In Which Kat Does Tell You What Happened Saturday

To satisfy the enquired echylon, the fascinated family, the nosy nonstrangers, the curious cohorts, the alliterative angels, and the contrary commentors. . .

This is the extremely non-interesting-to-all-but-Kat-and-Ben, who isn't even reading this, account of exactly what happened on Saturday.

It began, as so many things seem to, with a Tim Burton movie. Or perhaps it began with a bunch of crazy actors dumping water in an orchestra pit. Or perhaps it was merely the fact that Kat's sister went into kindergarten. It may even have been something as mundane as the fact that Kat and Ben were friends. (Which is not to say Kat and Ben usually act exactly mundane.)

The Tim Burton movie was called "Tim Burton's Corpse Bride." Kat doesn't remember what the crazy actors were called, but the play they were in was called "Dead End." And as for Kat's sister in kindergarten, well, she had a classmate whose father was one of the crazy actors.

Max: Get to the point. . .

Gabe: Yeah.

Spencer: Yeah.

Julian: Yeah.

David: Yeah.

Ben: (Very definitely doesn't say yeah.)

Max: What's with him?

Kat: He's temporarily immobilized, I think. The incarnation of him that exists within the blog, anyway. For you see. . .(Glasses suddenly grow out of her face, and she looks very teacherly as Ely pulls a blackboard out of the air and Erika begins to explain. . .)

Erika: You see, it's like this. According to the laws of bloggish physics, Ben isn't here, for much the same reason as Gabe wasn't here when he was in Santa Where-ever. Their blog-selves are temporarily cryogenically frozen in space-time. As Ben is off doing whatever it is high school freshman do in Joshua Tree, Blog!Ben is temporarily not really here. Spiritually, at least.

Ely: What she said, only happier, and with squealing involved.

Kat: Exactly.

Ben: Clearly.

Gabe: But I thought he. . .

Kat: (Turns to Gabe and, a la John Cleese, when Terry Gilliam says "Supposing he's got a bunch?" declares. . .) Shut up!

Gabe: But you. . .

Nadir: Don't question her when she gets like this.

Erika: I should explain that if the person is needed to say a crucial catchphrase, or a line that they just sort of have to say, they're suddenly mobilized. For example. . .random.

Ben: No, Random was a character. . .

Kat: (Snaps her fingers, suddenly, blackboard and glasses disappear and Ben stops talking.)

Max: Wha. . .whassa. . .

Kat: Well, guys, I'm afraid that I am in completely omnipotent control of what happens in my blog, therefore everything Erika just said to you was completely untrue and inconsistent. But not really. Basically, you live and die on my whim. (Sudden Porky Pig-esque circle around her.)

Ely: Th-th-th-th-that's all folks!

(The circle closes. Black out. Suddenly, Kat pokes her head through.)

Kat: Ohhh yes, what happened Saturday. . .Well, basically Ben and I went to see Dead End and Corpse Bride. Dead End was. . .interesting. The set is insanely gorgeous. Corpse Bride is just wonderful. It's very PotJHish. (That was not a word in so many ways. . .) Anyway. It was quite a lovely time.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Kat Doesn't Tell You What Happened Saturday

Well. Here we are. Or rather, here I am. Goddess, but it's strange to write a blog that I know Ben can't read. (He's in Joshua Tree with the ninth grade, you see.) Yes, I'm a bit moody about Ben not being around to email and have strange conversations with, and I keep expecting to glance out the window and see him with his backpack, running down the walk. And thus did the following scene transpire, totally in my head, yesterday night.

Kat: We should post about Saturday's happenings.

Ely: Noo. . .

Erika: She's right, we shouldn't.

Kat: How can I think we should if you two both don't?

Erika and Ely: Don't ask us.

Ely: Reminds me.

Erika: What?

Ely: That, well, we won't be seeing much of a certain Nadir-like figure for a while. . .posting about Saturday -

Erika: Reminds her that she misses him. And me, coincidentally.

Kat: Why are you agreeing so much lately?

Ely: 'Cos I'm agreeable!

Erika: I don't know.

Kat: If the guys were here you'd all be saner.

Max, Gabe, David, Ben, Brossy, Julian: (Stubbornly refuse to be present.)

Kat: Oh well. I suppose it's a good thing that you all don't live in my head.

Well, I suppose I should post the barest bones of Saturday's happenings.

But I won't.

Not yet! Stay tuned!

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

The 101st Post - Huzzah To Kat's Bad Memory, And Do Watch Out For The Sheep

(Confetti in the shape of ALW white half masks, Leroux black full masks, and Kay golden full masks, tumbles from the ceiling. A rather large amount falls on top of Ben and Max, who look vaguely displeased with all this.)

Gabe: (Plucking a Leroux mask piece of confetti off of Ben's watch.) Whoa. What's this?

Max: My question exactly.

Ben: As I'm watching Kat make this post, I think I'm qualified to say that she is celebrating our 101st post.

(A sudden flash of black and white fur appears from a door just behind Spencer. Spencer is trampled. But by what?)

David: What the (censored)?!?

Ben: (Getting up slowly, brushing confetti off himself.) Speaking as the Disney geek, I do believe that that would have been 101 Dalmations.

(A Dalmation pops out and jumps onto David's chest, knocking him over.)

David: Awww.

(Max picks the puppy off David's chest and starts to play with it happily, rolling around on the floor. He appears to have found a friend for life.)

Max: And what's your name?

Dalmation: Dallas.

(Lightning strikes. Ben grabs an umbrella.)

Unidentified Voice: (From the Heavens.) Put down that umbrella!

