Dream Log: Sad Over Scarlett Johansson

There are two kinds of people: those who are in love with Scarlett Johansson, and those who won't admit that they're in love with Scarlett Johansson.

 Last night, I dreamed I was in the cast of the latest Avengers movie along with Scarlett Johansson, Robert Downey, Jr, Chris Hemsworth, Tom Hiddleston, Mark Ruffalo, Chris Evans and manymany others. I don't watch the Avengers movies for much reason other than to watch Scarlett Johansson, and I don't really follow the plots... at all, so fans of the MCU: your possible objections to the casting in the movie may be relevant to the MCU, but they are irrelevant to my dream. In the dream, the relevant things were that I was working on a movie alongside Scarlett Johansson and a lot of other movie stars, most of whom, including Scarlett (I was on a first-name basis with the fictional Scarlett Johansson in the dream), are much younger than I am, and very attractive and in very good physical condition. In the dream, COVID didn't seem to exist. However, in the dream, Scarlett was married to that douchebag from "Saturday Night Live" to whom she's married in real life, whose bio centuries from now will consist of the dates of his birth, his marriage to Scarlett, and his death. 

So, in the dream, dozens of people in the main cast, to which I somehow belonged, were hanging out after a day of shooting. Scarlett was doing a diplomatic job of dividing her attention between us. At first, I felt wonderful when she was talking to me, and sad when she was not, but then I just felt more and more sad, because, even when she was talking to me, although she seemed very sincerely nice, she was also giving me no reason to hope that I was inflaming her passions, or that I was about to, a delicate balance with which I imagine the real Scarlett Johansson might have had a lot of practice, if she's been inclined to practice it. I began to wonder whether it was obvious to everyone that I had a crush on Scarlett. Obvious, and sad.

At one point, another movie star, whose identity was indistinct to me in the dream, was flirting with me, and I was trying to be nice without giving her any reason to hope that she was getting anywhere with me. She was talking about 1970's disco music: records which were made long before she was born, which were big hits when I was a teenager. She began to speak enthusiastically about Gloria Gaynor's single "I Will Survive," when I lost my polite composure a little bit and said that the Thelma Houston version of "Don't Leave Me This Way" was a much better record. 

I said that, yes, I realized that "I Will Survive" had become an anthem for people who had left abusive relationships, and that that was a very positive thing, but "Don't Leave Me This Way," I insisted, was a much better piece of music. The passion in the song, I said, was real, was raw, was intense, and if the passion was unrequited, the pain was cathartic. I compared some of the lyrics of the two songs.

Then I noticed that the young actress was not with me, did not know what I was talking about. Or, it occurred to me, maybe she and everybody else could see and hear that I had a stupid hopeless crush on Scarlett, which meant that everybody knew exactly what I was really talking about. I stood up and turned away and headed back to my room, calling it a night, didn't even bother to say good night to anybody. 

Tom Hiddleston caught up with me and asked me if I was okay. It occurred to me that I had just been talking about lyrics including "I can't/survive/Can't stay alive/Without your love." I told Tom that I wasn't suicidal. Then it occurred to me that that was what suicidal people sometimes say. But after a while, although admitting that I was feeling sad, I managed to convince Tom that I was just going to get some sleep. I thanked him for caring, turned down his offer of a hug, and woke up.

Avengers movies on Amazon: https://amzn.to/454pvZb

Great Struggle Underway in Hollywood

Right now, as we speak, a titanic struggle is underway in La-La-Land:

It's Marvel Comics superheroes against... blue thingies (I've never seen Avatar) in a fight for something which actually means very little! (More on that below.)

Right now -- on the 14th of July, at 11:12AM Eastern Standard Time in the US -- Box Office Mojo shows that Avengers: Endgame is $13.4 million behind Avatar in all-time world-wide box-office. The studio that does the Avengers movies has announced that the home video versions of Avengers: Endgame will be released on July 31. Avengers: Endgame has 17 days left to do what long seemed to be impossible for any movie to do: topple Avatar from the #1 spot on the all-time world-wide box-office list.

Worldwide box office is what they call box office from all over the world. You might think they mean the same thing when they say international box office, but they don't: international box office is worldwide box office minus domestic box office, which is the US & Canada. And as I mentioned above, it means very little.

Not in terms of billions of dollars: billions of dollars mean a lot, of course. But in terms of which movie is the most successful of all time, it means very little. It's ridiculous. And yet it makes my heart race because, don't you see, it's all I have!

