Eighteenth century French literature invades my pop culture dreams

I am a Bond Girl in an action-packed adventure. People are dying left and right, but we have little time to think of them. When James gets bitten by a snake Felix and I hide him under a piece of rubble from the ceiling in the bathtub so the enemy won't find him and get any information from him before he's dead. To tell the truth I'm glad to be rid of that bastard; he was such a dick.
A little while later I think that there is something wrong with this picture. The main character of the series isn't supposed to die, and the woman and sidekick share the spotlight... but then I remember that the Bond movies were written by Voltaire, so he must come back later in the story, somehow having miraculously escaped death. How disappointing.

Famous Figures

The flashlight with no batteries works.

I make out with Michelangelo/Chewbacca in a secret cupboard in the basement of the house where I live.

I am recruited by Laura to be part of a new fashion show. I learn at the rehearsal at Burien Dance Theatre that it is a modern dance fashion show, and my theme is "happy". The first time through I am really bummed to have such a stupid theme and dance rather poorly, but afterwards I realize the awesome possibilities of the show.

I go outside to sit down with my dad on the curb by a huge solid blue fence, which is about fifty feet high, enclosing a large portion of the street. Water splashes over the top, which I conclude must be from the waterslide on the other side, and this is the Burien February Carnival. Anna walks by and asks what I am doing in Burien, but listens uninterestedly as I tell her about the improvisational modern dance fashion show.

I go back inside for the second rehearsal of the day, and this time feel really connected. The musicians seem rather impressed and the stage hands send out the other dancers. They are all breakdancing men. Feathers fall from te ceiling near the end of the number and inspire me to try to fly again. I can't believe I almost forgot that I fly.

After rehearsal I ride the 125 through Shorewood with Kathryn. It is almost Christmas and I haven't done nearly enough shopping, so I stay on the motionless bus for a long time, hoping it will go back downtown. It is a very sunny December. In fact is is alot more like June. Kathryn informs me that my mother has decided that when my lease is up in Fremont at the end of February, I will move in with her family because I will be less likely to catch the bus in the morning. This is a terrible solution, and I get off the bus and walk back and forth, east to west along some streets in Arbor Heights, trying to see which one will lead to Roxhill Park, where my mom is walking the dog. Teenagers look at me strangely as a pace the street.

At the park I worry about getting my shoes muddy wading through the swamp, but they have fixed that. I catch up to my mom, who walks hurriedly in the direction I just came from. A group of young Latino boys in purple jerseys plays soccer nearby, and when the ball comes in our direction my mom kicks it back to them neatly.

Back in Shorewood my parents have a Chelan condo, which my mother shows to the Kolpacks, who will be staying with us. I show a friend the coat closet, and then switch into narration mode. I am Chrissy, the youngest child, who can't help but dance, regardless of the consequences. I come out of the closet dancing to some really good indie pop, and meet my dance partner in the living room. This is another part of rehearsal for the fashion/dance show. My partner is in his twenties, and I wonder about the implications of dancing like this with an older man, but in the true character Chrissy, I feel compelled to keep dancing (plus he's really good).

When we are through with the rehearsal the man mentions that he was supposed to enter into a simulation like the one I had with Michelangelo/Chewbacca, and that other one with Descartes, only in his he is supposed to be Nicole Kidman's husband. Subconsciously I am aware the Nicole Kidman's husband is Daniel Craig, and I try to tell the man it will not work, because I'm fairly sure he's already a movie star, and I don't think movie stars are allowed to participate in simulations of movie stars.

He doesn't think it matters, and, determined to complete his assignment, begins the simulation anyway. I am supposed to supervise, but I have trouble telling which man sitting at a nearby table in the smoke-filled club is my dance partner and which men are part of the simulation, because they are all incredibly handsome and masculine-looking, and they are all making kissy faces at Nicole Kidman, who is sitting at the table across the way.

I notice the band playing on stage, and get really excited when I recognize the profile Count Basie at the piano. I think about this a bit, and decide that it can't really be Count Basie, but some lookalike they hired for the simulation. It dawns on me that Nicole Kidman isn't really Nicole Kidman either.

Hail falls; Picasso instructs

Hail, or something like it, is falling, but doesn’t collect on the ground. There are a number of black trees with no limbs (just gnarled, pointed trunks). Picasso speaks to me about automobiles and their futility. Briefly I see my Sanskrit book is falling apart in my hands. I am aware that Picasso is a school teacher with a rotating blackboard. This is amusing but troubling.