Ben: (Doesn't.)

U. V.: Put IT DOWN!

Ben: (Continues not to put down the umbrella.)

U. V.; Darn you, daroga, put it down I say! Daroga. . .(Falls out of the sky. It's Kat, fuming.)

Kat: Oh, fine. Fine, fine. Just treat me with no respect, refuse to put down your umbrella. . .

Ben: (Puts down the umbrella.) Er, sorry. Are you all right?

Kat: I'm fine. Just make sure I don't start secreting green slime again. . .

Ben: And how, precisely, shall we go about that?

Kat: Damned if I know. But moving on. . .

My friends, my bloggers, my countrymen, and two countrywomen, it's the one hundred and first post. I therefore believe we should begin with a short ceremony in which gifts shall be duly given for your support, salaries, and just general brilliance. Because, yes, it is true, each and every one of you I harbor a degree of affection for. Even, strangely enough, David, who has never even read this damn thing.

I bestow upon you virtual gifts. We shall go in order of the comments on the last post we all commented on. Consequentially, David and the SP may be last, as they haven't commented lately.

So it begins.

(That was for you, SarahBelle. Just so you all know, Sarah is an author on fanfiction.net with some really great stuff up. Check out her page. "So it begins," is her catchphrase. Hey, fellow fanfiction author - this means you.)

So. . .Ben is first.

To the resident Nosy Nadir-like Figure, we offer this limited edition link that I'm sure he'll be able to figure out and possibly win a game faster than I could. (It took me about four tries at first, but I was just getting the hang of it. . .) http://www.thepcmanwebsite.com/media/hexxagon/ And also, (I love this bit) for your official living space at the Opera d'Junior High - A room, that appears to be the inside of a Rubik's Cube. Bwhahaha.

To the Lord High Patron In Charge of Accent Inconsistencies, Something I've Forgotten, And Alaskan Baseball, we offer this mint condition Alaskan baseball in the shape of a Zooglie. What is a zooglie? What is Alaskan Baseball? Why are we here? Why do we die?

To Mickey, we grant a title. And thusly shall be the title. Because now you are summoned, to an audience with Kat, and now she will tell you why, initially, when you bow before my throne, I decree you hence be known, as Mickey, Official Protector of Green Horses That Do Not Eat Children. And I grant you a stable full of excellent green horses. And I grant you a tube of green face paint.

To Gabe, the Lord High Opera Manager In Charge of Overstuffed Pillows, I bestow a large wooden rabbit. That is empty! And also, a man with three buttocks. What you plan on doing with him, I don't really want to know. Probably some twisted experiment.

To Mizamour, the Phantom's Assistant, the J.G. grants the top part in any plays we do here, to make up for the gross injustice of her smallish part in the play she recently auditioned for. So yesh, she is the prima donna!

To Max, the Right Honorable Monsieur Giry, we offer an Operating Theatre for his Opera d'Junior High quarters. Also, in bloggish terms, we offer an official "K.O.M.M." T-Shirt. (K.O.M.M. - Kat Owes Me Muffins.) As well as, just for fun, a fruity beverage fridge, to replace that damned Diet Coke.

Lastly, but certainly not leastly, to the Sane Personage Kat gives a sheep figurine, and a rather infamous modeling photo of an ear.

And thusly pass the gifts.

What more is there to do now?

David: HELP!

(Ben is chasing David. Max is dangling from a tree by his heel. Mac is moaning over a lost love. Mizamour is trying to lasso Erik and Enjolras. Gabe is prodding the man with three buttocks to see if he'll do anything interesting.)

Kat: Well. . .never a dull moment, I suppose.

Ben: (Running by after David.) And now -

Kat: For something -

Both: Completely different.

Erika: You've used that joke too much. Stoppit.

Kat and Ben: (Shrug. Both go off chasing David.)

PotJH Company: SPOON!

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Erik Disrespects Nadir, And Kat Finds This Very Funny

I had to post this, okay? It cracked me up. So, yes, isn't Erik so mature? (In case you haven't guessed, the other one - the one with no mask, obviously - is Nadir.) Click for a bigger version, as you can't really see what Erik is doing in this one.

I always saw Nadir as older, and with darker skin, but ah well. I still think this piccy is hysterical. Drawn by someone on one of the phan art websites. La Elymas claims no ownership.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Seal My Fate Tonight. I Hate To Have To Cut The Fun Short, But The Joke's Wearing Thin. Let The Audience In. Let My Opera Begin!

If you get the reference in the title, then your name is probably Ben, and your middle initial is probably C. (I'm not even going to offer anything.)

But haha. I have an idea. The result of this is (a) me emailing Ben with "I JUST HAD AN IDEA!" and (b) this blog posting. What, you ask, is this idea? What, I ask, is this idea? What? Who? When? Where? Why? Alliance? Of? Mice? Chat? You see, this is the sort of thing that happens when I just start going all tangenty and writing about whatever happens to pop into my head. Et cetera. Et cetera. What is this et cetera?

(In large French accent.) You have given us an empty rabbit. (Normal voice.) Yes, er. . .

Ben: For Pete's sake, get to the point, Kat.

Max: Who's Pete?

Spencer: One whose sake is valued by all.

Kat: Er, yes, rather, I really should get on with it.

(Ahem.)

I have had an idea!

Ely and Erika: (Awed voices.) An idea!

A fascinating idea!

Ely and Erika: A fascinating idea!

A complex, brilliant idea!

Ely and Erika: A complex, brilliant idea!

Mickey: Hot cross buns, hot cross buns. . .one a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns. . .

