Unmasking the Phantom: Why Most Get the "Murderer" "Stalker" Label Wrong

Phantom of the Opera Little Golden Book

by Christy Webster and Illustrated by Vivien Wu release date Sept. 1, 2026

Recently, I posted a photo of a new Little Golden Book featuring The Phantom of the Opera in a Facebook group dedicated to the show. It’s the first of three upcoming releases and while most fans were genuinely excited, there were some surprisingly negative reactions. The negative reactions ranged from unhappy emojis to unhinged rants and a few sent me DMs telling me I am wrong for writing the book. First of all, back off and reaccess yourself because I am NOT the author of that book, I didn’t write it, nor did I claim to write it, I simply posted a photo of the cover along with the caption that states it will be released in September along with a bunch of other Phantom related books over the next six months. Some people began asking how a story featuring a “murdering stalker” who lies to the girl and kidnaps her could possibly be appropriate for children. Has no one read the original source material from most Disney movies?

It really made me stop and think. It’s clear that to some, this story and these characters are being viewed through a very superficial lens. Over the years, I’ve noticed more and more people framing the Phantom through a modern, diagnostic lens, labeling him a "stalker" or a "murderer," and some have even claimed he’s on the autism spectrum. To be clear: he is a fictional character written over 100 years ago. The "autism" argument doesn't hold water because that wasn't even a medically recognized concept, let alone part of the character's design.

A Little Golden Book can absolutely tell this story effectively without the "villain" label, because the essence of the story isn't malice, it's tragedy. A Little Golden Book, the publishers of The Poky Little Puppy and so many other great books from my own childhood still publishes books appropriate for an audience of 3 to 5 year olds, I see them everyday at work and just as they did with the Wicked series, they will do with The Phantom of the Opera. If you've ever read the original Wicked books, you will know what I'm talking about.

Since I’ve been living with these characters for over 40 years, having seen the show as many times as I have, read every version of the book and spin off story as I have, meeting the actors who played them, not just Christine and Phantom but all of them and listening to their own takes, I realized I have a lot of perspectives to share. I have even been toying with my own spin on the Phantom story for my own book, but being that Under the Lifeguard's Watch is my priority at the moment, that's going to be for a future project. However, regarding my blog for now, I’m going to start with how I see the Phantom and in future posts, I’ll dive into the other characters (and if you think I’m sympathetic to the Phantom, wait until you hear my take on Carlotta!).

When it comes to the "villain" of this story, I honestly don't think the Phantom fits the bill. If you really want a villain, look at Le Fevre. He sold the Opera House to Firmin and André without saying a word about the "Ghost" issue and the moment they found out, he ran off to another country. He’s the one who set the whole disaster in motion!

As for the Phantom himself? I’m Team Phantom all the way, unless Raoul is played by someone that I can't take my eyes off and then I'm usually hoping he ditches Christine for me, just kidding..or am I??? In The Phantom, I don’t see a hero or a villain; I see a misguided, lonely, desperate man who never had a real chance. He wasn’t taught how to interact with people; he learned how to survive. So, he took what he needed in the only ways he understood. His obsession with Christine wasn't calculated stalking—it was part of his survival mindset that just...blurred. If you listen to Christine's words during rooftop scene, you can see that she's torn, at first she's afraid and then she suddenly switches gears just before Raoul distracts her with All I Ask of You. Other scenes to listen closely to is Twisted Every Way as well as Wandering Child. She acknowledges so much regarding his personality between the lines.

I don’t believe he’s intentionally a stalker and the two deaths in the musical aren't just simple acts of malice. He is emotionally illiterate, and to him, violence and threats are the only currency he has to exert power.

Think about Buquet’s death. It fell after he began telling others about what he knew of the man known as the “Ghost” and it really was just a "he saw and said too much" situation. Buquet was talking about the Phantom as if he were a real person and that threatened the fragile safety the Phantom had carved out for himself in the Opera House.

And Piangi? That’s much more complicated. Don Juan Triumphant was the Phantom’s desperate attempt to show Christine that she could see him as something other than a monster. Think about it: the last three times she saw him, he sent the chandelier hurdling down in her direction on stage where Raoul had to pull her out of the way, he delivered the score to Don Juan with a threat to the managers and the last time he was literally shooting fire at Raoul in the graveyard. Of course he needed to show her he wasn’t a monster. Piangi became the final obstacle standing between the Phantom and the only person who offered him a sliver of connection, so he did the only thing he could to slip into his place. Think about it, what else are you going to do so quickly to a man with a powerful voice that could scream “help” while he is being tied up and gagged in the middle of an opera scene? Silence came with the ultimate price for Piangi to pay.