Avengers: Endgame may be ending its theatrical run on July 31 -- or then again: maybe it's ending its run in the domestic market only, in the US and Canada, and continuing to show in cinemas in many other parts of the world. I just don't know! -- but it's only beginning to make money. For in addition to box office revenues, there are the monies from home video: DVD, Blu-Ray, digital, streaming and who knows what all else, I'm old and I still haven't figured out Blu-Ray. Can you play DVD's and Blu-Ray's on the same equipment? I have a deep fear that you cannot, but I just don't know! I'm so old that I'm very proud of myself for having been able to take that screenshot of the Box Office Mojo page and leave a copy of it in this post! Can you imagine being that old and out of touch?!

But, old as I am, I still know this: after home video comes pay-per-view, and then premium cable, and then basic cable, and then -- is there still broadcast TV? Anyway: and there's also merchandising.

And it seems reasonable to me to assume that Scarlett Johansson has at least a 2% cut in all of that. And that the worldwide box office will be less than half of the money which Avengers: Endgame eventually will make in the next 3 or 4 years. Which would make Ms Johansson's cut over $110 million!

But dontcha see, I'm just guessing about all of this, except for the box office figures! Why do they make the box office figures public, when every other single piece of financial information is sort of confidential? ("Sort of" because now and then some of the other information will leak or even be released on purpose, but don't hold yr breath about it happening in any given case!)

So, as I was saying: Avengers: Endgame has 17 days to get $13.4 more in world wide box office, to topple Avatar from the #1 spot. The meaningless, but still very, very exciting #1 spot! Unless it has more than 17 days because it's still running in cinemas in other countries.

Will 17 days be enough? I just don't know! It will be close! Follow the link above, the chart is updated several times a week! The suspense is killing me! This is ridiculous! It might just be because I'm autistic and numbers can affect me in irrational ways! Maybe Stan Lee is looking down from Heaven and smiling! (Why wouldn't he smile, Heck, he probably could've BOUGHT Heaven!)

PS, 23 July 2019: The epic struggle is over, Endgame passed Avatar a couple of days ago:

My Friends Are Into Comic Books

My friends are into comic books, talking about them the way comic-book enthusiasts do, and I'm listening, trying to keep up with the conversation.

I can only actually remember owning one comic book as a child. It was an Incredible Hulk number. I don't remember much about it. Bruce Banner was being strafed by a WWII-era fighter plane for some reason, and he thought to himself that if just one of those .50-caliber bullets hit him, he'd be dead, and that thought upset him so much that he turned into the Hulk. There was also someone in the same volume who'd been shrunk down to much smaller than a bee, and was fleeing from a bee. I don't know whether that was Bruce Banner as well, or if it was a separate story which just happened to be in the same volume.

I was asking myself why I never had any more comics besides that one, and I was thinking it was because I never had any money to buy them, but that's not true: I had a paper route.

What did I do with all the money from the paper route? I don't remember. In any case, it wasn't comics. (I don't know whether the correct term is "comics" or "comic books," and to all those people who feel very strongly that I should use one term or the other, I'd just like to say that I don't care.)

During parts of the 1980's and 90's, I lived in Columbus, Ohio, maybe a mile from a huge comic book store. I went in and browsed a few times, but I felt unwelcome, somehow. By contrast, there were several used-book stores in town where I felt very welcome, spent a lot of time, talked to the people running the stores, etc.

Why did I feel unwelcome in the comic-book store? Well, I suppose one possibility is that I wasn't unwelcome, and the guys who worked there were thinking, "How come that guy always walks past the store, hardly ever comes in, and when he does he seems so unfriendly?"

Another possibility that occurs to me is that they were physically afraid of me. I'm a big guy, more Hulk than Banner. Maybe I reminded them of people who'd bullied them in school or whatnot.

Or maybe they were just jerks and I'm better off, I don't know.

Recently, on TV, I saw parts of the movie Unbreakable with Bruce Willis and Samuel L Jackson. Only parts of it, because it didn't hold my attention enough to make me want to sit through the whole thing. Anyway, Jackson's character made some very bold statements about the cultural significance of comic books, and I wondered how seriously I should take those comments, and SPOILER ALERT then it turned out that Jackson's character was the bad guy, and that made me wonder whether his statements were to be taken less seriously. But like I say, I've never even seen the whole movie, so --

Just today, reading along in a Facebook conversation between some friends of mine about comic books, I was about to chime in that I've been somewhat interested in 21st-century movies made from comic books, and ask whether or not that counted and meant that now, at last, I too had become a true comic nerd.

But then, trying to be really honest about it, I had to admit that my interest in those movies is almost entirely about Scarlett Johansson.