Don't ask about the tangents. I'm in that sort of mood. But to get to the idea. . .Here 'tis. I shall write the first bit of a story. A story regarding us. Regarding fan fiction. Regarding randomness.

Ben: No, Random - (Is stifled and supressed by the army of rampaging muffins. There, now I've paid you off.)

And most of all, the story shall be Regarding the Phantom. For that shall be the title and all that. Now, Regarding the Phantom is a tale of mail. Emmy-mail, to be precise. Emmy-mail is the system that, in my strange stories about our Opera, the characters communicate through. Thusly, I ask you. . .to write as yourself.

Here's the gist. I'll write a letter, as my Operatic alter ego. For me, that would be the J.G., or Phantom of the Junior High. For Gabe, it would be Monsieur Gabe, Lord High Opera Manager In Charge of Overstuffed Pillows. And thusly does it go.

So I write a letter. In ye olde comments, ye shall write ye olde responses.

And what is the first topic for our emmy-mail? Well, what is the newest development in our Opera? Mickey showed up! So the emmy-mail shall be regarding the entrance of Mickey, and what she shall be titled. Thus does the J.G. command.

If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which The Readers Are Getting Tired Of All These Quizzes, But Kat Is Losing Inspiration And Well, That's The Way The Cookie Crumbles

The Seven Heavenly Virtues

Faith

1. What religion do you follow?

Wicca. And I always will.

2. What religion were you raised as?:

That one religion about how humans evolved from apes, and you know, "space is infinite. . ." The atheist one.

3. Do you believe that forgiveness is a religious property, or a human property?

Human. The Gods are omnipotent, they're just not omnipotent, if you see what I mean. We control our fates to some extent.

4. Do you have your own commandments?

An it harm none, do what ye will. That would be the Wiccan law. If it hurts no one, your will is free. (We'll beat anyone's advertised religious stigma, or your mattress is freeee!)

5. What was the last promise you broke?

That I would be outside promptly at pick up time. So sue me. Strange conversations and chasing David around is more interesting.

6. Have you ever said the words to a prayer and not meant it?

Have you ever been forced to go to church by demonic denizens of Iowa known only as Gramps and Gran?

7. Do you believe that anyone could be perfect?

Perfection is a blank white mask. Perfection is loneliness without feeling. Perfection is numb. Perfection is polished. Perfection is a magic mirror that shows you only what you want to see. (That didn't answer the question, but so long as it sound pretty, hopefully you won't notice.)

Hope

1. Did you get everything you wanted over the last holiday season?

All but world domination, a pretty ALW style half mask, and a signed Crawford fedora. And Idina Menzel's voice. Damnit, I want her voice!

2. Regarding your future, what is the best thing you could hope for?

To go to Yale Drama School, or NYU, and get some kind of insane demented break in getting the bucks and the marketing to do Susan Kay's Phantom as a straight play. . .

3. Do you let yourself get your hopes up for something even if you know that there is a large chance of failure?

I don't do the whole "hope" thing usually. A couple auditions killed that one.

4. Freedom or fate? Freedom.

Freedom.

5. Have you ever bought a lottery ticket?

I'm too young. But in the future, prolly not. . .it seems a waste of money.

6. Do you gamble?

(Sarah Brown voice.) I don't bet. Okay, so no one but Ben got that. . .

7. Have you ever had something called off on account of bad weather, but then gone ahead and done it anyway?

YES! Ha. . .I was going to fight this fellow named Bubbles - yes, Bubbles - from camp, over a certain remark he made regarding a certain friend of mine, and it started to rain. And we ended up sort of swimming and fighting. Interesting fight, that.

Charity

1. What causes do you support?

Wiccan rights education, feminism, environmentalism, oh, and control of kid eating horses.

2. What causes have you given money or time to?

Hurricane Katrina efforts, Fundamental Fund.

3. Have you ever worked in a soup kitchen or done another kind of outreach for the homeless?

Well, I've done Angelfood, which takes food to people with AIDS, but I'm not sure if that qualifies. . .

4. Would you ever consider joining the Peace Corps, Amnesty International, or another travel?

Yes, definitely. Maybe then I can look like Angelina Jolie. (Kidding. I do not want to look like Angelina Jolie. She's scary.)

5. Do you give money to the homeless on the street?

Whenever possible.

6. Have you ever helped out a friend with basic needs, like rent or food?

Er, if any of you guys need food or some money to pay rent. . .I'm good for it. I only have twenty dollars, but still. . .

7. What's the greatest extent you've gone to help a friend in need?

Fought someone. I was a right little Scout Finch in my younger days. :)

Fortitude

1. What are you most afraid of?

Mirrors. I just don't like them, I tell you. They're so creepy and precise and all.

2. What did you do today that was really brave?

I threatened Luke with doom, doom, death and destruction, but then, that's Luke. I lived through a science test, and then Anthro test next period. Fear my brilliance. (Mr. E's test was the "test of humility," by the way. I am humbled.)

3. Who is your favorite superhero, and why?

I don't love superheroes, though I was once a big Spiderman person. And as to book people - if I were to choose one. . .well, I daren't say, it would only feed his ego, and we can't have that.

Erik: What do you mean about my ego?

Kat: Shut up, I didn't say it was you, and that says a lot about your ego.

Nadir: (Laughs.)

Kat: Exactly.

4. Would you put your life in danger to rescue someone?

Are you kidding? Well, if I think about how I feel regarding my life. . .I think I could do with some danger. To make things interesting. Also, I would do anything for a friend.