The Phantom doesn't understand moral choices the way most of us do. He isn't typical; he's a creature shaped by survival, not by healthy human connection. There is so much more to this story than the buzzwords of the internet.

Do you see the Phantom as a victim of circumstance or are you firmly in the camp that sees him as a villain? I’d love to hear your take—let’s get a real conversation going in the comments below!

And if you’ve enjoyed this deep dive and want to help keep my mind flowing here, please consider a small contribution to help keep the candles burning in the lair. Whether it’s the price of a coffee or more, it truly helps me keep sharing these perspectives with you. Every bit is appreciated!

The $600 Decision That Became the Reason We Couldn't Order Pizza

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that everyone loves pizza. Seriously, what other food can bridge the gap between a fancy gourmet pie and the glorious simplicity of a cheap hot n ready from Little Caesars? (I’ll admit, the older I get, the cheaper my taste becomes and sometimes the pizza at QT or Little Caesars hits the spot!) But when I was a kid, certain pizza joints were iconic. Back in the day, Pizza Hut was the absolute holy grail of pizza places. We also loved Shakey’s Pizza, Pizza Inn and Godfathers, but once we moved to Florida, our choices shrunk to things like frozen pizza, Crusty’s and good ol' Pizza Hut.

What I’m about to tell you is one of those classic family stories—the kind that makes you laugh and cringe all at once—and now that most of my family is gone, it’s somehow been forgotten by the remaining members except for my sister and me. It all centers on my maternal grandparents, specifically my grandfather, Pawpaw (technically my mom’s stepfather, but he was the only grandfather I ever really knew).

My grandparents, who lived across Texas, Missouri and Kansas over the years, were the definition of super frugal people. And Pawpaw was the captain of that frugal ship. Because we saw them so rarely, mainly during a few childhood trips out there or when they visited us in Florida (once when I was small and again around my sister’s wedding when I was in 7th or 8th grade), those visits were unforgettable.

Any suggestion of going out to eat made my grandmother genuinely shudder. She’d immediately shut down the idea, claiming Pawpaw wouldn’t like it and we would, naturally, be having dinner at home. Dinner usually involved something pulled from their garden, paired with meatloaf, spaghetti or whatever cut of meat they managed to snag on sale, either baked or fried. Suggestions for tacos, Chinese food, Whataburger or even Kentucky Fried Chicken were swatted away instantly, but nothing caused a softer, yet firmer, rejection than the word “pizza”.

And this is where the real story begins.

The year was sometime in the 1950s. Pawpaw, fresh out of the Air Force, was approached by two friends. These guys were brothers—Frank and Dan. They needed some startup capital and asked Pawpaw to invest in their new business idea: a restaurant that served pizza.

“What else?” Pawpaw asked.

“Just pizza,” they replied.

My grandpa’s response was a masterpiece of stubborn, misguided certainty. He argued that people wouldn't waste their money eating out when they could just eat cheaper at home. According to the way my mom—and later my aunt—told the tale, Pawpaw actually made fun of their idea. “Your Pawpaw, made fun of their idea and said no one will come to a restaurant that only serves one type of food and they should just open a diner or an ice cream shop somewhere if they want to waste their money on something,” my aunt confirmed.

The investment they needed wasn’t some astronomical sum by today’s standards, but in that era, $600 was around today’s $6,000, maybe a touch more. Pawpaw refused.

Instead of Pawpaw’s money, Frank and Dan convinced their own mother to loan them the funds. And thus, a successful business was born in Wichita. By the time I came along, that business was national and by the 1980s, practically every single town in the US had at least one: Pizza Hut.

Yes, my friends, my grandfather not only knew the original owners of the chain that became synonymous with family nights out, he insulted the very idea. And thus the bitterness connected with his stubbornness consumed him for the rest of his life.

