Monday, August 22, 2005

You can't script it! Yesterday I was in a crap mood. But one thing lifted my spirits because it was such a perfect 'moment'. We were at a magazine meeting at Rue Bebelons discussing the content for the next issue. (If you want to contribute to this issue, pitches are due by this Friday. Go to the Is Not Magazine website for more information.)

Anyway, we had this idea of making nostalgic lists of the cultural products of childhood: tie-dye; pet rocks; Degrassi Junior High; Hypercolour t-shirts. Someone said, "Whatever happened to fluorescent ankle socks?" And I had a stab of sheer jouissance because I knew what I was about to do. I swung my leg balletically up over the edge of the table to reveal that I was wearing orange fluorescent ankle socks. Everyone lurched back and clapped in delight and Stuart laughed his filthy laugh. It was such a perfect moment.

In my life I search for such moments: images or events that are so perfectly exhilarating or disgusting or beautiful. I even dream about them. Last night I had a crazy dream in which I was some kind of spy and was boarding a plane to Hong Kong at a futuristic Siberian airport that looked designed by Frank Gehry. I was shocked when the cabin crew showed me to an onboard first-class suite with a bed and a bathroom. In the next suite was a man, a woman and a dark grey tabby cat. The man was played by Christian Bale with sleek, slicked-back hair, and in the dream I knew he was a hotshot pilot and my nemesis. (I now realise that this dream must be at least partially inspired by From Russia With Love.) I was embarrassed about using the bathroom in my suite so I went to shower at the communal showers, which were like any public swimming pool showers you've ever been in, except they were immaculately white.

There is always a point to my stories, and the point of this one is that there was a moment in this dream when I was in the perfect white shower cubicle. I was looking at other passengers' heads and arms over the cubicle walls, and at their feet under the walls. The aircraft was pitching with turbulence and I was lurching about, bracing myself against the walls. Suddenly I saw a brown turd slide along the floor and nestle against the perfect white hem of someone's gown. I remember so clearly the way it left a wet beige stain on the fabric. Anyway, my point is that even in dreams, I find 'moments'.

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