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Dream: Diva in Suburbia
May. 20th, 2025 10:19 amIn a dream, I was tasked with helping The Diva get ready and bring her to an awards event. This was an important assignment for me.
The Diva was a soul/r&b star of an older generation, part Donna Summer and part Irma Thomas (the latter of whom I’d met at the radio station), though neither of them specifically. She lived in a Metro New Orleans post-WWII suburb which I was mostly unfamiliar with, somewhere around Harvey or Westwego.
I was at The Diva’s house, which was nice but not ostentatious outside. Inside, the living room was very 1970s, with wood-paneled walls, plush couches in plastic covers, and hardwood furniture including a large television set in a wooden cabinet. There were shelves of golden award trophies, and the walls had framed gold records, album covers, and posters of her. She invited me to sit down and she’d show me her scrapbooks, which I said I’d be very interested in some other time but we had to get ready and go the ceremony. Throughout the whole I was worried about the time - there was always just enough time to get things done but no extra. The Diva was changeable, generally pleasant but sometimes focused and sometimes distracted, sometimes flirty, demanding, or nostalgic, but never concerned about the time which was constantly on my mind.
She insisted we had to pick up some Chinese takeout food. We got in my car and drove off; she offered to give me a guided tour of the area but again I begged off - I’d love to do that another day when we had more time. She navigated us to a shopping mall complex I’d been unaware existed, called “The Palace”. It was built about 1960 in a combination of mid-century modern and novelty architecture, with a series of decorative onion domes like a Russian cathedral. The whole was somewhat scruffy and decayed, with rusting Googie signage. I had to admit it was interesting, and I pulled my camera out of my pocket and took a couple of snapshots.
We picked up the Chinese takeout at a place that looked to serve unremarkable standard American Chinese, none of the staff at the counter were Asian and were slightly surly with strong “Yat” New Orleans area white working class accents. The architecture the Chinese restaurant was housed in was more impressive, as it was a replica of the Taj Mahal. Even as a scuffed concrete and styrofoam replica half-occupied by downscale suburban retail, it was still quite grand.
Back to The Diva’s house, for her to change into her awards ceremony gown. First, however, she said she had to find her special needle. I was unsure if this needle was to fix her gown, wear as an accessory, or what, just that she said she needed it. We went up into her cluttered attic, where she looked around uncertainly. I almost despaired of finding a needle there. I asked if she remembered where she put the needle. She said “In the big red sponge in the big red bucket”. I spotted a large red plastic bucket behind some piled junk in a corner and brought it to her. Sure enough inside was a big red sponge with the special needle stuck in it. It looked like an oversized common sewing needle. We were both pleased to find it.
That task completed, she wanted me to go pick up a pizza. But we’d just had Chinese food - I knew I shouldn’t argue with her but we really didn’t have time for this…
That’s all.
The Diva was a soul/r&b star of an older generation, part Donna Summer and part Irma Thomas (the latter of whom I’d met at the radio station), though neither of them specifically. She lived in a Metro New Orleans post-WWII suburb which I was mostly unfamiliar with, somewhere around Harvey or Westwego.
I was at The Diva’s house, which was nice but not ostentatious outside. Inside, the living room was very 1970s, with wood-paneled walls, plush couches in plastic covers, and hardwood furniture including a large television set in a wooden cabinet. There were shelves of golden award trophies, and the walls had framed gold records, album covers, and posters of her. She invited me to sit down and she’d show me her scrapbooks, which I said I’d be very interested in some other time but we had to get ready and go the ceremony. Throughout the whole I was worried about the time - there was always just enough time to get things done but no extra. The Diva was changeable, generally pleasant but sometimes focused and sometimes distracted, sometimes flirty, demanding, or nostalgic, but never concerned about the time which was constantly on my mind.
She insisted we had to pick up some Chinese takeout food. We got in my car and drove off; she offered to give me a guided tour of the area but again I begged off - I’d love to do that another day when we had more time. She navigated us to a shopping mall complex I’d been unaware existed, called “The Palace”. It was built about 1960 in a combination of mid-century modern and novelty architecture, with a series of decorative onion domes like a Russian cathedral. The whole was somewhat scruffy and decayed, with rusting Googie signage. I had to admit it was interesting, and I pulled my camera out of my pocket and took a couple of snapshots.
We picked up the Chinese takeout at a place that looked to serve unremarkable standard American Chinese, none of the staff at the counter were Asian and were slightly surly with strong “Yat” New Orleans area white working class accents. The architecture the Chinese restaurant was housed in was more impressive, as it was a replica of the Taj Mahal. Even as a scuffed concrete and styrofoam replica half-occupied by downscale suburban retail, it was still quite grand.
Back to The Diva’s house, for her to change into her awards ceremony gown. First, however, she said she had to find her special needle. I was unsure if this needle was to fix her gown, wear as an accessory, or what, just that she said she needed it. We went up into her cluttered attic, where she looked around uncertainly. I almost despaired of finding a needle there. I asked if she remembered where she put the needle. She said “In the big red sponge in the big red bucket”. I spotted a large red plastic bucket behind some piled junk in a corner and brought it to her. Sure enough inside was a big red sponge with the special needle stuck in it. It looked like an oversized common sewing needle. We were both pleased to find it.
That task completed, she wanted me to go pick up a pizza. But we’d just had Chinese food - I knew I shouldn’t argue with her but we really didn’t have time for this…
That’s all.