5. If you were to face the Wizard, would you want more courage, more brains, or more heart?:

Courage. I'm very brave, but you can always do with more. Because roller coasters and mirrors still scare me to death.

6. Have you ever gotten stage fright? If so, when?

Yes! My shows as Puck, and closing night as Borachio in Much Ado About Nothing. I start to sweat, and my face turns very red. There's also this strange buzzing feeling in your forehead. Hard to describe.

7. Do you consider yourself to be a leader or a follower?

Depends on the situation. Mostly a leader.

Justice

1. Have you ever been summoned for jury duty?

Give me time, m'dear.

2. If they reinstituted the draft (for both genders), would you go, or would find some way out of it?

Contientious objection for me, thankyas. Unless, of course, it was a very worthy war. (Ex. Yes for WW2, no for Iraq or 'Nam.)

3. Do you support capital punishment (the death penalty)?

The guilt is enough. And so, no. It is simply too great a risk. And besides, no one - I repeat, no one is beyond redemption or forgiveness. I believe this firmly.

4. Which should be guaranteed legal?

The blue one, I think.

5. Do you believe that Dubya is rightfully President of the USA?

. . .No.

6. What was your favorite media circus trial?

Not into those, so I can't say. I always identify with everyone, can't take a side.

7. Have you ever written a letter to a politician?

Yes, regarding the green card policy. I was three and hadn't realized that it was a green "card," and not, "car." I thought immigrants should be allowed to chose the color of their car.

Temperance

1. What do you have the hardest time moderating yourself on?

Computer use? Talking to Ben? Phan fiction?

2. Do you collect anything?

Phantom memorbilia, dust, music boxes, stickers. . .

3. Are you addicted to anything?

Boba tea. Matcha green tea smoothies from Jamba juice. Phantom of the Opera. My blog. Oscar Wilde-ness.

4. Have you ever put anything on layaway or used an installment plan?

Once again, I must say, definitely the blue one.

5. What's your preferred method of paying for things?

With a service or a good deed, like a picture, or something. (Or with matchsticks and thread.)

6. Tell us one thing you wish you hadn't let yourself do?:

(Throws head back and laughs like a maniac.) I will give you only one word to reveal this long and tragic tale. And the word is: Shoe.

7. Do you feel that you obsess over things?

God yes. Phantom of the Opera. Hitchhiker's Guide. The blog. Phantom of the Opera. Nadir. Phantom of the Opera.

Prudence

1. Who is the wisest person you know?

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say. . .Mrs. S, the seventh grade english teacher.

2. Have you ever participated in a vigil?

Not unless you count staying up until all hours.

3. Do you take advice when it's given?

As Alice once said, "I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it."

4. What area are you wisest in?

Helping other people with romance. I, however, can't seem to help myself regarding the subject.

5. Do you drive defensively?

(Laughs hysterically.)

6. What did you learn today?

That Yass can cartwheel. And I really really can't, in a major way.

7. And of course, what is your favorite heavenly virtue?

Fortitude. When you come right down to it, isn't it about survival?

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which There Is Much Talk About Madness Of The Turkey Variety

The following being an excerpt from the seventh grade journal of Mlle. Kat Kire, in Siegel's class, room 107. PotJH cannot be held responsible for the actions of twelve year old Kat, on the grounds that she had very little common sense. By this same rule, we can't be held responsible for the actions of thirteen year old Kat either, but from there on in it's all too complicated for us.

Once, when I was in fourth or fifth grade - they've meshed over time, into a sort of hellish miasma of procrastination and teachers telling me that "I-have-lot-of-potential-but-don't-work-properly," - it was lunchtime. Un-unusual. And yet, the human race engages in wonderful conversation over lunch, a sort of munchy, cheese sandwich conversation. So as my friends and I were engaging in the short, bright, lunchtime of the soul, the issue of beef came up. There was Mad Cow Disease in Canada, and our dear Mac was (pardon the pun) having a cow.

He thought his sandwich was beef, that horrid elixir that (in our young minds) turned people in schizophrenicly rampaging cattle. He was making a big deal, in his own Maccish way, flapping his arms and giggling as if possessed, yet coming of as belligerent. Emmett was being his usual self, taking Mac about as seriously as he took Paris Hilton. (Note from the thirteen year old Kat: On looking back, I don't think I should have written that. I mean, we were in fifth/fourth grade. We weren't taking Paris Hilton in any way, serious or not.) I was in my accustomed role of observer and commentator, and happy with it too.

And yet it was Julian who ruly created the punch-line. Edgy, occasionally depressed Julian, who bit into the offending sandwich meditatively, with teeth of courage. One by one we turned from our debate-punctuated-by-Emmett's-bad-jokes, and watched with bated breath as one we'd known well chewed and - no! good heavens! - swallowed. I imagined a Julian cow. Brown, with splotches of white, I was deciding, when the sepruchal voice of St. Julian the Martyr rang out.

"Mac, you can't get mad cow from a turkey sandwich."

"Heed, mortals," said Emmett, as I turned back to my cheese sandwich.

FIN

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Kat Expresses Her Feelings

I am not: Serene. No way.

I love: (Ahem.) Deep question. Hey look, a bird!

I hate: Anthro class, David stealing my English book and puttiing a spoon in my purse, not being able to see my friends every day.

I fear: Being swallowed by a horse. . .Miz put that, and so, in the ongoing theme of carnivorous horses. . .and also, I fear expressing unrequited feelings. Don't we all?

I hope: That things will turn out all right, and that my talent show act will be a hit, and that. . .(mutters incoherently about. . .things.)

