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Add Steve Whitmire to my lifelong recurring 'autograph' dream list...

Dearth

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Okay, since childhood, I have had this repeated theme in my dreams, of meeting celebrities and trying to get their autographs, but not being able to.

The earliest one, around 1982, was of me bumping into Harrison Ford on an elevator. He was dressed as Indiana Jones and when I asked him "aren't you Harrison Ford?" he just rolled his eyes. I searched in vain for something for him to sign, and he was patient to a fault but finally said he had to leave. As soon as he walked away, I realized I had a spiral school notebook under my arm.

The next one was a few years later, and was actually three celebrities in one dream, though it was a much darker ending. Dan Aykroyd, Ray Charles, and Mick Jagger were all at my high school giving a lecture. Afterwards they were to sign autographs. I went to my locker to get a piece of paper, and when I came back, the auditorium was in chaos... someone had shot all three of them and they were lying there bleeding to death. Among the screaming teenagers running for cover in every panicked direction, I alone knelt beside Dan Aykroyd and put a pen in his dying hand...

Okay, so I just awoke from a new version of this dream about Steve Whitmire. Don't worry, he didn't get killed in the dream. But I think I know what two real events have combined to bring back this recurring dream theme in my subconscious...

A few months ago, I got to meet Heather Henson, and I was the next to the last person to get in the autograph line, and I kept worrying she would have to leave before I got up there. (Happy ending, I not only got her autograph on two items, she spent about twenty more minutes just chatting with my kids like they were her dearest friends.)

Then two weeks ago, I learned that Dan Aykroyd himself was going to be doing a signing in a town about an hour away. This brought back the old dream to my mind. Luckily, he didn't get shot, but it wasn't a happy ending for me...

I was making plans to attend, but found out the event wasn't open to the public, it was just for members of the military. About an hour after the thing was over, I mentioned it to my mother, and she reminded me that my father, a retired major from the National Guard, has clearance to that facility. <smacks forehead>

So here's my Steve Whitmire dream... I am passing through Atlanta and hear on the radio that Steve is appearing at a local museum. I try to find the place, get there late, and tell my wife and kids to wait in the car while I see if it's still going on. (Symbolically similar to how the Heather Henson experience actually occurred.)

There's a huge line of people waiting, and I glimpse Steve at the table, Kermit on his arm. I wander around the outer hall, ask a very un-knowledgeable guide some questions, and as I pass back by, I see that the line is much shorter now, maybe ten people. I queue up, and then, in a rare flash of logic within dream-thought, remember that I've forgotten the family out in the car.

I rush outside and bustle them back in with me (again, echoing the Heather Henson event, when I went to the trunk of the car to get an additional item to sign and was worried I would get locked out since the museum was closing). Of course when we get inside, there's no line, no Steve, they're even dismantling the table where he was signing.

It was all very realistic and very familiar and extremely disappointing. In fact, if it hadn't been for my older son being too tall in the dream, I probably would have remained asleep wallowing in this subconscious self-punishment for a bit longer. But as soon as I really noticed the detail that my fifth-grader was suddenly a grown man, I awoke and had a good chuckle at my own warped psyche.

So, welcome to the short list, Steve Whitmire. You're in good company.

Dearth
 

Yorick

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Interesting!

I once had a dream that I was at my Grandma's house and Peter Sellers just happened to be there - not because he knew her, or any of us - just because. So as he was waiting for a cup of coffee, I started telling him how great he is, and he just made the hand motion (opening and closing) indicating that I was talking too much. But he never said a word. I was hurt and insulted, of course! And this was at least 10 years after he died.
 
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