...way out on the corner of fucked up and evil...

I just realised, Calamity Jane? Totally that wax model from the Mormon Museum that talks to Harper in Angels in America. So fucking creepy!

In other news, StrangeCat turned up again today. I hadn't seen her around for a while, and I was wondering where she had gotten to. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the tale of StrangeCat, let me first assure you that this is not some Tyler Durden-esque alterego through which I commit all the heinous acts that I so long to inflict upon the horrified public. She is, in fact, an actual cat who hangs around my street and sometimes follows me home, with the unerring instinct cats have when it comes to people who are suckers for cute animals and can be relied upon to have tuna or a bag of kitty treats lying around. I assume she belongs to somebody, since she's all sleek and prettiful, but then if everyone on my street is as much of a soft touch as I am, it's not impossible that StrangeCat actually is a very smart stray. Anyway, she's very cute, and if any of you have ever wondered why I have cans of tuna when I hate tuna and can only eat it when drenched in tabasco sauce and mayonaisse to drown out the taste - that's the reason.

Every time I watch Phantom of the Opera, I wonder why I didn't decide to watch it earlier. It's like, one of the most unintentionally hilarious movies I own. That scene after Christine performed "Think of Me" and Raoul goes to see her in her dressing room afterwards, and the Managers are all, "Shall we introduce you, winkwinknudgenudge?" and he gives them the brush-off and then nicks their flowers? Genius! I mean, this guy is clearly pretty rich, but he just can't be arsed to buy his own bouquet, and that makes me love him. It's just so fucking jammy the way he does it, and that little "Thank you" before he shuts the door in their faces. Awesome!

And Erik? Has no follow-through. I'm convinced that's a big part of his problem right there. I mean, he's got Christine down in the Lair, there's candlelight, heaving busoms (hers), swan bed (his), he's singing "Music of the Night" - and I don't care what you say about Gerard Butler's voice, there wasn't a dry seat in the house when I saw it at the cinema - and she's totally ready to go, all he has to do is move in... and he just keeps on singing! No wonder she got bored and fell asleep. I'm not saying that seduction and foreplay aren't important, but too much is just as bad as too little - next time you get a nubile young soprano down in your subterrenean love nest, try to nail her before she goes off with the flower-nabbing, ugly brown leather jacket-wearing rich boy from the apartment upstairs. I'm just sayin'.

Oh, and Meg? Totally in love with Christine. Again, watch Christine performing "Think of Me" and there's this shot of Meg standing in the wings looking all sad and rejected and Madame Giry comes up and squeezes her shoulder, all, "My poor, poor, unrequited-in-love daughter". Poor Meg.

Now I'm in the mood for more campy gothic anti-heroes, so it's off to watch Van Helsing I go.

Have just finished watching Angels in America, and my word, it was strange. Doesn't really help that my brain persists in thinking of Patrick Wilson as Raoul, and giggling quietly to itself at the image of Raoul as a slightly dopey but very adorable Republican Mormon. 'Cause seriously, did anyone else just want to pinch his cheeks and give him cookies? "Buddy kiss", aww! You go, tiny gay Republican!

Oh, and also? "I live with my parents" is going to give me hysterics for a very, very long time to come.