I hear: Luke's muffled cries. He's stuck in a tissue box.

I crave: Yogurt covered raisins, Hugh Panaro's voice, some good company and an update on certain fan fictions. . .

I regret: An unbelievably large amount of things. You have no idea. Being so evil to a certain person, ever allowing Mac to order me around, not - (Mumbles some more.)

I cry: Almost never. I don't cry. I just don't cry.

I care: For muffins, PotO, my friends, my blog readers, and PotO, and my friends, and muffins, and Monty Python!

I always: Support E/N in any conceivable situation.

I believe: In God, otherwise known as John Cleese.

I feel alone: Right now. So much. God, slap me if I get too depressing.

I listen: To Crawford's Music of the Night, and the Spamalot soundtrack! "Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Robin!"

I hide: From the kid-eating horse. . .aaaaaa! (Again with the horses, Miz. Why do you fear the horses?)

I drive: In my dreams.

I sing: Always look on the bright side of life! If life seems jolly rotten, there's something you've forgotten, and that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing!

I dance: Not terribly badly.

I write: Straaange fan fiction, straaaaaaange plays, and really straaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaange blog entries.

I play: Basketball, at gunpoint.

I miss: The person I miss knows who.

I search: For the question to the ultimate answer. For fulfillment. For a soul mate. For a non-cheesy answer to this question.

I learn: Very little in Mr. Edelyn's class.

I feel: Oh, God, where do I begin. . .I feel. . .um. . .frustrated. In a good way.

I know: Very little Mr. Edelyn has tried to teach me.

I saw: I came, I conquered. . .no, that's not right. . .

I succeed: At acting. Sometimes, but not as much as Ember.

I dream: Very weird and convoluted plots... I wish I could press print in my brain. Ditto, Miz.

I fight: Everything.

And now for something completely different.

What is it with me and being touched? I don't understand myself. I didn't mind people touching me until I was eleven. And from that point forward, since then, I've been sort of adverse to being touched. But that's starting to change, and that's what I find really creepy. I'll admit, I don't exactly broadcast my feelings most of the time. It makes me scared. I guess. About what, now that is anyone's guess. And I suppose that not wanting to be touched is part of that, in its way.

Scary thing. I have stopped disliking being touched. That's very scary for me. In an absolutely good way.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Kat And Ben Begin World Domination, Starting, Naturally, At Disneyland

At this moment, Ben is looking at the computer screen and saying, "What?" So we weren't actually plotting to take over to world. We were at Disneyland. Close enough. . .

(Scene switch to Kat's room. Pale yellow walls, two very messy desks, various PotO memorbilia lying around. Her Hugh Panaro autograph in a place of honor on her chaotic bedside table. Kat would appear to be lying in the bed, fully clothed, under a heap of sheets and blankets. Anyone who knows Kat can recognize what this means. There is something she should be doing.)

Ely: (Appearing from the wormhole in reality under Kat's bed - what? You didn't know there was a wormhole in reality under my bed? What do they teach them in schools these days. . .Think, you're not thinking! THINK!) Kaaat. . .

Kat: Present.

Ely: (Poking her.) Why aren't you being sentient?

Kat: Have I ever been?

Ely: (Poking her again.) I wanna go outside and play.

Kat: Christ, how old are you, four?

Erika: I'll thank you to stop being so absurd, you two. I'm trying to read. (Curls up in Kat's armchair, going back to Edgar Allan Poe's "Tales of Mystery and Imagination.") Yay. Death. (Suddenly realizes.) Kat, you should be blogging.

Kat: (Childishly.) No! I don't want to! (Her face pokes up from out of the bedding. Her hair is messy, and she looks vaguely displeased with life, the universe, and everything.) The computer's broken and. . .

Ely: So draft it in that nifty pretty blue notebook you've gots. Didn't Ben say he wanted you to post about Disneyland?

Erika: (Throws a pillow at Ely.) We don't have to listen to Ben.

Kat: Erika, have you heard of common politeness?

Erika: Depends. Have you?

Kat: (Disappears under the bedding, mumbling.)

Erika: Oh, I know what this is about. . .

Ely: Wha?

Erika: She's got -

(Dun dun dun!)

Erika: BLOGGER'S BLOCK!

Kat: Woe is me. You're right. Espanol es muy aburrida, yo es mal. No es bien.

Ely: What? Oh, Kat. . .you know what you need to do in times like these. . .(Starts singing.)

Erika: (Groan.) Stoppit!

Ely:

Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

Kat: Kill me now. . .

Ely:

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

Ely: (Begins dancing about.)

Ely:

If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

Kat: My God, I hate me. . .

Erika: You know, I think we should try and beat her at her own game. . .(Evil grin. She begins to sing.)

Erika:

For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

Ely: That's not the idea. . .

Erika: (Really enjoying herself now.)

Erika:

So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath
Life's got no good bit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

Ely: Come on guys, cheer up!

Erika: (Patting Kat roughly.) Worse things happen at sea, you know.

Ely: I mean - what have you got to lose?

Erika: You know, you come from nothing -

Ely: You're going back to nothing -

Erika: What have you lost?

All Three: Nothing!

Full PotJH Company: Always look on the bright side of life...

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

So Today I Was Just Thinking. . .

That I am feeling a tad bit like Jack Skellington, and finding the whole thing vaguely annoying. You know the whole "wanting something you can't quite articulate," thing? Or maybe I feel like Sally. Yes, that's quite possible. Oh, to heck with Nightmare Before Christmas comparisons. Let's have some good old fashioned, light, crisp, and refreshing Phantom comparisons. And today's question is. . .

