Mom, meanwhile, is now obsessed with 24. She's managed to scam the third season DVD off Sister Girl's best friend, and she's currently downstairs, curled up in the recliner, up to her ears in Kief. Bless.
Oh, and Vladimir was bad! very bad! and bought me another present. I am so spoiled. But I'll tell you what it is when it gets here.
What's this about Beyonce singing the Phantom song at the Oscars? Three of the Oscar-nominated songs, in fact? Fnarrrr. (Somewhere, Minnie Driver is shaking her fist at the sky, and possibly in the general direction of the Knowles clan.) (P.S. I'm PrincessCleo. The second quote in that post about "Walt Disney's Phantom of the Opera" is actually from me. I know, I know--you'd think I couldn't have planned that link any better.)
Speaking of Phantom of the Opera, I feel like I've been giving you far too many linkspam/"Tired. Busy. Writing. Class" entries lately, so I am going to tell you an adorable, highly embarrassing anecdote from my childhood. P.S. It will be uber-rambly. When I was about ten or eleven--it was 1990 and I was in fifth grade, at any rate--NBC ran a two-night Phantom of the Opera miniseries. Talking about the new movie here on my journal has caused people to bring up other versions, and this was one of them. The funny part is that not only does it have jack to do with the ALW musical, which I think first came out about four years earlier, it also has jack to do with the book. It may or may not be related to the plot used in a completely different Phantom musical, but the miniseries itself was not (to my recollection) a musical. It's got a strangely impressive cast and crew (Tony Richardson directing? Young Teri Polo? Burt Lancaster?), and people who have watched it recently tell me that it holds up pretty well. I'm actually about to order it for myself as a post-Titanic treat.
ANYWAY. The point of this story is that I vividly remember wanting to see this, for some reason, when it was on. My mom had recently gotten me a little TV for my room, but on the strict understanding that I was not to watch Bad Things. I'm serious. "I trust you not to watch Bad Things." That was the entire statement. And I was the kind of child who knew exactly what she meant (or thought I did), and obeyed with the fear of God in my heart. I can't remember exactly what she had to say about this particular movie--we were talking about it today, and she was like, "I wish you'd told me you wanted to see it! I would have let you!" Right, right. The real issue on this occasion was bedtime, not content, however, since it involved two school nights--and now that I think about it, I think she said that I could watch the first hour (8-9 pm) each night.
Now, think about this for a moment. What the hell are you supposed to do with half a movie? Not even a continuous half? You'd think someone would have gotten the bright idea to tape it for me, but I was a very shy and quiet child and never would have said, "Mom, I really really want to see this. Could you tape this?" In fact, I would have gone out of my way to disguise the fact that I wanted to see it. (I was a very weird kid, what can I say.) So I'm upstairs in bed, watching the first hour, and here comes nine o'clock, and I turn it off. And then I turn it back on. And then I feel guilty and turn it back off. And then I turn it back on, and then I think I hear my mother coming upstairs to check on me, and I turn it off and dive back under the covers. Repeat this sequence until 10 pm.
Night 2. I can't remember if I watched the third hour at all. I may have. Either I didn't watch it because I was all like, "Nooooo! I can't turn it off if I start watching it, but if I don't turn it off I am BAD!," or I watched the third hour and did the Turning Off and On of the Television hokey-pokey again. I finally got up the nerve to watch, like, the last ten minutes. It was pretty different from other endings I've since read or seen, and very poignant, although somewhat marred by the fact that I HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS GOING ON. Woe. And now it turns out that she would have let me stay up if I'd asked (or so she says now). So, in conclusion: I was a champion goody-two-shoes, the end.
That's the adorable part. (I think.) Here's the highly embarrassing part: do you remember those Lady Lovelylocks dolls? Yeah. I was all up in those and My Little Ponies. Anyway. Among the plethora of props and accessories I owned, I had the swan boat. I think you see where I'm going with this. And guess what? Miniseries!Christine was blonde! Also, I had a boy LLL doll, a prince whose name escapes me at the moment. He was woefully unaccessorized, so I gave him She-Ra's sword. But he had a pretty bitchin' cloak, so that was awesome. I happened to have some Silly Putty, which was sort of a beige-flesh color, so I made Prince FancyPants a mask... ish... looking... thing. So here I am, eleven years old (YES, I WAS ELEVEN YEARS OLD AND STILL PLAYING WITH DOLLS, SHUT UP, IT WAS A MORE INNOCENT TIME), playing Phantom of the Opera with Lady Lovelylocks dolls, inspired by a TV movie I didn't even frickin' see. And you could tell I hadn't seen much of it, because after I'd made, like, an underground lair with a bedspread and stuff, I... kind of didn't know what to do. I didn't have, like, a plot or anything. It was mostly just cruising around in the swan boat. So, you know, good times.
And here's the crazy part: as I said, I vividly remembered my inner angel and devil fighting over that movie. But I had completely forgotten about that particular bit with the dolls--hell, I had a lot of toys, and I played a lot of crazy shit with them. You wanna know why I'm a writer? Crazy shit with toys, that's why--until just today, and remembering it felt like being knocked upside the head. I don't know why, either--but it was this very powerful moment of Jesus, I was a strange kid mixed with this bizarre déjà-vu feeling of Damn, no wonder I'm obsessed with the new version--it's been hardwired into my imagination since childhood.
Also? I still have all of those dolls, packed away in the back of my closet. Couldn't tell you where the silly putty went, though.
Heard about the "Jeff Gannon" scandal? Well, you need to.
shesnotallthere brings us a link to the Best Valentine's T-Shirt Ever.
Your Passion is Purple
Sophisticated and classy, you're a bit picky about sex.
You're more likely to be turned on by a fancy hotel room than a dirty flick.
Sex is fine enough, as long as it doesn't mess up your hair.
For you, sex is more about power and favors than actually pleasure.
Ewwww, the Bush twins. (I also tried out the name "Happy Cat," which I really like for some reason, but my "heroic level" was... 1%. Because, you know... "Happy Cat.")
ETA: Heeeeeeeeeeeee. I altered it a bit and tried again:
Note on choice of current music: This is the original version of the song, which I think I like better, actually. I think the acoustic version works in its own way, but each version of the song becomes about a different kind of desire. I prefer the kind with the crazy guitars. (Does anyone remember the exact back story to the song? I have this fragment of a story floating around in my head--something about it really being about Linda McCartney? Which is hard for me to imagine, somehow? And really funny to think of Clapton howling "LIIIIIIIIIIINDA!"?) (ETA: Someone does.)