dreams, harvey birdman, pop culture, scott baio and weezer, all rolled into one blog sandwich
I realized that all my dreams lately have two things in common; a wedding and armageddon. Armageddon is nothing new, I've been dreaming about that since I was seven and figured out that we are mortal and so is the earth. But the wedding thing, that's recent. It started some time last month, and every night I am either trying on dresses for a wedding that's starting in five minutes, or I'm attending a wedding of a person I don't know (last night it was a lavish medeival affair, complete with the bride's damsel-in-distress pointed hat with tulle veil flowing from the point) or sometimes I am the wedding planner and everything that could go wrong is going wrong and it would just be so easy to say the hell with your wedding bitch, I'm going to marry Matthew McConaughey and live happily ever after. Never, never am I the bride in my dreams. I'm usually just ruining it for someone else by eating the dessert before I've been told to.
So last night there was the wedding (the medeival thing) and armageddon (as always, the sky was on fire) and to add to the mix there were bugs; big, hard-shelled, ghastly, blue bugs that seemed almost like crabs but were more like a cross-breed of crabs and millipedes and Blue from Blues Clues. And they hurt like a bitch when they pinched you.
So why am I telling you this? I don't know. Maybe someone with a great inner-psychic out there can tell me what it means to have these dreams. Oh, I know. Don't eat Taco Bell before you go to bed. That's what it means. And don't fall asleep watching Adult Swim because you never know when Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law, will creep into your dreams and serve an Order to Show Cause against you.
What I started out to write, before I got distracted by leftover remnants of my dreams flashing in my brain (they're like trails you see when you've done too much acid and...oh, nevermind. Different story) was this: VH1's obsession with list making rivals my own and possibly Solonor's, who is no sloucher when it comes to list making.
The latest installment of numbered memories is the 200 Greatest Pop Culture Icons. The show doesn't air until July 21, but I'm going to be very prescient and say that Michael Jackson is number one. I think I have VH1 and their lists all figured out by now.
Somewhere on that list is going to be The Fonz. Now, I've been thinking about The Fonz every since Alan posted this picture on his site, where he was trying to illustrate that perhaps blogs have jumped the shark, but instead illustrated that any of us who thought Fonz was the ultimate in coolness had a lot to learn about cool. Fonz looked like a middle-aged guy trying to fit in with some not-quite-hip teenagers. Homer Simpson pulled that off with much more ensuing hilarity, and that was only in one or two episodes; they didn't build a series around the premise. What a bunch of geeks and nerds and hopeless twits those Happy Days kids were. What seemed funny then is just cheesy now, and to add insult to injury, Happy Days spawned Joanie Loves Chachi, which spawned the movie Zapped, which in turn lead to Charles in Charge which, all these years later, is culminating in the sequel that proves that anything gets a Sequel, Baby Geniuses 2. Sorry, kids. Scott Baio, Teen Idol, is not dead yet.
My pop culture list would not include Scott Baio. Or the Fonz. But it would include Weezer which, all things considered, is fair and square.