Dream Log: Liev Schreiber's Chili

I dreamed that I was working serving lunch in a soup kitchen in Lower Manhattan. Perhaps most of you already know that "soup kitchen" refers to a place which offers free hot meals to people in need, whether soup is included in the meal or not.

This soup kitchen was a big one, with a dining hall seating hundreds of people at a time. After we had finished serving the people and cleaning up, I fixed myself a tray and went to to eat with some other people who had worked there that day.

As some of you may know, soup kitchen food can range from really terrible to really, really good. This particular meal was nothing fancy -- no-beans chili, corn bread, greens and coffee -- but each part of the meal had been made really, really well.

In this dream, there was no dangerous virus circulating. People stood close together and touched each other. On my way to sit down I smacked Liev Schreiber

on the back, and he joined me to sit at a small table with George Clooney and Jeri Ryan. All of us were bundled up in winter clothing because it was cold at this table. A small window let in some light. Outside it was sunny and very, very cold. Liev and George both had beards. I didn't see any facial hair at all on Jeri, and I looked very closely because it was a very, very pretty face, with no make-up on it, my favorite way to look at pretty faces.

I was nervous the whole time because I was afraid that George Clooney was going to spring one of his famous practical jokes on me, but in this dream, he didn't.

Liev said, "How do you like the chili?" Goerge and Jeri and I all groaned and rolled our eyes and said Oh my God it's good. Liev persisted, "Is it only good because it's cold in here and you've all been working hard, or would it taste good or under any circumstances?" The three of us took that question seriously, took a little time with it, but we still all agreed that it wasn't just a matter of the setting or the circumstances, which admittedly enhanced the ewxperience. We all agreed that this chili was just terrific, period. Liev grinned and asked us, "Did you notice that it's vegetarian?"

We had not noticed. After some very, very close inspection, George asked, "Is this tofu? It really tastes like ground beef." Liev nodded. George asked, "Are you sure?"

Liev said, "I ought to be sure, I cooked it." We asked him how he had done it, and he just grinned and replied, "With great care and skill. And some great tofu from one of our donating stores." George, Jeri and I all raised our paper cups of coffee to toast the cook.

After a while Liev said, "It's always cold in this corner in the winter. It's ridiculous, the walls in this corner are full of holes. Let's patch it up." He took a shopping list for a hardware store out of a pocket and handed it to me for my perusal. I just handed it straight on to George and said, "I never paid attention in shop. I only passed because the shop teacher took mercy on me. I honestly think I'd be the most help by continuing to wash dishes and staying out of your way."

Liev didn't want to give up on me that easily. "You could help out, and maybe learn a couple of things."

"I'm fifty-eight freakin' years old, Liev," I replied. "Thank you for offering me the opportunity, but.. You know: old dog, new tricks." And at about that time, I woke up.

Dream Log: Bagman With Jeri Ryan

I dreamed that someone in NYC, somewhere in Manhattan, was paying me and another guy to take a satchel full of cash down a hill to a bank and give it to a bank employee. At first I didn't really understand why I and the other guy were being paid just to walk for a couple of minutes and hand something to someone. Then it occurred to me that there were tens of thousands of dollars in the satchel; and that if it was known a large bag of cash was taking this route to the bank, someone might try to steal it en route. Perhaps someone armed and dangerous, perhaps someone desperate.

I carried the bag. The other guy pestered me for a while to let him carry it it or at least look at the money, but I ignored him.

In the lobby of the bank there was great excitement because Jeri Ryan was there for some reason. When we walked in I didn't see her right away, but I saw a lot of men squaring their shoulders and jaws and trying to look taller and so forth.

The bank employee who was to receive the bag showed us to his desk, we made small talk for just a little while, and then he said, "I believe you have eighteen thousand dollars for me." I thought that the bag had forty-five thousand dollars in it. I excused myself, took a few steps away, called the people who had given me the bag and asked them how much was in it, they said eighteen thousand dollars, I came bank to the desk and apologized for the interruption and gave the man the bag. I also said that I'd feel better if he counted the money. He said that he was sure that it wasn't necessary, but I said I'd feel better if he did. So he opened up the bag.

It looked like it was all 20's, I said eighteen thousand would be 900 20's, he had a bill-counting machine on his desk, he fed the contents of the machine through it and it was exactly 900 bills.

Then there was a quiet commotion of murmers. I looked up and saw Jeri Ryan striding through the lobby, looking ultra-va-va-va-voom-glamourous, wearing a long close-fitting light-blue dress with a slit skirt, looked as if it might have been silk, and with her hair somewhat longer than she usually has it and parted on the side in a sort of neo-Veronica-Lake do, and somehow seeming to ignore every single man in the place.

I was given more bags of cash to carry here and there. Starting with the second bag I was sent alone, instead of having another guy coming with me as on the first delivery. I kept getting confused about the amount in each bag because all sorts of different figures were flying around in my mind, because I started to obsess about the amounts which had been in each bag, and about how many bills in various denominations would add up to the total amount in each bag, not to mention if a bag contained more than one denomination which of course would make it much more complicated, and so finally I gave up on trying to remember the amounts, and wrote each amount down as soon as I was told it, and crossed it out as soon as I handed it off. The more I thought about it the more I thought that I was earning my money because of the risk of attempted hold-ups. I wasn't particularly worried about being held up, because I'm a big and rather scary-looking guy and I don't worry much in general about being assaulted. I figure that there are many targets who look much easier than I. Then it occurred to me that I had never carried nearly this much money around before, and that that would make me a completely different sort of target, if potential thieves knew what I was doing for a living. So that it would behoove me to be a bit more on guard and aware of the people around me, looking out in case an assault was coming. But I still didn't feel afraid.