I had a dream last night. I had a dream about Nikki Cox. Nikki Cox is an actress. She has her own sitcom. It’s called, “Nikki.” This month, she’s on the cover of FHM. FHM is a soft porn type magazine. Nikki is on the cover of this type of magazine because in addition to having her own sitcom, Nikki, ah…well, she’s pretty. She’s a very pretty young lady. Indeed. And, ah…she has…well, sort of…breasts. Largish ones, actually.
OK, so, ah, all that being said…it was not a huge surprise to my unconscious self to see Ms. Cox appear as a main character in my dream. Pretty girls with largish breasts…well, let’s just say, they’ve not been an underrepresented group in my dreamscape since about age 13 or so. In fact, I’d go so far as to say, as soon as I saw Nikki Cox, sitting in front of me, at a sidewalk cafe in Los Angeles, at my table, as soon as I saw all this, I became aware that I was having a dream. See, I don’t usually have brunch with Nikki Cox. She has her own sitcom.
So, there I am, having brunch with Ms. Cox, fully realizing I was in a dream. She begins to talk to me about her show (which is based largely around…well…her aforementioned breasts). She begins to tell me that she doesn’t know what to do about her show (which is about a struggling (exotic) dancer and her struggling (professional) wrestler husband and is pretty much…well…it’s not the strongest show out there). She tells me, “I’m just afraid it’ll get cancelled soon, Porter. Despite its strong ratings in the 16- to 25-year-old heterosexual male demographic.” (Which is my demographic…a demographic that, I think, will continue to support Ms. Cox in any venture she chooses to pursue. She’s a very pretty young lady.)
I’m sitting there, in my little dream, across the table from Nikki Cox. I’m listening to her every word. I’m thinking, “How will the plot of this little dream play out?” I’m thinking, “She’s complaining about her show…so it’ll probably be this thing where I tell her I’m a writer/actor, and she hires me to be a new writer/co-star, and then the show becomes a hit, and I soon become her lover/lover/inspiration. And that’ll all happen in a montage.” In my dreams, a lot of the expository stuff (read: non-nakedness) happens in montages. And then I’m thinking, “After the montage, we’ll get down to business…and Ms. Cox and myself…will…well, ah…we will, as they say in the Bible, ‘Know one another.’ Maybe twice. Depends when I set my alarm.” That’s pretty much how I assumed my dream with Nikki Cox would go. She’s on the cover of FHM, you know.
Well, Nikki stops talking about her show (I don’t know if I mentioned: she has her own sitcom), and she looks at me, with her big, beautiful, Disney-heroine eyes, and she says, “I’m really worried about the show, Porter. And (sniff) I just don’t want to lose this opportunity. I’ve been waiting for it for so long and now…now it’s just slipping through my hands.” She mimes this action with her actual hands. She has beautiful hands. She’s a very pretty young lady.
I listen.
And I wait.
I wait for the montage.
I assume any moment that the montage will begin.
I assume that very, very soon, the montage will begin, and we can quickly skim over all the stupid talking (although Ms. Cox does have a lovely speaking voice), and get down to the business at hand, this being a dream in the mind of a 23-year-old heterosexual male (read: I was hoping we’d skip right to the non-non-nakedness).
But the montage…it never came. I found myself talking to Ms. Cox. I consoled her. I told her that it would be OK. I told her that she was a talented, beautiful young actress, with name recognition. I told her the problem was, her show catered too much to the slobbering 16- to 25-year-old heterosexual males that would watch her show even if it was a documentary about the history of 15th Century French opera. I told her what she really needed to do was to get a really great team of writers and costars, and go for something different. I told her she already has a built-in, devoted audience of the slobbering idiots, who will watch as long as she’s at least in the credits. I told her she was a very pretty young lady.
I told her all this. Then I woke up.
I had a dream about Nikki Freakin’ Cox, and I spent the whole dream being extremely polite to her and giving her industry advice. I’m hardly even in the damn industry (though it was still good advice).
My point? This is my point: Hey! All you women who’ve been saturating our culture with all the stuff about how men shouldn’t objectify women, how women shouldn’t be treated like meat, how they should be appreciated, how they should be loved: Not only have I heard your message, not only have I listened to your message, not only have I agreed with you for my entire conscious life, you should realize that I now can’t even objectify women in damn dreams. I’m a damn sensitive male dreamer. Be proud.
And hey: Nikki Cox: I just want you to know, that it was a pleasure meeting you, and you are a good actress, and all that advice I gave you about your show, I hope you take it. And maybe I’ll see you again sometime in my dreams. And we can go out to dinner instead of brunch. And it will be very romantic. And afterwards, we’ll head back to your place. We’ll look deep into each other’s eyes. We’ll move closer together. We’ll have a long, passionate, wonderful kiss. Then…slowly, we’ll move to the bedroom, and all night long, and I mean, the entire night, baby…
We’ll just cuddle. And maybe talk some about acting. (She’s an actress, you know.)