Burning Down The House

Yesterday morning I woke up and realized I'd been dreaming about Joaquin Phoenix.

I don't know how it happened, as Joaquin Phoenix is usually very far from my mind. Sure, he's attractive enough, and he may even be a talented actor (that thumbs-down in Gladiator was riveting), but usually when I see him I just think "meh."

I suspect he was on my mind because of Harry Potter, which was on TV just before I went to bed. (Stay with me, I promise this will make sense.) See, Dumbledore has a Phoenix named Fawkes. Harry visits Dumbledore in his office and sees Fawkes, looking ill on a perch. Very ill. It turns out it's a burning day--and Harry gets to see Fawkes burst into flame and then reemerge from the ashes, a shiny Phoenix hatchling. You can tell by the way Harry and Dumbledore look at the bird that it's the most adorable death and rebirth ever.

What I'm saying is that Phoenix was already on my mind. Not Joaquin, specifically. That was some kind of nocturnal, circular, cerebral twist. High five, brain! You're weird.

In my dream, I was sitting somewhere, maybe a bench, maybe a chair, maybe the low branch of a tree (details are fuzzy) and there was Joaquin. And I thought, "THERE he is!" As if I'd been looking for him for hours, for days, or possibly my entire life. I was so relieved to find him.

I looked at him, took him in, his dark hair, his scarred upper lip and his general air of savoir faire. And I thought, "Wouldn't it be weird if his first name was Phoenix, too? Phoenix Phoenix. Poof! He's on fire!"

I'm a wit even in my dreams.

So, there I was, with Joaquin Phoenix and for some reason he wanted to date me. I don't know what he said, and it probably doesn't matter anyway, because I was suddenly trying really hard to talk him out of it. Not passionately, exactly--more philosophically. It was like those debates in 7th-grade American History.

"Joaquin," I said, "You don't want to date me."

"I have three kids. You don't want three kids."

"I don't clean the bathroom often enough."

"Joaquin, I can't knit socks. Also, I do not support keeping snakes as pets."

"I don't like fennel."

"I have stretch marks."

I listed the cons, in nonsensical and self-flagellating order. I guess Joaquin was arguing the pros, but we'll never know. I woke up before he decided if he really wanted to date me.

Poof!