Dreamed I was Anne Hathaway’s date for her secret unannounced cabaret show, the one she performed in a Catskills dining room with all of us eating dinner in the background. I am in a tux. (This is how I know I’m dreaming.) Anne is wearing a strapless red gown with a cinch waist and a floor-length skirt that’s slit on one side, so you get a flash of leg whenever she moves. (This is how I know I'm REALLY dreaming.) She’s wearing bright red 50’s lipstick and her hair is curled and bunched up around her shoulders like (because this is me dreaming) Ava Gardner circa 1952. And every song she sings, she aims at me. (This is how I know I'm still wonked out on the cold pills I've been taking since Tuesday.) As she cracks everybody up with her monologue and croons her standards (a lot of Lorenz and Hart, a couple of Cole Porters), people whip out small digital cameras and take pictures of her. Whenever that happens, even if she’s in mid-verse, Anne whips out a small digital camera and takes pictures of the people taking pictures of her. This happens so much during “Down In The Depths Of The 90th Floor” that it’s like watching a fireworks display.
Sorta like this without the straps.
2 comments:
I'd love to know what cold medication you're on.
percocet does the opposite. too stoned to dream. but they have finally come back.
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