Skip to main content

Dream On

This is the way my mind works – repetition, repetition, repetition – this is how I remember things. Movies, television, happy things, yucky things; nothing useful. I will watch movies in my head over and over again, on a continuous loop; usually three or four or even five at a time. Movies that are in no way related to each other, scenes interspersed, answering one another; over and over and over again. It’s not done on purpose. It’s only vaguely irritating.

For every exchange I have with another person, every exchange I overhear, every thought I have, a movie or t.v. quote will instantly pop into my head as a response
to whatever is being said. I know I can’t possibly be the only person whose mind works this way, but I’ve yet to meet anyone who can relate and I feel so very alone in the world because of it. Or…I would, if there had never been a television series based upon this type of thought process. This is the fun part. This is a very exciting time for me, because I just gave myself the opportunity to re-visit a much beloved and obscure series.

In 1990, an adult comedy-drama, created by David Crane and Marta Kauffman, premiered on HBO. If I am not mistaken it was HBO’s first long-running series; possibly, the first cable series of its kind. The show was called “Dream On” and it starred the delectable Brian Benben (Brian Benben, still married to the devastatingly beautiful Madeleine Stowe) as a book editor named “Martin Tupper”. Martin was always getting laid. That’s not important, it’s just something I appreciated. He was a classic Baby Boomer and very much a product of his generation; raised on television and, possibly, SPAM. Martin could not get through a conversation, or even process a single thought, without having a random scene from a t.v. show or movie invade his head at exactly the right moment. I mean, they were random, but entirely appropriate; always entirely appropriate. 

I loved this show! Because I could relate to it. I was relating to what, now? A bumbling divorced man in his forties, who is a sad role model for his teenage son, and who can’t hold onto a meaningful romantic relationship to save his life.

Wow. That was an oddly-shaped revelation and a half. Maybe I do need a psychiatrist.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Racism Vs. Prejudice

Warning: I expect to stray from the central thesis a lot in this article. A while back, I was obliged to explain the difference between racism and prejudice, after a fairly disturbed friend (not mentally, she was just upset) reported that she was called a racist during a casual dinner out with her husband and his raucous Coast Guard buddies. Although the explanation can easily be summed up in one or two sentences, I’m going to flesh it out a bit because it's way slow at work and I forgot to bring my Kindle with me. We’ll start with the official definitions. The Oxford English Dictionary defines “Prejudice” as: 1. an opinion that is not based on reason or experience; 2. dislike or unfair behavior based on such opinions. “Racism” is defined as: 1. the belief that each race has certain qualities or abilities, giving rise to the belief that certain races are better than others; 2. discrimination or hostility against other races. Back to my friend. Picture it: Benihana at ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Carole is Beautiful

Carole King is beautiful. She is majestic and brilliant and talented and legendary and she has great hair. I was still young and living in the city the first time I listened to “Tapestry” all the way through. I had already heard every song a thousand times, except “Beautiful”; this was the first. It is positive, upbeat, motivational; it’s fake it ‘til you make it; it’s see it and be it. It was the worst song I could have listened to back then. New York City will always be glamorous and exciting to anyone who has never lived there. Everyone needs to see it, at least once. Every Long Island kid needs to live there, for a least a year. In short, New York City is necessary. It also sucks; it is depressing and it sucks. Consider the city from the perspective of someone who can just barely afford to live there. Your small studio apartment is nothing more than a box; it is a small box within a large box. (I never actually did the shoebox studio, but work with me on this one.) You wa...
Post a Comment
Read more

About John

On November 23 rd , 2018, the day after Thanksgiving, John Vincent Kaplan took his own life. He was 43 years old. I met John in September of 1993 when I was 17 and he was 18. We had been set up by a mutual friend, upon whom he had a massive crush. Said friend basically just wanted to get him off her back. John was exactly what my silly adolescent mind considered to be perfect boyfriend material: he was beautiful (vaguely resembled Jim Morrison, his idol); he had the soul of a tortured poet; great singing voice, with a rock star swagger to match; we had the same taste in music, movies and books; we shared the same sick, inappropriate sense of humor. Needless to say, my dumb ass was smitten. We were doomed. It took more than two years for me to realize that I had to end our relationship, and another year and a half before I mustered up the courage to actually end it. By then I was 22 and not the same person I was when I was 17. At 23, John hadn’t changed since the day I met him. I...
Post a Comment
Read more