Which Erik Are You?

Kat - Kay Erik in Persia/Leroux Erik. That's me. A sort of sardonic, sarcastic, childish, funny, if I do say so myself, and weird personage. Also, I take the same delight in shocking people as Kay Erik. People such as Nosy Nadir Like Figures. Like Leroux Erik, I love to mock and puzzle people. And puzzling people. People such as resident Monsieur Girys. I'd have to say I'm most like Erik during his times in Rome and Persia. Mostly because, well, because, I have a corresponding Luciana, only they're much nicer than Luciana, and Luciana is from the days in Rome. (Luciana was Erik's crush. Fine, now I've humiliated myself. I hope you enjoyed it.) And Persia, because, well, that's just me. Shocking, funny, a bit morbid, to the point, merciless. Yay. There's also my tendency to speak in third person, like Leroux Erik, and the fact that I share Leroux Erik's extreme hyperness. Wow, that was stereotypical.

Ely - PoP Erik. Yes, you read that right. PoP is an acronym for the disaster of a movie "Phantom of Paradise," which was made in the 80s. This Erik is an outcast of a rock musician. He doesn't wear a mask, weirdly enough. He wears a Viking Helmet. This is all very weird, no? Well, PoP makes me think of Ely just because it's so physcedelic and colorful and all that good stuffs. Plus, it's bizarre. Really bizarre.

Erika - Robert Englund Erik. RE Erik is the evilest and goriest Phantom. He's truly scary. His mask is made of human skin, so he usually looks like a slightly stiff normal man. Then you rip it off and. . .yeah. Well, RE Erik is also notorious for these really brilliant boots he's got. And he makes a lot of smart remarks. And he has some great villian lines. One of my favorites ever is "What is behind us?" "Only the DARK!" Then he punjabs him. Yay for RE Erik. I don't recommend this movie if you have an aversion to gore, because of RE Erik's methods to maintain his mask. Well, my friends, all that human skin has got to come from somewhere. I don't love gore myself, but you know, I just sort of had to see this movie. All the other phans love it.

Gabe and Brossy - Little Kid Kay Erik. Erik was so cute when he was little! Not that these terrible two make up for it, but that's not the point. As a child, Erik was just a mini adult, and these two, especially Brossy, always give me that impression. Gabe, of course, would represent the softer side of Erik's personality. You know, Erik used to sleep with his dog, Sasha, because his mother hated him? Sad story. Eh. Well, yes. Gabe and Brossy are Little Erik.

Max - Gerik. Or, Gerard Butler Erik. Okay, now that Ben has stopped laughing - I know you are - we'll continue. Max reminds me of Gerik because he's (a) the most "humanlike" Erik, and (b) a hopeless romantic. And well. . .Yeah. Max is definitely Gerik. Can't you just see him doing PoNR with. . .um. . .(stealing a pairing idea from a certain person) Mickey? Don't kill me, Max. I can also see him doing MotN with a very confused looking David. Just because. (Damn the no-slash rule to hell. That would take the fun out of it, considering almost all of our gang are boys.) Also, neither Gerry nor Max can sing. It works. And if anyone says I dislike Gerik - I actually really do like the Gerry. He's a guilty pleasure, I'll admit.

Ben - Micheal Crawford Erik/Susan Kay Classic Erik. I was trawling through old comments today, pondering over which Erik Ben might be, and discovered one of the many incidents of maniacal laughter by our dear Ghost Host. So of course, I think, "Maniacal laughter. Micheal Crawford!" Because Crawford has the best maniacal laugh ever in the history of men, women, children, and rabbits. At first I thought Kay Erik, but I get Kay Erik, so hah. No - WAIT! (Goes back, changes something.) Okay, so I'm Susan Kay Persia Erik and Ben is Susan Kay Classic Erik. We sound like two different models of some sort of action figure or something. Oh, that's an idea. . .Phantom action figures. Hm, I'm not off subject at all. . .Well, to get back to the point, Crawford Erik's sense of humor reminds me so much of Ben. I can just see him sneaking behind a backdrop and having his sillouhette scare ballet girls. Come on, can't we all?

SP - Claude Raines Erik. You've probably heard me talk about the plot of this movie. But actually, the movie in itself is quite good, and I believe I chose this Erik as he is the most parental Erik, and well. . .Actually, in the end of the movie, (Spoiler alert.) Erik is discovered to be Christine's father. Which really puts a whole lot of disturbing connotation on the whole movie. But really now, CR Erik is a sweet person. He was an eccentric violinist at the Opera until he was fired by some jerk of a manager - Andre and Firmin, you die now - and went insane, and had acid thrown in his face. . .and well, yeah. You get the idea. You'd sort of have to see the movie to see why it reminds me of the SP. It just. . .sort of. . .does. That was articulate.

Noticed that this blog isn't even remotely about what I actually did today? No, because that gets a post all to itself, because it's just special like that.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Some Things Must Needs Go Nameless

Sudden inspiration, like a bolt of something or other ending in -ing, has struck. The result of which was several quite mediocre poems, one that was actually three pages long. It was an allegory to Audrey Hepburn's character in My Fair Lady. I fully realize how strange that sounds, and if you take offense, one wonders why you're reading this blog. Moving on.

Ben, as he has oh-so-kindly reminded me, fell on his face in the locker hall. He seems to think this constitutes a blog posting. So here I am, blogging about how little I have to blog about. (Hope your knee feels better.) Ah well. Dodger game last night. Dodgers won. I tried to draw Nadir and drew a very nice picture. Of his wife. And son. I'm trying to add him, so I'll have the Khan family picture. But I can't draw him, because. . .I just can't.