I experienced that bitterness firsthand. I remember only two times in my life getting spanked by my grandfather. Once was for roughhousing with my cousin and making him cry. The second, far more memorable time, was when I adamantly proclaimed I hated my Grandma’s cooking and proclaimed that I wanted to go to Pizza Hut “like we did back home”. My sister and I instantly learned that Pizza Hut was strictly forbidden territory when the grandparents were around. It was a stark contrast to my other grandma, my dad’s mom would order Dominos to be delivered to her house during some of the weekends we would visit her during my middle school years.

But the absolute funniest part of this whole generational saga unfolded toward the end of Grandma’s life. One night, Pawpaw actually gave Grandma a break from cooking and took her, my mom, my sister and my nephew out to eat. Where did they go? Kentucky Fried Chicken. And what did they order? “The special,” which, bless Texas’s heart, was a country fried steak dinner. Little by little during that visit to KFC, he was the only one enjoying the special while the others changed their order to original recipe chicken. I assume, of course, that no one dared mention the simple, cruel fact that KFC, Taco Bell and Pizza Hut were all owned by the exact same massive company. Knowing my grandparents, I can only conclude that the motto “Ignorance is bliss” was definitely at play.

It’s a wild story to look back on—a $600 decision that changed not only my family’s potential financial history but cemented a lifelong obsession with regret fueled by pizza.

I’d love to hear if your family has a similar legendary mistake! Drop a comment below and share your own "what if" moment or family lore. If you enjoyed this trip down memory lane and found a bit of perspective (or just a laugh) in my Pawpaw's massive business blunder, feel free to show some love and help keep these stories—and cheap pizza—coming. Every little bit helps me bring more content like this to life!

The Noro Hammer Drop: No No Norovirus

 

I’ve had some absolute doozies when it comes to being sick over the years. I’m talking about chronic issues that led to losing most of the hearing in one ear from infections that went as far back as when I was a kid. If you’ve ever seen me sing live in the past 15 years and wondered why I stick to ballads and slower tunes, it's because I can’t hear myself very well, so any fast tunes I do are from pure muscle memory and ballads (or as someone once put it, boring songs) I can manage with a careful ear. I still battle recurring middle ear infections that require a PE tube insertion every few years after the last falls out. After battling through COVID five times, I honestly thought I knew what "the worst illness" felt like, though I’ve heard Shingles is pretty awful and the first round of the vaccine was horrible. Before the COVID, I might have said Chicken Pox might have been the worst illness I’d ever had but on both accounts, was I wrong.

My newest personal record for misery started innocently enough last Sunday. I was actually doing an at-home sleep study my doctor arranged when I was abruptly woken up at 4:36 AM by the sound of Terry getting violently ill then coming in and announcing what was going on. The sleep study? Abruptly over. We initially suspected food poisoning, maybe from the McDonald's I’d ordered via Grubhub, though I’m usually the first one to get hit by bad food. Then we thought about the nachos we had on Saturday at work, I tossed half of mine, but Terry finished his entire portion.

Tuesday rolled around and I was trying to manage things from work and was doing fairly well and on my break, I ordered some easy-prep groceries for Terry and a case of Sprite, the official soda of the BRAT diet. When I got home, he was still not feeling well and had to make sure he was able to get to the restroom quickly. When I'm sick, I hate being bothered, especially if someone is eating in front of me and I try to give someone else the same courtesy. So, I stayed in the kitchen and ate while he camped out in the living room. I needed to get up early, but I figured I’d go to bed around 7 PM.

Around 1 AM, Terry finally came to bed, still not great, but then a familiar bad feeling started bubbling up in my own tummy. My legs started feeling weird and I knew I was about to join the illness party. I scrambled to the living room, downed a Zofran, took a few sips of Sprite and popped a piece of peppermint candy in my mouth, peppermint usually does the trick for me.

I laid back down...and within minutes, I was making a frantic sprint to the restroom. This wasn't just for unnatural-feeling bowel movements; this was because nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. I jumped into the shower, hoping the cold water would help, but it was too cold. I cranked it up—too hot. I settled somewhere in the middle, still not feeling right. I grabbed the spray nozzle because I honestly thought I was going to poop myself in the shower.

