The Think System?

UPDATED

I'm being haunted.

Backstory:

I don't dream very often. Not in the daydreaming sense - I do that all the time. I mean the actual 'I'm physically asleep and thinking about random things that science can't completely explain' kind of dreaming. But recently something pretty awesome happened to me that has set my previously dull slumber into chaos.

For nearly as long as I can remember I've wanted to play Marian Paroo in The Music Man. We have far too much in common, Marian and I. It seemed like a good fit. But I've never really seen myself as leading lady material, so I didn't really let myself dream too far with that. So when a local theater decided to put on the show I figured I'd audition, put up a decent fight, and get cast in the chorus somewhere, as per usual.

But then something strange happened. I actually got called back for Marian. That in and of itself was a pretty big deal. Something stranger happened when I started to think I could actually get the part as the audition went on. Something out of this world crazy happened when I GOT the part. Wahoo! Cinderella was actually right when she said that dreams could come true. Phew.

So this is where the haunting comes in.

I was called about the part nearly two weeks ago. Our first rehearsal isn't for another five and a half days from now. I'm going crazy. First, it was dreams that I'd imagined the phone call. Then, after the cast list went up, it was dreams about the director changing his mind. When I found out the first rehearsal would be a sing through of the show, I had dreams of losing my voice and sounding like an idiot in front of the rest of the cast, and then I dreamed that the rest of the cast hated and resented me for the rest of the show.

It gets weirder. The show of Music Man has started to mix with other shows I've done recently in my head. (Imagine, if you will, Music Man and Seussical into one production. Trippy.)

The weirdest dream I've had so far, though, was completely hilarious. If you're familiar with Music Man, you know that fast talking salesman Harold Hill is selling a Boy's Band with his brand new revolutionary method called the "Think System". If you think the Minuet in G, you don't have to bother with the notes on an actual instrument. Well, I dreamed that the director of the show decided that the best, most authentic way to produce our version was through the "Think System" and that we were just going to barrel headlong into production of the show and not bother with rehearsal.

!!

In other words, until rehearsals actually start, I'm going to be a little bit nuts. After they start, I'll be a little bit busy. A little bit more than busy. But also a little bit more than happy.

I. Love. Theater.

New dream: I meet Shirley Jones. She is wearing a lovely blue suit. I am wearing nothing but a bath towel (?!!).

In touch with their inner Oprah

On the flight home from England I had a plethora of time at my fingertips in which to watch some of the greatest movies currently off market including the latest Dragon Ball Z and Duplicity. Our plane was older and didn't have the handy TV on the back of the other person's seat feature so I had little say in the matter. The only movie I had even the slightest amount of interest in was He's Just Not That Into You, a movie that was funny at times, disturbing in others, and overall rather insulting to single women as every woman in the movie - EVERY woman - was pathetic and desperate and stupid.

It's something that's kind of bothered me ever since. I've realized that one of the biggest problems of being an imaginative female who likes to read is that every literary hero - or nearly every literary hero - that I "fell in love with" growing up (or heroes that my friends love) - were written by a woman.

Think about it.

Darcy.
Rochester.
(That Vampire)
Gilbert.
Thornton.
Heathcliffe.
Brandon.

Heck, even Harry Potter could probably go on that list to an extent. All the men who are held up in modern woman-dom were penned by women. And re-penned by women, because, let's face it, that kind of speech perfection is not obtained in one editing.

And the more I think about it, the more dangerous it feels. Or, at least, the more potentially dangerous it feels. Take, for example, the following links:

Normal Mormon Husband is a favorite blogger of mine, and he wrote this post a while ago about how he's decided that women are obsessed with (That Vampire) because he is, in fact, a woman. Debate this joke as you will, but when I stumbled upon the response these girls had in a "That Vampire" lexicon, I started to get more than a little concerned. These girls defend this fictional character as though their lives depended on it. They speak about him not just out of literary admiration, but out of a kind of obsession that borders on something that seems rather unhealthy - at least to me. (For example: "lmao that was entertaining, but not entirely accurate…i would just like to point out that bella notices consistently throughout Twilight that Edward does not talk like a normal teenager; you wanna know why??? BECAUSE HE WAS BORN IN 1901!!! of course his vocabulary is more refined than your average male! he is almost a century old, and he was born in a time when men WERE generally more “refined”…tsk tsk tsk, this man needs to do his research!!!")

