I bought the book for $22.50, then discovered he was there at the university doing a talk show, so I went and sat in the commons on the grass, in front of a stage. Up on stage was a Jay Leno-like character. CK wasn't on yet, and Leno was singing a song about him. He didn't sing well. After the song ended, CK was supposed to come on, but he didn't. This kicked off a skit of sorts, basically on the idea of "Where oh where is Christian Kane?" First the aide brought out a letter, saying it was an apology letter from CK for his non-appearance. Leno read aloud from it, then made an allusive J.D. Salinger joke, noting that CK claimed to be hiding out in Vermont, but the letter has coffee grounds from a local Zeus Rocket café on it.
For some reason everyone finds this funny.
An elaborately theatrical routine is acted out where the stage fills with people who mill around, wondering where is Christian Kane? Meanwhile, Kane appears sneakily among them in a dark hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses. Pretending to be incognito, he skulks around, listening to conversations and slipping away before people notice him. He finally comes up behind Leno. Leno himself pretends to look for CK as they walk, almost on top of one another--man and his shadow--up to the front of the stage. Then, the intro.
Kane, unhooded, sits down stretches out on lounge chair for the interview. During it, for some reason, he flings some art posters into crowd. One lands in my lap; another thicker stack of posters hits two girls next to me, waking them up; I am hoping they will give me the posters but they don't. Afterwards, CK does a book signing. A bunch of women wait in line rather fannishly. I don't realize he's signing but by the time I'm up there, he has to go; he just glances at me and says "sorry" as he brushes past. I understand his brush-off, as I'm barefoot and wearing a towel around the lower half of my body.
I try to find my way out of the building, getting lost in long winding corridors in the back of the nearest building, and finally exiting through the kitchens. I wander by accident through another book signing, this one for political issues of Noarobi, which must be the AU cousin of Nairobi--it has a much longer line and I briefly feel bad that CK probably only sold $500 worth of books that day, by my calculation.
Needless to say, at some point in the dream I mused on the unfairness of CK being a successful actor, a great singer, *and* a brilliant writer.
Then I had some possibly unrelated anxiety dreams and woke up.