Nope. Instead, the dry heaves started. And not just three or four times. On the fifth heave, it seemed like everything I’d eaten over the past few days decided to exit one way, while the really recent stuff went the other. Once it starts for me, it doesn't stop until the sights and smells are gone, so the spray nozzle worked overtime getting everything off of me, off the sides and floor of the tub and down the drain. A quick squeeze of toothpaste in my mouth calmed me enough to wash up quickly with some shampoo and a bar of Dial, only to hit the toilet one more time. I am so glad I bought a bidet for my toilet because it has been an incredible tool throughout this time.

Terry came to the door to see if I was OK, obviously I wasn’t and I let him know I was definitely in the same boat as him. I requested ice chips, more Sprite and I grabbed a wet cloth before attempting to go back to bed. Sleep never really happened. I messaged my manager that I wouldn’t be in and I had a video visit with a Kaiser Permanente doctor. Listing all of my symptoms, Terry’s symptoms and the rapid onset, the doctor agreed immediately: classic norovirus. She told me to stay hydrated, expect to be out of work for three days and called in a new Zofran prescription, told me to take Pepcid AC to calm the stomach and take nothing like Imodium AD, she said Pepto would be OK in a few days but after everything’s out. Wednesday and Thursday were nothing but Gatorade, Sprite and ice chips.

I still don’t understand how Terry was able to eat on his second day, because I couldn't even think about food. Around 1 AM Thursday night, I started seeing flashes of light—orthostatic lightheadedness. I was weak, dehydrated and then I remembered something else: I hadn’t taken my blood pressure medicine (amlodipine) in a few days. I took it and went back to bed.

The whole ordeal was excruciating, but the worst parts were the body aches and the fact I had to sleep on a towel because I knew it was never just a fart. I wasn't really sleeping; I was weaving in and out of consciousness.

Friday morning, Terry, now functionally better though not 100%, woke up and encouraged me to try and eat something. While he was at work, I managed ½ cup of applesauce and 8 saltine crackers. 

Saturday, I decided I was not going to call out and I actually went to work and managed to get through an entire shift. I wasn’t hungry but before work I had the same amount of applesauce and also crackers. While I was at work, I had a few more crackers and for lunch I had a banana. I was wiped out by the time I got home from work and for dinner, I had some rice and applesauce. Terry thinks I should have been eating more by now but I really don’t feel I can jump into regular food like that because it’s all about "baby steps" for me, mostly because I have an irrational fear of vomiting and pooping myself. I'm taking precautions now, ordering hand sanitizer and wipes specifically effective against Norovirus to keep with me, because the stuff they have at the airport that works for COVID is useless against the Noro. I’m also realizing the airport is a giant petri dish. The contractors who are supposed to clean the restrooms and common areas aren’t exactly the cleanest people, I’ve seen them eating in the public restrooms, while the counters are covered in water and paper towels and stalls look like Noro had made its rounds. For Terry and I, hopefully, this is the last of it.

I’m so grateful to be on the upswing now, even if I’m just enjoying a banana like it's the greatest meal on Earth. I actually have a pork loin in the crock pot with some amazing spices, herbs, onion and garlic. Once it's done, I’m going to shred it up and add some BBQ sauce, in hopes I can handle some BBQ tonight. I know it’s not a glamorous story but thanks for reading! If you've been through this, drop your best recovery tips below—we can all use the help!

That Blue Light Special Magic: A Love Letter to Kmart's Heyday

As a kid, the simple act of "going to the store" was a genuine adventure. Sure, I probably would have preferred the bright lights of a mall, but even our regular trips to local staples like TG&Y, Delchamps and the small-town Kelly’s IGA in Milton, Florida, hold a cozy spot in my memory. Maybe it’s the inherent compulsive window shopper in me, but those trips were always fun. Yet, one store, in particular, captured my imagination for life, especially as the Christmas season approached: Kmart.

Growing up in small Southern towns during the 1970s and 80s, our retail landscape wasn't exactly overflowing with options. This was long before the retail behemoth Walmart rolled into our area. We had a brief flirtation with Zayre before it became Ames and then vanished, but Kmart was the destination. As the formerly robust TG&Y began to thin out—its once-great shelves becoming barer and its product selection shrinking closer to a dollar store's—Kmart became my family’s reliable anchor. And trust me, I still have immense fondness for TG&Y, the place my dad bought a lawnmower that ran for nearly two decades and where I spent hours in the electronic, record, toy and pet sections wishing I would be able to pick something out and mama or daddy would buy it for me to take home. But Kmart? That was where the real magic was. The Heyday of Everything-Under-One-Roof

It’s funny how the small, everyday components of our childhood—like the ubiquitous department store—are now just a collection of vivid memories. In our town, Kmart felt like the slightly classier, more upscale alternative—the Target to the era's Walmart, which would have been TG&Y. Kmart had nicer items and some great brand names, even if we as kids dreaded being caught in anything that obviously screamed "Blue Light Special."

