I'm wandering across a small college campus and find a baseball game. On deck, waiting to bat next, is a plump girl with pale skin, rosy cheeks, longish straight pale-blonde hair. She's in a light blue uniform that's as tight and stretchy as dancer's leotards. Showing off a dancer's legs and ass, too. I gawk a bit guiltily, trying not to be obvious. I don't want to distract her, for she's already nervous. For good reason: from her teammate's chatter, the hulking kid at bat is the best in their league, and he's striking out against this new pitcher. She'll have to face the same merciless fastball in a minute.

So who is this new sensation? A short, skinny, wiry girl with black braids, in a red-brown uniform. Who is she? Curious, I slip inside the batter's cage and shelter behind the ump. The pitch zings in, the batter misses, the catcher loses it. The ball lands at my feet. Uh-oh. I toss it back into the game. The next pitch slams right through the catcher again, to bounce off the cage and fall right at my toes. I have to toss it again.

I feel haunted by the ghost of Heisenberg, whispering: "You can't just watch the game. The observer effect! If you look close enough, you're in it. You're a player."

The next set of pitches is so fast the ump lifts a metal shield to protect himself. WHAM! CLANG! RING! They all slam through the catcher and strike the shield. They also strike out the best hitter in the league.

And he was the last out. Game over and won, by this supersonic pitcher.

I wanted to see that blonde bat against her, but I got more chance to play than she did.

THE NEXT DAY

My housemate Harriet FINALLY introduces me to Rose, her girlfriend in college, the one who made her realize she was bi. A shiver goes down my back when Rose walks in: she's the batter from my dream! Her hair's cut shorter than it was in the on-deck circle, but it's unmistakably her. I feel creepy. Should I tell the dream? Those dark hints that she hasn't got a chance with Harriet... In the dream she never even got to bat.

So I decide to leave Rose and Harriet alone to pack for their Yosemite trip; maybe they'll hit it off again. I escape to the movies--HOTEL NEW HAMPSHIRE, with Nastassia Kinski as an adorable lesbian bear and Jodie Foster as a literary child prodigy. Good wholesome distraction...

But it's on a double bill with BLAME IT ON RIO. Reluctant to go back home, I stay and watch that too, though it's disturbing. Michael Caine hits a midlife crisis and falls for a teenager, Jennifer (understandable when she's Michelle Johnson). Slight problem: Jen's his best friend's daughter AND his daughter's best friend.

The film was billed as a farce, but it's not, underneath--not if you're his best friend, or Demi Moore as his daughter Nicole, who gets to watch Jen fall for a dad she knows all too well. Nicole pitches a strike when she asks Jen "Has he told you 'I love you' yet?"

"Well, no..." Jen has to admit. And Nicole says quietly "Get used to it."

Oh, the script has Caine return to his wife in a tacked-on ending, but this little bow to Mature Commitment can't hide that he's the least mature of them all.

But that isn't the only reason I watch the picture from Nicole's skeptical viewpoint.

In my dream, the pitcher was Demi Moore--Nicole.

I can run, but I can't hide. Can't get away from it. Can't just watch from the sidelines. Maybe you can. Good luck.

Harriet and Rose lasted the weekend, but not much longer. Struck out.

Heisenberg says hi.

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