In other news, I started my Anthro project. Every design or drawing I come up with, Mickey, who is my partner - I know, trust me - declares it too morbid. So now I have this whole sketch that we messed with to high heaven. It now is a slightly elfin looking skull, with one of those funky lines across it tracking some kind of nonexistent heart beat. A Diet Coke is tied to it, and, in Brossy's large, messy, handwriting the words "WHY ME?" are written in all caps. In a different, slightly slanted hand, in the upper right corner, are the words, or rather, the title, "The Ghost Host." (Wonder who wrote that?) Also, in large, messy handwriting, "SPOON." (Gee, whoever wrote that. . .)

Well. Here we are, I suppose. Ooh, hey, I do have something to blog about.

It all began, as so many things do, during Anthro. In the way of Kat not bringing a pen. But we'll get to that later, no?

It all began, as so many things do, in the library, with Ben and I having a conversation. And that's really all you need to know to realize what we were talking about. Ben was there. I was there. We were talking. Yes. Moving on. David soon made an appearance -

David: Stop making me sound like Calista Flockhart at some awards show.

Ben: Why Calista Flockhart?

David: She has a long neck.

Ben: Oh. Wait, what?

Kat: Don't ask. Moving forward. . .

David showed up -

David: Much better.

Thank you. Anyway. David showed up, and quite sweetly lunged himself at Ben's computer with a shriek of "Black!" No idea what he meant. I sat there for a while, watching Ben and David tussle over the computer. I must say, it was terribly entertaining. At some point I believe I finally figured out that the librarian, who has superhuman hearing, was going to eventually have their hides, so I chased them behind the bookcases - or, more accurately, Ben chased David, but I would've if Ben hadn't. (Yet another strange coincidence in the heads of Ben and I. We need to stop this.) David was cornered by the Biographies, and stole my pen, but then he ran a mile and we went back to our computers, happy and idyllicly.

Gola: And as the elephant seals frolicked in the surf. . .

As the elephant seals frolicked in the surf, David crept down the stairs toward the unexpecting J.G. and resident Persian. He waved at me, and I, as loudly and obnoxiously as I could, declared royally, "Hi David!" Ben's head jerked up with all the alertness of Ben when there is David-chasing-and-possible-Punjabbing to be had, David threw my pen at him, then grabbed it once more and off they went!

Tally ho!

Yes, rather. Ben was making a very kind effort to save my pen, and in the process, just sort of annoying David, which he has described as "The only thing that gives me any pleasure in life. Oh, that, and having strange conversations with you."

They eventually crashed on a bench, and when I found them it sort of looked like they were both proposing marriage to each other, except they'd both done it at once and there'd been some sort of disagreement about rings, so they were knee wrestling. (?!) Point is, they were fighting.

(Not of course to insinuate that the above simile would actually happen. It wouldn't. But then, Ben was the one who thought up the idea of pairings in our little gang, so blame it all on him. He never said no slash. Not that I'm pairing Ben and David. Oh, for heaven's sakes, the only person who has a chance of being offended by this sentence generally understands what I mean anyway, so I'll just shut up before I dig the whole I'm in any deeper. Allow me to close by saying that I am quite sure for a multitude of reasons, one reason being named Rachel, and the other sometimes being named Jenny but not all the time, that David and Ben are quite straight. However - Goddamnit, we're never going to move on at this rate.)

Ben: That was a terribly long parentheses.

Kat: Yes, and all for the sake of not offending you. And David, if he starts to read this.

Ben: Oh. (Thinks for a moment.) Thanks?

Moving on. Where were we? Oh yes. Ben and David knee-wrestling over my pen. So I run in there, feeling like Wendy trying to seperate two fighting Lost Boys, and suddenly realize something awfully funny.

Kat: (Falls onto bench laughing.)

Ben: What?! What?!

Kat: That's not my pen! It's David's! I borrowed it from him in Anthro!

Now do you understand why this post began with a random Anthro. . .thing?

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Because You Took Advantage, Because You Took Advantage Of My Disadvantage. . .

I've probably succeeded in scaring everyone, particularly those of you who have read Lolita, with that title, so I'll just explain. Yes, the title is from a poem from Lolita. This is because I just typed the work "Because" into the title, and then had to write down the first lines of the poem. I really love that novel. It's great, once you get past the rather disturbing bits. Which is essentially the whole novel. However, this is not a post about Lolita. Well, it sort of is, because that's how it is now, and there's nothing more to it. . .

Anyway.

Quiz.

Stolen from Mizamour.

Because she's cool.

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1. Kat
2. J.G.
3. Only you... (accompanied by a sigh and shake of the head) < Stole that from Miz, but really, 'tis true for the both of us.
4. Jenny Cashwell. Just. . .ask Ben.

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
1. UmbraOperae - Phantom of the Opera in Latin. Mickey thinks its weird, so I like it.
2. Wicked - Elphaba is God.
3. SimplyElymas - Forever. Always. I am. Simply. Elymas. Speaking. Disconnectedly.

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. Oh, I hate this. . .er, eyes? They're mismatched sometimes, but I like them.
2. Height. 'Tis good to be tall.
3. Hair. I can mess with it endlessly, because 'tis so thick. (I cut my own hair now.)

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. Weight. Father constantly bugging me about it. I think I will poke him with candles.
2. You know, this is depressing. The fact that at casting calls I'm always the tallest, so I get boys parts? Though I generally don't mind. . .
3. Low stamina. Though really my fault.