And speaking of those Blue Light Specials—who could forget that siren call? You'd hear "Attention K-Mart Shoppers," and then, like a synchronized retail ballet, a rumble of shopping carts would converge from every direction, leading to the flashing blue light that was eerily reminiscent of a police car. Witnessing my mom and old ladies make a frantic dash for deeply discounted staples like Fruit of the Loom panties, Cannon Washcloths or Mead Filler Paper was horrifying at the time. Looking back, though, it was pure, small-scale excitement—a mini, everyday version of Black Friday.

Kmart truly was a one-stop shop for almost everything except groceries initially (a venture they attempted later in the 1990s). If you told someone today that Kmart had a full-scale paint department in its large hardware section or a huge sporting goods section where you could browse a vast selection of roller skates, tennis balls and even bowling balls and bags, they'd look at you with utter disbelief—unless they lived through the Kmart heyday.


My absolute favorite time to shop at Kmart was during Christmas. As a kid, it seemed to carry the best decor—my mom’s Christmas cards from Kmart were always stunning. Later, when I moved to Atlanta, my partner Terry and I, frequented the two-story Kmart across from the Lindbergh MARTA station. It even had an escalator that led down to a basement level where the hardware, sporting goods, and, most importantly during the holidays, the massive Christmas section resided.

Kmart’s holiday offerings were surprisingly high-quality. Their glass ornaments were top-notch and usually priced better than other stores. I still have a few strands of Christmas lights I bought there in the early 2000s and aside from the slight fading of the blue bulbs, they work perfectly!

The brand selection was impressive, too. You’d find their Trim A Home® signature holiday brand with a wide array of lights, tree skirts and themed ornaments. They also carried items from Gemmy Industries (known for those fantastic outdoor decorations like Santas and snowmen) and other private label collections like Christmas Tidings. Whether you needed shatterproof globes, lawn figures, themed bath mats or even those novelty gingerbread houses, Kmart was stocked and ready for the season.

The toy section, especially for a pre-teen in the 80s, was spectacular. I liked things that were slightly off the cutting edge of the latest fad and Kmart had a perfect mix of older stock and newer releases. Many of my original Masters of the Universe action figures came from Kmart, as they often seemed to get the new waves before TG&Y.

My mama, a devoted crocheter, loved making everything from scarves to massive afghans. While TG&Y had a huge selection of colors, Kmart’s slightly smaller yarn section often carried a selection with a softer, less scratchy feel. I vividly remember her creating a huge, cozy afghan out of skeins of blue and creamy white yarn from Kmart—it reminded me of a perfect winter sky.

And we can’t talk about Kmart without praising their layaway program. In an era before credit cards were ubiquitous and easy to use, layaway was a lifeline. It allowed people, like my mom, to reserve items they needed for a future date, such as Christmas gifts (Hey Santa I’m thinking about you!) and pay for them in manageable installments until the purchase was complete. It was a true act of community and financial assistance that is sorely missed today.

After Walmart finally arrived, my mom gravitated toward their lower prices, but my dad remained loyal to Kmart, particularly for their garden center. After the Milton, Florida store moved to a newer, larger location a mile or so west of the original store on Highway 90, the vibe was never quite the same.

Yet, even in its final years, Kmart tried to step up its game. Who would have thought the store of our childhood would host clothing lines from names like Martha Stewart, Jaclyn Smith, Sandra Lee and even Adam Levine? In the end, the very last Kmart I frequented, the Peachtree City location, had an Adam Levine collection that genuinely impressed me. I guess it was an effort to reinvent themselves and keep up with the changing retail landscape but as with so many greats, it was a little too late to recapture some of that old department store glory.

