Nobody else seemed to pay him any attention, but having led the presentation I didn't feel like I could leave until everyone else did in case there were further questions or comments. So I just started quietly gathering my things together and waited for the room to clear out. And it did, people trickled out of the room one by one until finally there was just me at one end of the huge board room table standing awkwardly waiting, and Matt at the other end, sitting, completely focused on his notebook and writing.

Finally he stopped scribbling, closed the notebook, leaned back in his chair, looked at me and grinned. He didn't say anything. This went on for what seemed like forever and I started to get uncomfortable under his gaze and that huge bright smile. My hands started to fidget, I was tapping my toe on the floor, biting my lower lip. And just when I thought I wouldn't be able to stand it for another second, he leapt out of the chair and sprang toward me talking a mile a minute. The word gregarious comes to mind. He grabbed me by the elbow, steered me out of the boardroom, down the hall, into the elevator, through the lobby, across the parking lot and into his black sports car, without taking a pause for breath.

He loved my ideas and wanted to develop all of them. Ever since a guest appearance on Will and Grace, he had wanted to do more television. He'd done movies. He'd been successful in film. He was sick of being the movie star. He had an Oscar. (At this point he gestured into the back seat as we were driving and I looked to see Oscar tossed carelessly back there.) He was looking for a new challenge, a new achievement. He wanted to be the first film star to not only be successful in a tv series but in a series of tv series of varying genres . . . and he wanted me to develop and write all of them, on my own or he'd assemble the best team for me, whichever I preferred. The network had given him the green light to do whatever the hell he wanted and he wanted me. I worked for him now.

It was too much for my little brain to absorb all at once. I was overwhelmed by his excitement and passion and the huge undertaking he had in mind. We drove to his house in the hills (a mansion really) and he told me he had a guest suite all ready for my arrival. It would be easier if I just stayed there for now. He wanted me close to bounce ideas off and we'd be working long hours and weekends. It would be more comfortable for both of us if we were sequestered like this. He had a pool, a sauna, a gym, tennis courts, a massage therapist on staff as well as a chef . . . I'd be well taken care of. Plus he was tripling my salary and promoting me.

It was like a dream! (Well yes, it WAS a dream . . . but it was like a dream within a dream). Then in that movie montage way of my dreams, a series of images flash forwarded us through several months . . . Us wearing plush white bathrobes in a huge sunken living room, him lying on the couch talking and waving his hands, me sitting on the floor at a coffee table, papers strewn everywhere, jotting down the notes. Him knocking on my bedroom door in the middle of the night, a fire in his eyes, talking incessantly, and me wiping the sleep out of my eyes and noting the 4am time as I picked up pen and paper on my nightstand. Us outside on the tennis court pretending our rackets were swords and acting out a jousting scene. On the set in the studio and him consulting with me after a take, dressed in a knight's suit of armor . . .

There were way too many snippets that flashed by to list them all here. Needless to say we developed a close bond and friendship over these months where we lived together and made tv shows. He was always exhuberant and upbeat, so energetic and positive. He pushed everything to the limits, including me, and failure was never an option. I felt exhausted but pleased by the work I was doing. I should note that up to this point there is absolutely zero romantic interest going on, as difficult as that might seem to believe. It's a job, an opportunity, a professional collaboration, and he's one of the greatest people I've ever met . . . but romance hasn't crossed my mind. (in the dream!)

So there's this completely exhausting and rewarding year of developing all these different tv series for him, and then we find ourselves at the Emmy Awards. Unfortunately, I didn't dream the red carpet, but oh well can't have everything. So, I'm sitting beside Matt Damon at the Emmy Awards. It's a dinner with round tables and we're close to the stage because Matt is up for sooo many awards. And he's winning them. Best Actor in a Comedy. Best Actor in a Drama. Producer on this series. Director on that one. Best Guest Appearance on another . . . he's cleaning up. And I'm thrilled! Excited for all our shows. Excited for my friend. He's just beaming, ear to ear grin. And his acceptance speeches are so humble and honest and charming and yet . . . gregarious!

But because he's winning a lot, he's up and out of his seat a lot of the time. Throughout most of the dinner I find myself sitting beside a host of well dressed beautiful strangers, professional seat warmers. I'm absorbed in eating my filet mignon, pondering ideas for next season's shows, how to maintain this momentum, tuning out the awards for the most part because they've gone into the more technical ones. The guy sitting next to me looks like a less-tattooed and more dressed up Tommy Lee. He's very tanned and smiles at me. I return the smile and go back to my thoughts and food. The beef is excellent, the most tender I've ever had. Absolutely delicious. Everything seems over-the-top tasty, popping with flavour in my mouth. So yummy!

I'm completely focused on my food and my thoughts when the next presenter says they've never had this happen before, it's a first in the history of the Emmy Awards. It's the first time a single writer has been nominated five times with five different shows in a single category, effectively taking the award. And then they're saying my name, over and over. And I stop breathing. I'm shocked. Nobody told me. The man sitting next to me puts his hand on my forearm and I look up and it's not the Tommy Lee guy, it's Matt and he's beaming, "I wanted to surprise you, so I faked the nominations report." I'm speechless and the audience is clapping and I'm supposed to go to the stage and accept the award but I'm too overwhelmed. Time seems like it's slowed down. I'm digesting everything frame by frame. And I'm still looking into Matt's beaming face, into his sparkling eyes, and he leans in and whispers, "Go get it! You earned it. Nobody deserves it more. I'm so proud of you." Then he gives my arm a final squeeze. I look down at his hand there . . .

And then I wake up. What a great dream though! I do love it when celebrities drop by. It just makes it more intense and memorable somehow.

Mood: weakened
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Hall & Oates, Maneater
Hair: soon to be hot-oiled and deep conditioned