Three less-than-important things

"Please Don't Listen To Me. Sometimes I Don't Know What I'm Talking About."*

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Last night, I dreamed about Tim Shaw** all night. And I mean all night. I'd wake up, turn over, think, "Why the hell am I dreaming about Tim Shaw?" go back to sleep, and dream about him some more!

The only part I remember clearly is that he and Judith Collins** were in love, and he was selling flavored dog bones. He had a company, though I don't know what they did because he was stealing the dog bones—from dogs—repackaging them, and selling them. Judith knew about this and didn't care, but Edward** was very upset (as you know he would be). There was a big argument in the drawing room.

There was also something about a congressional hearing, but I don't know if it was about stolen dog bones or what.

Tim Shaw. I spent my whole weekend watching film noir, and I dream about Tim Shaw. Weird.

(The dog bone part isn't strange; it's Meg's cat food. He scatters his kibble around when he eats, and I was scooping it up and putting it back in his dish right before bed last night. Why I dreamed about it, I don't know. It was hardly the highlight of my day.)

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In real life news, here's the doorstop story.

I was wheeling my mother out of the rehab center, and bemoaning my lack of a doorstop. My mother said, "I use my iron for a doorstop." (It's a cast iron—iron that came from my grandparents' house.)

I said, "Yes, but I don't want to carry that around with me, it's kind of heavy. You'd think I'd be able to make a doorstop."

Then she said, "You could use a big rock."

Which started me laughing. "I don't want to carry a big rock around with me either! What I need is a wedge of some kind!" Which started her laughing.

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A small thought:

I was re-watching Help! again the other day. That movie never fails to make me happy. Anyway, one of my (and Pat's) favorite scenes is when they're at Scotland Yard and the phone rings. The Inspector answers and says it's for The Famous Ringo. And John says, "Hold on, it's them! Only Paul and I know we're here!"

And George says, with quiet disgruntlement, "I know we're here."

I love that moment for its humor and absurdity, but also for its odd poignancy. It seems to encapsulate the whole politics of the Beatles as a group: John believes that only he and Paul know where they are. Of course George and Ringo also know where they are; George protests being left out, while Ringo says nothing because, fuck, he could still be with Rory and the Hurricanes. This is much better. If John wants to think only he and Paul know where they are, so what? That's just John.

*Les Nessman
**a character on Dark Shadows