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1. Kid-eating horses. Er. For some reason Miz put this, and I'll go with it. Sure.
2. Mirrors. I'm not lying. Mirrors really do terrify me. I hate how precise they are.
3. Not being in control. Yes, I'm a control freak. Someday I'll be a director. Joy.

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. Talking, in some way, to one of my blog readers. Seriously, you people keep me alive.
2. Granny Smith Apples. What would I do without apples?
3. A book. Must be at least decent.

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
1. These lovely capri pants that, er. . .I'm boring you.
2. Black official Sketchers Doc Marten Knockoffs.
3. Aviator jacket that I adore and worship.

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS:
1. Micheal Crawford.
2. Old 97s.
3. Frank Sinatra. So kill me.

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS:
1. La Vie Boheme (Rent)
2. Hallelujah (Shrek) Don't laugh, if you've heard this song you'd know. I consider it, randomly enough, the theme song of my little world in which Max is dead and I'm a dancer. The one from Aloha, Good Monsieurs.
3. Maybe I'm Amazed (Paul McCartney) Don't laugh! This song reminds me of an acquaintance of mine.
AND I MUST ADD!
4. Music of the Night (PotO)
5. Phantom of the Opera (PotO)
6. Bohemian Rhapsody (Queen) Music of the Gods, I say.

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
1. This questionairre is so. . .Dr. Phil. Um. Good conversation?
2. Understanding. I'm not exactly easy to deal with.
3. The ability to stand up for oneself. I mean, it's better to be rejected than never go after someone at all, isn't it?

2 TRUTHS 1 LIE:
1. I've eaten breaded rattlesnake and octopus carpacchio.
2. I harbor a secret adoration for Macaulay Culkin.
3. I've done my English homework.

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE PREFERRED SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
1. Oh, for. . .You're talking to a phan! What am I going to say? Skeletal face? Oh, fine. Er. Eyes?
2. Hands. You might say I've just got a thing about hands. I'm strange, yes.
3. Walking on two legs, not four. Or eight. Or six.

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1. Blogging. Gee, you think?
2. Fanfiction! Haha!
3. Drawing strange animals and stranger cartoons.

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. Punjab my Spanish teacher.
2. Give Mac a good ranting-at. I would say talking-to, but. . .
3. Have some chocolate. What?

THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING/YOU'VE CONSIDERED:
1. Actress.
2. Novelist.
3. Playwright.

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1. Why, the Palais Garnier! To sit in Box Five, and see if the pillar is hollow? If it is, I swear. . .I'll make Luke lick it, or something.
2. Anywhere but here. Except with Internet access, of course, and I'm bringing you all.
3. Japan. Just to have been. Plus, I like some of the clothes.

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. Go bungee jumping!
2. Finally finish some kind of novel. Writing, not reading.
3. Be on Broadway.

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A BOY:
1. Oh, I can just see Ben laughing. Where do I begin? I tend to wear pants. See me in a skirt, and well, you have sharp eyes.
2. I like boys parts more than girls. I mean, the Artful Dodger is so much more fun than any female in Oliver! Though Nancy does sing, "He needs me." Oh, well. And of course, there's Erik and Nadir. . .
3. I can fist fight. I would make a great Outsiders character, wouldn't I? Along with Dallas and Ponyboy and Soda? Plus, I LOVE DALLY.

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A GIRL:
1. Valley Girl Tendencies. Valley Girl Tendencies, I say!
2. Hyperactivity. Oh, yes.
3. I think boys are idiots. Er, that meaning that I haaate them, not hate them.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Kat Dies Of Joy

I saw Phantom at the Majestic!

I SAW Phantom at the Majestic!

I saw PHANTOM at the Majestic!

I saw Phantom AT the Majestic!

I saw Phantom at THE Majestic!

I saw Phantom at the MAJESTIC!

I SAW PHANTOM AT THE MAJESTIC!

Oh my God.

OH my God.

Oh MY God.

Oh my GOD.

Gak. I'm going to scream, I swear. I saw it. For the first time since I was eleven. The first time I saw it was with Emmett. (I don't know how many of you know about my history with Emmett. Suffice to say that he's a completely pigheaded little creature of the abyss of Hell, and that I detest him from the very bottom of my immortal soul.)

So anyway. Phantom was unbelievably good. I cried five times. (Ben, I apologize for emailing you saying four. . .I keep forgetting and remembering. And there I go again, apologizing.) I cried during the Overture, just because I'm me, during Music of the Night, during All I Ask of You, Reprise, and all through Down Once More, which is the finale. And of course, while Erik was singing, "It's over now the music of the night," I had completely lost any semblance of a dry face or dry eyes.

And now for a very very nit picky thing. Hugh Panaro was the Phantom, and he was fantastic. I'd heard so many great things about him, and now I know they're all true. He really does remind me of Kay's Erik - they share the same deviant sense of humor. For example, while Raoul was being Punjabbed, he was completely making fun of him, and while he was saying, "Monsieur I bid you welcome," and all that, he was bowing and nodding like a demented maitre'd. It was hysterical, and evil, and scary, and squeeful. The only bizarre thing he had was during Stranger Than You Dreamt It he was lying on the floor crying, and so was Christine, which was slightly odd. I would've preferred her standing.

But enough of my gushing. More upon this at a later date, or in other words, a date which shall be later, and not now, but later, or, in other words, the word late with an R on the end. Or the word at with an L in front and an ER at the end.

What can they possibly do with a cow?!?

You must search for the grail within yourselves.

You mean someone's swallowed it?

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.