Today, Kmart lives on as a nostalgic memory, a symbol of a time when the "department store" was the centerpiece of small-town retail life. That iconic blue light may have gone dark, but the memory of those Christmas trips and the excitement of the layaway counter remains brightly lit.-----Thank you for joining me on this walk down memory lane. I truly enjoy sharing these little pieces of my history with you. Did you have a favorite department store growing up? Perhaps a treasured Blue Light Special score? I'd love to hear your memories in the comments below! If you enjoy these nostalgic stories about the things that shape us, consider sharing this post with a friend or perhaps you could even contribute a little something toward my next writing adventure—every comment and contribution helps keep these memories alive!

Last Night’s Dream: My Unexpected Pet, The Color Yellow, Spikes and Feathers

Have you ever had a dream so vivid, so utterly personal, that you wake up feeling like you’ve been on a full-blown adventure? That's what happened to me last night. It’s the kind of dream that sticks to your subconscious like glitter, forcing you to wonder about its meaning and frankly, its cinematic potential. It involves a very special boy I named Valo.

I have odd dreams, sometimes the beginning is just me sleeping and eventually seeing everyday stuff or even visiting friends or family that have passed on. Sometimes I feel like I am either time travelling or astral projecting to another realm or just somewhere else than where my body is. I don’t really have nightmares, I used to but they haven’t happened in a long time, not really since I was a kid. So this one began just sort of started with me being at home, not the one I currently live at but something different and it switched over to something that felt like a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. I was simply walking in my yard, near a tree, when I found him: a bright, sunshine-yellow hedgehog. Bear in mind, I am colorblind and yellow is one of the colors on the spectrum that I can’t see but I can only imagine what it is. Anyway, I scooped him up and in that instant, he looked in my eyes and it looked like he was smiling. He snuggled against my hand and he was mine. I named him Valo, because he truly was a little ray of light. He was the happiest boy I have ever met, his little snout twitching.

What made Valo truly unique wasn't just his shocking color, but his unexpected talents. He was an absolute menace on the ground, but he somehow, impossibly, became an aerial acrobat. Valo could climb trees with the agility of a squirrel and he quickly befriended all the birds in the trees. It was a bizarre, beautiful little community we had that he had convinced to come out of hiding high up in the branches and visit with me, not just birds but squirrels and chipmunks. There was only one enemy in our peaceful, arboreal existence: the dark shadows of hawks, who would circle above, their eyes sharp with predatory hunger. I became Valo’s fierce protector, always keeping one eye on the sky. There was also an old owl that kept watch also, he was the only bird who didn’t partake in a physical friendship but it felt like he was with us no matter what.

One cool, quiet night, I took Valo to hang out and look up at the stars because he seemed to love them. He scampered ahead, heading straight for the tallest, gnarliest oak tree in the yard. I watched him climb, a tiny, golden beacon against the dark wood and then he simply disappeared into the canopy. I waited, but he didn't return.

That's where the scene shattered and reformed. Suddenly, I wasn't waiting under the oak tree. I was traveling, deep into what I can only assume was my book signing tour, a reality I hope will happen one day soon. Yet, I wasn't focused on the crowds or the signings. My eyes were glued to the ground and trees, following a curious, almost magical trail of bright yellow feathers. It was like a golden breadcrumb path. I instinctively knew: Valo hadn't just vanished. He had shifted. My hedgehog, my happiest boy, had transformed into a bird, a creature of the sky he seemed to be so close to in the trees. The trail of feathers always seemed to be wherever I found myself, from Pensacola to Los Angeles, from one book event to the next.

The tension in the dream started building and became excruciating because I felt like I was so close to finding him, to reuniting with either the hedgehog or the bird, when my body’s cruel alarm clock (my bladder) woke me up telling me it was time to pee. I was left with the profound, unsettling feeling of an adventure cut short and there was more to Valo than just a hedgehog that transformed into a bird. So the unresolved ending of that dream has been the most frustrating part of my day because I couldn’t figure out the dream’s purpose and wondered what the ending would be so I decided to write about it and use my imagination for possibilities. Here are a few ways my journey with Valo might have ended:

As I reach the final stop of my last book event, someone hands me a yellow feather from a bird the exact same color as Valo as a hedgehog and later the bird and asks me to sign his copy of my book to Valo. My bright, happy hedgehog had fully shifted to something else. He is now a casual, engaging human being, a handsome man who looks like a real life version of my favorite doll from Barbie, a real like version of an Alan doll, with an electric, almost golden energy and a slightly mischievous glint in his eye. He’s standing right behind me and he simply says, "Finally caught up, Adrian. Thank you for taking care of me as a baby and never giving up on finding me. Now that I found you, are you ready for that date?" Valo became my boyfriend, a totally unique and wonderful person and the adventure had just begun.

