I dreamed I was in the front row at the Golden Globes.
I was in New York. For once, they were in New York.
From my hotel window, I could see a long line of tiny yellow taxi cabs slowly dropping people at the event. Somewhere along the line there was a giant taxi. I took a picture of the fleet of tiny cabs (and the one large one) on my phone.
Then we were inside. We were in the front row. In a surprise upset, Luke Wilson (although he referred to himself as ‘Zack’) won the award for best supporting actor. He won over Clooney and an old man who everyone thought was long overdue. It may have been Christopher Plummer. He looked disappointed. So did others. But they applauded nonetheless. This is the first nomination and win for Zack Wilson.
Luke nee Zack Wilson gave a ten minute acceptance speech which alternated between heartfelt sentiment, standup comedy and magic tricks. While some of the audience was frustrated by this, he nonetheless received a standing ovation, led by Will Smith, who sat further along the front row. Will Smith likes things that are unconventional and this was unconventional.
In the ad break, people got up and mingled. Tom Hanks asked Edward Norton why he wasn’t following him on Twitter.
I took a picture of the empty stage from where I sat. People won’t believe I was here. I don’t believe I’m here.
I became conscious of the fact it was a dream and woke up.
It was 4AM.
I can sleep more. I need to know who wins Best Picture.
I went back to sleep and in one of those rare crazy things, I continued the dream.
A musical number was introduced to welcome rising young stars to Hollywood. A musical medley of songs, featuring a performance by twenty young-uns, including Zac Efron and a girl they announced as Blake Lively. I don’t think was really her. I don’t know what Blake Lively looks like, I only know the name. I thought she might be a Cylon. But that means there never was a Blake Lively. Only the Blake Lively Cylon.
Bert and Ernie – or at least two men in Bert and Ernie costumes – started singing a slowed down, almost lounge version of Amy Winehouse’s ‘Rehab’. I questioned whether the man in the Ernie suit was singing both parts in different voices and simply didn’t move his mouth when “Bert” sang.
I took photos on my phone still, to prove to people I was there. “When I come out of the dream, the photos will be there on my phone. Like Nancy pulling Freddy Krueger’s hat out of the dream world. I can do this.” I was mindful of the flash. Nothing looks more wannabe than the flash of a camera phone at the Golden Globes. Who was this guy? Who is he? Some contest winner. You should not be here. Oh but I am here, Clint Eastwood. I am here. I have the pictures to prove it.
I left the room to get a Pepsi from the milkbar next door to the theatre. On leaving they took my ticket.
“How will I get back in?” I asked the man in the booth.
“We have to take your ticket, sir” he replied, with the enthusiasm of a flight attendant. “You can buy a souvenir ticket from the gift shop.”
I declined. I had my phone. I had my souvenir. I had my proof I was there.
I walked out onto the street. The tiny cabs were even smaller on the street level.
I asked the girl at the milkbar for a Pepsi.
I woke up again. There was no Freddy Krueger hat in my hand, there were no pictures on my phone.
It was 6AM. Sunday.