the dream is over

It's been eleven years since I last set foot on the prefab soil of Disneyland. Much had changed: the erection of Downtown Disney; rides and attractions coming and going; my general attitude towards The Happiest Place On Earth...

I remember being lost at that amusement park once, when I was very young. Confusion, uncertainty, despair... Did my parents leave without me?

I have harbored a beef in my heart against The Magic Kingdom ever since. Its trappings always seemed plastic, fake, saccharine. The pap that sometimes arises from the whole Disney enterprise would often make me gag.

It was Laurie's birthday, but it could've easily been Eve's as well. The two of them were grinning from ear to ear, running madly like optimistic children with fresh new eyes. I realized when I looked deep into Eve's features that I would never be able to make her as happy as she was on Friday, her head in an animatronic fog, slipping through crowds and hordes of families with casual aplomb. She knew where everything was, she knew how to get on the rides faster and which rides had the longest lines... she was our guide.

Even when we filled Laurie with more alcohol than she could take, resulting in her being sick after a couple of rides... even then there was an understanding that this was Disneyland, this was a place where dreams come true, and fairy tales have happy endings.

A sumptuous dinner at the Jazz Kitchen with a live band playing Cajun blues while waitresses ignited flambe dishes beside us... Eve was friends with one of the horn players and got us a table where the music was playing... I did an oyster shooter and ate Roasted Chicken Rosemary while sipping on no less than three different beverages...

And let's not forget The Enchanted Tiki Room. Apparently this show has been going on for over 40 years and this is the first time I'd ever witnessed it. I laughed in self-defense-- it was an absurd acid flashback, with singing parrots and talking Tiki masks and an appearance by the gods of thunder.

We were all tired when we got back into town. Eve drove me home, and then she drove home. She left too soon-- she always leaves too soon. If she stays any longer, she knows what will happen. She knows it will get harder and harder to leave the longer she stays.

It's just as well-- right now I have a flea infestation and I need to bomb my apartment.


*/*


Saturday was nothing really. A flash in the holiday weekend plan. I made preparations, cleaned house as best as I could (the infestation is worse than I suspected) and took care of business. One more week of radio jobs and after that, a whole new enterprise that I am only into for the money.

I ate breakfast with Down Low. He is having female troubles. All of my guy friends are having female troubles. They look so happy but underneath is a resentment, a lack of understanding. Why can't she see things my way?

I think of good ol' Don Van Vliet's words, when he used the "Captain Beefheart" moniker and sang:


Nobody has love
Love has nobody
I love you, you big dummy


It's a fine distillation of everything that comes between two people who love each other.

I drove around, ran errands, listened to music, and did some last-minute practicing for the wedding taking place the next day.


*/*


Upset because Bro Man spilled water inside my car AND managed to break the key off in the driver's side door. I actually called him an idiot and wondered what the fuck was wrong with him.

He's my age. He's not a little kid.

Snapped at Eve when I thought she was trying to tell me how to drive. I apologized, of course.

I got mad because it's a 'girlfriend' thing to do. It seems like a mixed signal to me, a botched dial honing in on the wrong frequency...

I had to tell Sharky that we were traveling to Roman's wedding separately. Sharky and I have been hanging out and talking more lately but I didn't want to risk being late on his account.

I worry too much about my friends letting me down somehow. But, to be fair, they are legitimate worries, born from watching people make stupid mistakes with the best of intentions.

The drive up the coast was magnificent, as it should be. We made great time. Eve and Bro Man went shopping on State Street while I rehearsed some tunes with the groom's older brother Curt, an expert trombone player and a certified lunatic.

The wedding took place at El Paseo Restaurant in Santa Barbara. It was amazing to see Roman, his anxiety absorbed by the preparations and details. He promised a non-conventional ceremony: his good friend Mauzner was going to officiate the rites, having just been ordained online as a minister of the Universal Life Church.

I laughed-- I am also a minister of said church!

Nervous, I started playing songs. I got through a solid amount but found that, even with the list of some 30-odd tunes to play, I was at a loss of what to do. I ploughed through, even garnering enthusiastic applause for my interpretation of Elvis' "It's Now Or Never".

I thought of Eve as I sang every song. She and Bro Man were in attendance now, at a far table. I saw instantly familiar faces and eventually recognized a few more.

During the ceremony, Curt and I did a version of the standard "Makin' Whoopee". Curt has a fabulous singing voice, and he did a smashing trombone solo in the middle, but I could tell he was unsatisfied. By comparison, Roman got up and sang "Crazy Love" by Van Morrison in a raspy, broken voice and barely-tenable guitar strums. It came completely from the heart, and the crowd roared with approval.

I made the rounds and spoke to old friends from high school, peers who I hadn't seen in years, and made a few new acquaintances. I didn't overdo it on drink, ate moderately well, and didn't embarrass myself in any sense.

Eve and I smoked a cigarette in my car as she confessed to feeling out of place at first. I reminded her that most of these people hadn't seen in her so long and yet they were all happy to see her again. Half of the time, people had a hard time recognizing each other.

It was a splendid affair and yet completely iconoclastic: the bride wore black; the band played country-western; the meals were Mexican; a group of Filipino women danced for our entertainment; and there was a Jewish violinist introducing the bridal party to the strains of "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler On The Roof... it was a strangely multi-cultural affair... and it was also a lot of fun.

Roman's brother Curt sat off to the side of the stage, uncertain about what to do. So he played along with the live band on his trombone, his reflective sunglasses wrapped tightly around his head as he improvised into the night.

I congratulated Roman around midnight as we bid him farewell. We made even better time getting back into the Valley. Bro Man crashed on my couch and Eve kicked me down with some weed. She stayed for a few minutes before going home.

Again, she left too soon.

She has plans for today, a party somewhere. Of course, I'm not invited. I don't expect to be invited to these affairs. They are a different set of friends. I probably would not fit in. Plus, it would most likely make me feel inadequate.

I'm here at work, counting the days until I am out of here. My weekend was gloriously fun, but it is always tainted by the realization that Eve only wants to be my friend and nothing more.

As much as I try to accept that, it's extremely difficult, because I see so much potential for us. I don't envision a future together-- I am not trying to get ahead of myself. Rather, I think the best is yet to come, and I keep thinking that she has to "come to her senses" when really I'm the one who has to wake up and realize that the dream is over, and while the intricacies of our shared past keep us close, they also drive her away from me.

Roman's wedding, as with all weddings, is a reminder that we're all getting older, and things are happening at such a rate that it's no surprise our dreams get buried in the interim.

We were all actors and musicians, performers and artists at one point. And now? We run marketing firms, practice criminal law, man the front desk at dental offices, bird-dog contractors for construction crews... some of us don't even have jobs at the moment.

Even the ones who are living out their dreams do so with difficulty: a friend whose screenplay is being produced complains that the director has it all wrong; an editor for TV shows has money and material possessions but no solace in his restless soul; none of us can divorce ourselves from our day jobs and just do a gig that is creative and fulfilling.

Another lyric quote, from a legendary rock star who had it all and gave it up to be a househusband for five years before he was shot dead on the streets of New York City in 1980:


Life is what happens to you
while you're busy making other plans


Indeed. I've been living my life the way I want to all this time, and now it's time to make some other plans.