but better.

Better because tonight, instead of a sweaty, oversexed adolescent, I have a date with my secret lover:

the phantom.

It has been fourteen years since we were first introduced, and the flame, my friends, is still strong. Oh how fondly I recall those first moments of soul-shattering organ chords, descending and rising in ecstatic crecendo. How fondly I recall the tenderly sweet, yet somehow contrived, yet always soulful ballads. Phantom of the Opera, I remember driving to DC wtih my parents and making them listen to your double-cassette London performance OVER and OVER and OVER again, and when they broke like dried wood, shrieking that enough is enough, child, it’s time to listen to Elton John, we (that’s YOU and ME, Phantom) hid away in the backseat and shared secrets through my walkman headphones. I remember listening to you on the way to school in sixth grade and I remember listening to you on my first day of college, always thinking that the ntoes would bring me a kindred spirit, another Phantom lover, to share my days. I remember all three live shows and who I went with and what I wore. I remember seeing Michael Crawford in concert, riveted to my seat and trembling with joy when a stagehand brought out the MASK AND CAPE and you sang “Music of the Night” and “All I Ask of You” with someone who was, regrettably, not Sarah Brightman.

Speaking of regrets, though, Phantom baby, what was up with that movie. NOT your best moment.

but i still love ya.