I would just like to clarify...

I am NOT some demented, jealous, manipulative, obsessive matron and I would NEVER parade my darling daughter in front of the crude masses like a barely-clad brothel brat!

When I find out who has been spreading these vicious and completely outrageous lies, there will be hell to pay...

Catching up...

I beg my followers' pardon for my extended absence from the world of internet communication. Between attending to my usual affairs at the Opera House and taking International Law classes from the Sorbonne (for the purpose of being better equipped to deal with Erik's gallavanting across the globe, more on that later), my ability to keep you apprised of occurences has been severely diminished. However, I shall do my best to allocate time to write, particularly now that the opening of a certain ill-founded theatrical venture is imminent.

In any event, when our restless Opera Ghost declared his intention to venture forth from his dark abode to visit America's 'City of Lights', that is, Las Vegas, making suitable arrangements for his travels proved most complex. After all, in this day and age, it is rather difficult for a singularly eccentric, to say nothing of occasionally homicidal, masked man (who is likely to possess several lethal weapons on his person) to secure a seat on a commercial Trans-Atlantic flight.

Mercifully, Erik was able to, ah, 'convince' a private aviation company to accomodate his needs. From what our Phantom tells me (and mind you this was only after he returned, seeing as he effectively severed communications by dissecting the cellular phone I had entrusted him with), once he arrived in Las Vegas, there was no need to be concerned about his appearance. Apparently the fabled Sin City is constantly swarming with so many oddities and strangely-garbed people that the Opera Ghost seemed almost boring by comparison. Perhaps I shall have to see this place one day. I am given to understand that at one particular venue some fine Australian gentleman give a memorable performance...

In the meantime, something rather remarkable has happened; Meg and I have come to an agreement about something. Namely, that Mademoiselle Daae is a perfect fool for being involved with Lord D'Arcy's project. Meg has also expressed her disgust for Gerik, the star of the show, who has aparently made some complimentary, but unwelcome, comments about my daughter's physique. Mark me, I shall have words with the scoundrel for such audacity.

On an unrelated note, I must go out to purchase the items our Phantom has requested on his montly shopping list. Some rather odd things this time, though. I cannot imagine what use the man would have for several cans of red spray paint, a couple gallons of industrial-strength glue, and a tank of kerosene.

Perhaps it's better that I don't know.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Recently I've had two rather extraordinary experiences. That is to say, experiences that are more extraordinary than the ones that already occur in this Opera House. Incidentally, Carlotta still has not yet thought that I might be the one to blame for her embarassing display of Public Itching last month. It is rather satisfying to know that one can be above suspicion in such situations, though the diva's sulking and abusive treatment of the girls has recently been getting out of hand again. Perhaps I should chance another subtle act of ... discipline.

Anyhow, returning to the matter at hand. Imagine my surprise when I entered my office one day to find a sack of garments for dry-cleaning from our Resident Ghost. Well, that in and of itself is not so extraordinary, but what did make me drop my cane in shock was the fact that when I opened the bag I was greeted by Erik's clothes - all dyed bright PINK! Even the black-edged note that accompanied the parcel with instructions to have the clothing cleaned posthaste was smudged with carnation pink fingerprints. I can only imagine that perhaps one of the man's insane chemistry experiments backfired on him with such spectacular results. I do hope that for the drycleaner's sake, he will be able to expunge these blemishes from Erik's much-beloved dress clothes.

As to the other incident, as if it weren't bad enough that blonde-haired imposter with an awful faux French accent and a laughably puny excuse for a dancemistress' cane appeared on the scene a few years ago, now I hear that there are rumblings of another pretender to my identity coming to light. Apparently Lord D'Arcy is in negotiations for his new 'opera' with this counterfeit creature, who is rumored to be of dubious repute and even worse, has a daughter named Meg who dresses and acts like some gypsy tramp.

Such blasphemy will not go unpunished!

Settling Old Debts

It has now nearly been a month and a half since the infamous New Year's Masquerade and I have heard barely a peep from our Resident Ghost.

I wonder if he rememebers that he still owes me 375 Euros for the Red Death costume drycleaning services (plus ten percent for the trouble it took on my part to haul that massive outfit to and from his preferred cleaner's shop, which of course is not exactly conveniently located). I shall have to pin a note to Ayesha's collar next time I catch her scurrying about - which she seems to be doing with increased frequency these days; no doubt part of some devious, if perhaps eccentric, scheme of Erik's.

La Carlotta has been particularly troublesome so far this season; screeching at the ballet girls during rehearsals, occupying the width of the entire hallway as she parades through the Opera with her servile entourage, and imperiously demanding all sorts of favors and privileges for her fans from the attendant boxkeeper - which of course would be yours truly.

It is common knowledge that she has planned a lavish dinner with Signore Piangi this evening at La Maison Blanche (she had to book their reservations 8 months ago), in celebration of this irritatingly amorous holiday. I do hope my old friend Marcel, who is ever discreet and works in the kitchen there, will remember to add the 'special ingredient' that I suggested for our diva's entree.

I do hope that Piangi is not averse to the discomfort of scrutiny that is bound to occur when one's dinner companion suddenly, and with increasing frequency, begins to scratch at themselves all over.

For once I'm thankful for Meg's finely-tuned ear for Opera gossip. No wonder Carlotta doesn't want anyone to know about her allergy to asparagus.

Monkey Business

When coming to collect Meg from the dormatories today I overheard the chiming strains of a familiar tune and opened the door to find Meg on the floor fiddling with Erik's precious monkey music box! Barely hearing Meg's babbling, protesting explanation as to how it came into her posession - something to do with the Masquerade party - I marched her and the the percussive primate down to Erik's lair in short order and made her apologize to him for having abducted it in such a fashion, and furthermore for allowing it to be damaged by Little Jammes.

Although our resident Ghost appeared pleased to see his furry friend again, I must say that I was rather shocked by his appearance. Normally quite meticulous in attire, he seemed bedraggled and unkempt; clothes wrinkled and mask slightly askew. I presumed that it had something to do with Christine's reported liason with this 'Gerik' fellow, and I commented to that effect.

At the mention of that encounter, Meg piped up and related what had happened afterwards. This seemed to cheer Erik up considerably, dispelling his bleak attitude and prompting him to crack open a can of Red Bull, down the whole thing, then rush to his pipe organ and pound out a joyous, albeit dissonant, melody. Sensing he was going to be lost in another one of his compositional frenzies, which only someone with little regard for their health would dare to interrupt, we quietly took our leave.

I took special care to check Meg's person for any souvenirs she might have attempted to spirit away with her.

Aftermath

*massages temples* New Year's at the Opera was, as you may have been able to discern from Meg's surruptitiously-filmed video of my unfortunate intoxication, well, madness! I haven't quite figured out how to remove this visual documentary from my blog, but I'm sure that Meg will remember well not to attempt such a childish prank again; her sentence will be to polish the Ballet Foyer foor every night for a week after rehearsals.

Curiously enough the next day I noticed that Erik's extravagant Red Death costume had been left hanging in my office with a note from the man himself requesting that I take it to be drycleaned. The garment fairly reeked of Eau de Alcohol. I'd never known our Ghost to partake in spirits so much (then again, I thought the same of myself prior to the party), but I duly complied with his request. The cleaning bill on that is going to be extortionate, I fear.

It wasn't until later that I learned there were TWO Red Deaths in attendance at the Masquerade... and apparently the newly arrived version was seen, shall we say, fraternizing, with Christine Daae.

This cannot bode well ...

Maman at the Masquerade

I know she'll probably kill me for this, but I don't care! It was totally worth it! Happy New Year! - Meg