I just think she's really, really cool, and I'd gladly watch any movie she's in, and, to be honest, other than the character she's played in a lot of the comic-book movies, Natasha Romanoff, I haven't been paying very close attention to all of those movies. Could I describe the plot of a single one of them? Hmmm... not very well.

And so I remain a comic-book outsider, but since I have some friends now who are fans, I'm starting to listen to conversations about them, and hearing things which seem to make perfectly good sense, such as that comics in general, and individual artists such as Stan Lee in particular, have always been very progressive politically.

Which would mean, for example, that fanboys who are complaining about what they call political correctness in comics, with characters like Rey in the Star Wars movies, and the new female Captain Marvel (hmm, not so new, apparently, seems the female Captain Marvel was in comic books as long ago as the 1980's), are missing the boat.

Anyway, I'm listening, and I'm not claiming that I'm keeping up, but... I'm listening.

So, It's Valentines' Day,

and I'm confidently looking forward to being showered with lavish gifts by my many passionate admirers.

Do I actually know that someone currently admires me passionately enough to give any sort of Valentine's Day gift?

No.

Do I get something every Valentine's Day?

No.

Not even a card?

Sometimes not even a card. Some years, all I got was a Valentine's Day card from my Mom, which in some ways was worse than getting nothing. Still, it shows you how great my Mom was. Love you, Mom, you're the best, happy Valentine's Day, RIP. And they make Valentine's Day cards that say From Mom to my Son, which makes it a little less weird. Thank you, Hallmark, for making it less weird.

So why am I confidently looking forward to a completely different kind of Valentine's Day today?

Because they say that confidence is sexy.

Are they right about that?

I have no idea.

Who are they, anyway?

Beats me.

Whatever kind of Valentine's Day I end up having, there are some people who no doubt will be showered with lavish gifts by passionate admirers today. For example, Scarlett Johansson.

Seems perfectly reasonable and right that she would be showered with lavish gifts from many admirers today. I almost feel bad about not getting her a Valentine's Day gift myself, and I've never met her. You know who else is going to be showered with lavish Valentine's Day gifts from admirers today? Donald Trump. And that doesn't seem right. You threw up a little bit in your mouth just thinking about it, didn't you? And you're somewhat annoyed with me for bringing it up. Sorry, but I was trying to make a point, and I think I made it. Donald Trump on Valentine's Day illustrates the Tom-Petty-It's-Ab-So-Lute-Ly-Back-Wards Law of Microeconomics particularly well.

So if I socialized more, would I have better chances of getting Valentine's Day gifts?

No doubt. No doubt at all about that. I'd also have better chances of being married or having a girlfriend or something.

Is being autistic, so that it's more difficult and stressful for me to socialize than it is for most people, a valid excuse for this Valentine's Day predicament of mine?

Yeah, probably, but whether it's valid or not, excuses are not nearly as likely to get me many lavish Valentine's Day gifts, as getting out there and mixing it up with the other humans. Exactly the same as with other people, autistic and not.

Do I think Scarlett Johansson is awesome?

Yes. Yes, I do. She's gorgeous, intelligent, talented, has a good sense of humor, and, although I've never met her, from what I hear, she's also a real mensch. I could be wrong, but I think she's awesome. Happy Valentine's Day, Scarlett Johansson!

Dream Log: More Movie Stars

I seem to be dreaming about movie stars a lot lately. I wonder what that means. I had 2 dreams last night: in the 1st one, Edward Norton and I were walking down a poorly-lit street in NYC on a very cold winter night, and we went down into a church basement where a soup kitchen was operating. The dining area, several long tables with wooden chairs, was poorly-lit, as if the operation didn't have enough money for powerful light bulbs, or enough light bulbs. Like most soup kitchens, this one wasn't serving soup: tonight they had hot dogs, not particularly good hot dogs, boiled and served on not particularly good buns, with ketchup on them and no other condiments in sight, strike three.

In the dream Edward Norton was both the movie star Edward Norton, and the character he played in spike Lee's 25th Hour, a convicted felon out on bail on the last night before he has to report to prison to begin serving a long term. Unlike in the movie, Norton was clean-shaven. He looked very young. I was the only one of his friends around. I don't know why he and I were friends in the dream except maybe that he and I both volunteered at the soup kitchen. It was unusual that they were serving food at night, and the place was crowded with people eating. I didn't know what day it was, but the meal at night and the heavy attendance made me think that maybe it was Christmas Eve.

Norton -- or, actually, as everyone called him in the dream: Edward -- got himself some hot dogs and found a place to sit at one of the tables. I wasn't particularly tempted by the hot dogs.