Granted, this is coming from the girl who has admittedly read Harry Potter and Anne of Green Gables more times than I am years old (by a lot) - but I would like to think that I do know the difference between fiction and reality - between fun trivia and not letting "dreams" get in the way of "reality."

I guess, then, that this post is almost the antithesis to my previous post: dreams (or dream men) are all fine and good, but I think the female population would do well to remember that carefully constructed and edited men in breeches no longer exist, and may not have ever existed. It is not fair to the "less-fair sex" to expect the unexpectable.

It reminds me of a scene from an episode of Road to Avonlea in which the town has been half taken over with obsession over a Valentine's dance at the hotel. Background: Boy named Gus asks girl named Felicity. Felicity says 'yes of course'. Boy named Arthur also asks Felicity. Felicity says she's already going with someone else, but thank you very much, and proceeds to be happy about two men fighting over her. New girl named Suzette moves temporarily into the hotel and causes a bit of a stir because she falls for Gus.

About half way through the episode, Gus shows up to see Felicity at home and to apologize for something. Felicity brings up Suzette's flirting with Gus. Gus says "Well, she may be a lot prettier than you, Felicity, but that doesn't matter to me!"

Felicity slams the door in his face.

In the background you hear Felicity's mother say "Felicity - if you slam the door on every boy who puts his foot in his mouth, you're going to need iron hinges."

I guess, then, my point is this: I wonder at how many girls (or boys) have built up ideals for themselves that don't exist, and end up passing by perfectly good opportunities because they are too besotted with something fictional. I don't think it's fair for either side to expect perfection in their companion. I would certainly hope that, if I ever say something stupid (I know, dream big,) or don't look my best, or make a mistake, that my guy won't think less of me, any more than I hope that I would do the same for him. It's all a matter of perspective and patience - recognizing that sometimes our dreams should be altered to fit reality - and coming to the realization that, in the end, reality is often better then some kind of sterile, fantastical dream.

Alright Freud-analyze this.

I had a weird dream the other night. And believe me when I say that I have no idea where it came from. But then, random dreams are usually the best, right?

I dreamed that I was on some kind of cruise line that decided to build a bunch of ships that would give passengers the ultimate experience. Titanic. That's right. I dreamed that I was on a ship that re-enacted Titanic. Every bit of it. The sinking, the dead people, the iceberg, everything. Yeah. That's right. I dreamed about Titanic. Where that came from-who knows. But the details are pretty interesting.

Now, I'm not sure if the cruise line got volunteers to play the dead people (or did they actually die?), or if they were 'I'm dying of hypothermia' dummies or if people were picked at random, but I knew that the ship would sink, because my stateroom or cabin or whatever it was (it was like a third class room until I went back to go get my books and then it looked like a first class room) was under water at some point.

Rest assured-I don't think any cruise line is about to start giving passengers THIS kind of ultimate experience. Most cruise lines settle for midnight chocolate bars and all you can eat any time of the day buffets. The closest most of these ships will come to sinking is if passengers start gaining too much weight (though I guess even that isn't possible since the food would have already been on the ship in the first place). Either way though, it was a great "what the heck" kind of moment when I woke up.

The only connection I can work out is this: I had been talking with my mom that day about Pride and Prejudice, written by Jane Austen, who also wrote Sense and Sensibility, which was made into a movie with Kate Winslet in it, who is in the movie Titanic. So...there you go.

Have at it Freud.