Thursday, March 27, 2008

In Which I Bore You


It is axiomatic that listening to someone recount their dreams will bore the tits off you.

Nevertheless, I am going to recount the dream I had last night as it is rather peculiar.

I work for an ad agency (this is not part of the dream, it's just background; I'll let you know when the dream part starts). There are five of us in the creative department, two copywriters (of which I am one, naturally), two graphic designers, and one head of the creative department. Here's where the dream starts:

The five of us were riding in the backseats of three convertibles, sitting up on the tops of the seats waving to a crowd of people who were cheering us as we motored through town. We were in a parade, being honored. As we drove down the street, an announcer from somewhere talked us up big, listing all sorts of accomplishments, talents, and skills, none of which I can recall. What made the announcer so unforgettable is that he spoke English in a phony Transylvanian accent reminiscent of a Lenny Bruce impersonation.

We were in Iceland at the start of a 100 day advertising campaign for the Egg and Dairy Bureau of Iceland. We were going to save the industry through a rigorous batch of advertising featuring print, web, and radio spots. We were going to make television commercials, web banners, posters, everything. We were going to set up guerrilla marketing opportunities.

Arriving at our post-parade destination, a sort of artist's loft kind of space, very modern design, we mingled at a party of distinguished Icelandic notables. Every last one of them was well over six and a half feet tall. We are not a particularly tall creative department, so this was rather striking to us. Nor had we ever believed Icelanders to be so immense.

At this point, my mother approached and said, "I think we've found the face for the Egg and Dairy Bureau of Iceland." She took me by the elbow and steered me to the back of the loft which gave way onto a small 1970's era grocery store. Towards the back, near the refrigerated section naturally enough, we found a very small girl/woman. Sometimes she appeared to be all of three, but at other times she seemed to be at least in her twenties.

Despite her shifting age, this small girl/woman with curly reddish coppery hair stood only about three feet high. She had the round chubby face of a high Renaissance era cherub and a wry smile. (She looked mostly like my daughter, to be fair.) A long, now forgotten conversation/negotiation took place with this girl/woman (who shifted between sitting in a grocery cart and pushing it), and she eventually agreed to be the face of the Egg and Dairy Bureau of Iceland.

At this point, I woke, went to the bathroom, got a drink, then returned to bed. I could not, however, fall asleep, so I lay in bed for the next half hour concocting various (now mostly forgotten) advertisements using the redhead as the star. In some a long line of eggs moved across the screen as if on a conveyor belt. Every fifth egg was the little redhead's face instead whereupon a beep like a heart monitor would chime out. The tagline was "Eggs: The Pulse of Life."

And that is it.

Thank you for letting me bore you.

5 comments:

flaky genius said...

a little more detailed than the version you told me

The Critic said...

That's because you get irritated listening to the details of my dreams when I tell them. I give you the Readers' Digest Condensed Version.

Citizen Carrie said...

I like listening to people talk about their dreams! However, I also like to look at vacation pictures, too (but NOT videos.)

Sarah said...

that is a dream that rocks, and i am bored by dream recounters.

A & D said...

My problem with dream telling is that I always think it is the coolest thing ever, until I tell someone, and it just doesn't ahve the kick it did when I was dreaming. Mayhaps my vocab. can do my lucid, trippy dreams no justice, or perhaps, they really do just suck and are boring. YOUR dream, however, very interesting. I haven't had a rememberable dream in a loooong time, unless you count the reoccuring ones where I'm being chased by a dark square/box-like front 70's Lincoln/Cadillac with the creepy menacing headlights, or that redneck converted tow truck with the solid makeshift oak bumber in the front.
D.