I heard someone singing. It sounded like Michael Stipe. As with every REM record, I couldn't make out a lot of the words, and I couldn't comprehend a message conveyed by the words I did make out. But the voice was beautiful. I looked around, and saw that it was Edward singing as he stared off into space. No one else paid any attention to the singing, which I found odd.

Then Scarlett Johansson came in and said hello to me. Like Edward and I and most of the other people, she was wearing a heavy winter coat which she didn't take off, taking a while to warm up. I asked if she was getting something to eat, she made a face. I asked if she was vegan. She didn't answer that. We were near the entrance to the room, and Edward was seating near the other end of the room, facing the other way. He had stopped singing and was eating his hot dogs.

Scarlett asked me if Edward was there. I said yes and pointed in his direction. "There," I said, "you see the back of his head there?" She said that she did. But she didn't move. I gathered that she didn't want to approach Edward alone. I didn't want to make their meeting awkward by being right there in the middle of it. But eventually I figured out that Scarlett wanted me to be in the middle of the meeting. So I walked over toward Edward with her. I wondered if perhaps they had dated, and Scarlett was afraid Edward might get clingy, and she wouldn't know just exactly how to tell him to get away, on this particular night, right before his prison term would start.

When we were close behind him I said, "Edward, somebody's looking for you." Edward stood up and gave Scarlett a hug, and he did seem smitten and clingy. After they had talked for a short while, Scarlett gave him another hug, a long one, and then a kiss on the cheek, and she nodded at me and said, "We've gotta go."

I played along as if I had expected all of this. When we were back up on the poorly-lit street, Scarlett wiped some tears from her eyes and told me, "Thanks." I didn't know what to do or say. Eventually I decided to open my arms in a gesture offering her a hug. She held me very tightly. She was short and I'm 6'3", I had to stay hunched over or I was going to lift her off of the ground. After a long hug she said Thank you again and asked if she could buy me dinner. She said, "I know a good vegan place, are you up for that?" I said it sounded great, and I woke up.

Then I went back to sleep, and Chris Noth and I and two other detectives, a man and a woman, were in an undercover operation to infiltrate a business fronting for some criminal enterprise. In the dream, Chris Noth was not Chris Noth, but a real detective. We weren't in NYC, there was very new architecture everywhere you looked. We were meeting with some reps from the company at a sidewalk cafe, trying to get the go ahead to come in and apply for jobs.

Chris was wearing one of those dresses made for men. The skirt came down to just below his knee, and the top showed a lot of his shoulders and chess and back. I thought it looked like a dress made for an enormous woman. I didn't think it looked good on Chris, but I admired the confidence with which he wore it. No-one else seemed to think he looked strange.

All four of us got the go-ahead to come in for job applications the next day. The next day Chris was wearing a conventional men's suit with checkered tan trousers and jacket, a white shirt and a nice silk tie. It was the sort of suit I would pick out for myself if I had a big suit budget. I was wearing something I never would've picked out for myself: all solid colors, dark blue jacket and pants and a dark green shirt with no tie, no collar and no buttons, which fit snugly and came down to just past my waist, and didn't tuck into my pants.

I had no idea what we were doing, what sort of crime the criminals were suspected of, how we planned to expose them -- nothing.

The business' office were splendid and airy, with free-standing staircases and big monitors all over the walls with what looked like financial charts. Again: I had no idea what that was on the monitors, and I felt I should know. And I seemed unable to find one free moment in which to give my fellow detectives a heads-up that I was lost.

I made a joke about my outfit, saying that I bet Chuck Woolery would like it. No one even smiled at my joke. On the contrary, both the criminals and my colleagues just glared at me as if they were priests and I had made a tasteless joke about the Pope. I didn't know if they were offended because I didn't seem to appreciate the fine quality of my own duds, or what fine taste Chuck Woolery has in clothes, or both.

All four of us and three other job applicants were subjected to rapid-fire Q & A's, with cameras recording our responses and computers analyzing the footage with heat sensors, sonic scanners and all sorts of high-tech equipment. After the Q & A's two of the non-detectives were thanked for their time and told that the company had no positions for them at this time. The other five of us were asked to make ourselves comfortable on some sofas in an office. A company rep came in, closed the door behind him and said that all five of us had lied in our interviews. Involuntarily, we detectives exchanged worried looks, wondering whether we had blown our cover. Then the company rep laughed. He was just having some fun with us. He told us that, what with the high percentage of inappropriately-personal questions in the Q & A's, everybody lied at least at little during them. We five had lied little enough to suit the company's standards. All five of us could probably count on drawing a salary as of today, there were just a few formalities left, but he was sure all five of us were in.

Then I woke up.