The stuff that dreams are made of.

(This is being posted by ern on behalf of Laural, another member of the group)

For all the non-film buffs out there, this is the closing line to one of Bogart’s greatest, The Maltese Falcon. After a tense 101 minutes of betrayal, deceit, murder, and passion (not to mention the longing for Peter Lorre to slither out just one “yessss, massssster”), the final conclusion is that the pursuit was all for a dream; the manifestation of something only seen in the mind’s eye.

If I watched The Maltese Falcon right before I laid my weary head on my old feathered pillow, it really is what my dreams would be made of. Turns out, whatever I’ve been watching last becomes the stage for my subconscious. And I watch entirely too much television because that’s all I dream about. To those who know me best, this comes as no great surprise. I’ve skipped many a college class for a good Moonlighting marathon or nerve-wracking Price is Right episode (I mean, who really leaves in the middle of a good Plinko game?? It’s darn near impossible.) I’m not sure if it was the appeal of losing myself in another world or the purposeful avoidance of daily duties, but all it takes is one strain of “thank you for being a friend” and the mere glimpse of Bea Arthur, and I’m booked for the rest of the day.

Sadly, this is nothing new. One of the first dreams I can remember is being kidnapped by Paul Reiser. That’s right, the neurotic half of My Two Dads. I also remember being chased by some crazy monster and my legs traveling like windmills a la Scooby Doo. Now that I’m older, it’s competing in America’s Next Top Model (apparently my subconscious would let me pose topless, who knew?) or accompanying the minstrel in Star’s Hollow (if only I could really be friends with Lauren Graham…).

Maybe I’m just not creative enough to conjure my own dream world, I’ve got to borrow from screenwriters and production sets. Maybe it’s that my conscious dreams are so realistically achievable, my brain’s only left with the Saved By the Bell reruns to pull from. Then again, if a “black bird” can be the stuff that dreams are made of, why can’t the Fonz’s jacket make an appearance in mine?