I find the bird, not realizing he's not Valo, but another bird I named Tails, a nod to that other famous yellow hedgehog's flying friend. Valo, as the yellow bird, has flown on, having served his purpose to show me that I too, can achieve a new level of personal freedom and overcome my "hawks" (my personal fears and anxieties). He didn't need to be caught; he needed to be free.

The trail of feathers leads me not to a creature, but to a pristine, yellow quill pen sitting on a velvet pillow. Valo wasn't meant to be kept, but to be a catalyst. The entire book signing tour was the real-world manifestation of the dream's core message: The adventure is the writing, and Valo, in his final form, has become my enduring muse, a permanent companion in my creative process.

Now I'm left with the lingering memory of a yellow hedgehog who could climb trees and a trail of feathers that led me across an imagined world. The dream felt like a gift, a story from my subconscious. What do you think happened to Valo? Did he become a person, a muse or is he still flying, a little yellow bird just out of sight?

I'd love to hear your thoughts and interpretations in the comments below. Every perspective helps me understand this surreal little journey!

And if you enjoyed this glimpse into my dream world and would like to support more of these stories (or maybe help fund a trip to the nearest pet store to look for a real, slightly-less-magical Valo), you can always show your appreciation. Your readership is the greatest gift, but any small contribution toward my next creative project is incredibly kind and always welcome. Thank you for reading!

A Nostalgic Goodbye to Fingerhut: Remembering the 'Buy Now, Pay Later' Catalog

Not a real Fingerhut catalog but this captures the essence of a real one

Oh, the catalogs. I swear, growing up, our mailbox could have been less of a mail receptacle and more of a gateway to a museum of mailorder business. We had the heavy-hitters, Sears, Spiegel, Montgomery Ward, JC Penny but the one that always seemed to show up, year-round, was the Fingerhut catalog. It was just there, no matter if my mom was ordering or not.

Honestly, I didn't pay much mind to Fingerhut until I hit my teens. That's when my high school sweetheart, Richie, became a customer. I'll never forget the saga of the comforter. It was the early 90s in Pace, Florida and Richie was proud of the decorative comforter he’d ordered. His mom, Rose, on the other hand, made fun of him because he got it from Fingerhut. Looking back, Rose was kind of a cantankerous person who instilled enough passive aggressiveness in her parenting that one couldn’t tell if she was just being mean or just didn't get the magic. The comforter was cozy, not feminine, not basic and frankly, it was cute. It also served the vital purpose, Richie would share it with me while we sat next to each other on the couch and it hid the fact that we were holding hands while we watched TV with his sisters and Rose. I wasn’t in the closet but Richie was so keeping our attraction a secret was important, and yes, the pun is intended: that blanket kept us undercover. Hats off to Richie for being savvy enough to fill out that order form for a comforter that cost just $3.99 a month. I have no idea how many payments he had to make, but trust me, it was worth every single cent.

AI version of a Fingerhut-esque page

When he showed me the catalog, I was struck dumb. It wasn't just bedding; they had everything! And the most incredible part was their business model. It was all sold on the promise of credit with no credit check. You just sent in your first month’s payment, and 6 to 8 weeks later, your purchase arrived, usually just after your first bill.

Everyone talks about the music clubs—BMG, Columbia House—but no one really talks about Fingerhut's amazing business model of trust. I actually bought a few things myself and it felt like such a sophisticated adult thing to do! The only things I can vividly remember ordering was a glorious Lava Lamp and a Panasonic portable cassette player—or as we all generically called them back then, a Walkman. While not exactly as fun as getting instant gratification from buying at a store and taking home upon payment, they were delivered right to my door and I paid for them later. I only started to understand Rose’s "smack talk" years later when I realized I was probably paying double what I would have if I’d gone straight to a store and paid cash. The cassette player most likely wasn’t the newest model but it worked like a charm and it was mine.

As I got older, I realized the weird stigma attached to Fingerhut. It was the original "buy now, pay later"—kind of like reverse layaway. If you think about it historically, though, it was kinda cool; old general stores did similar things, offering accounts that people could pay off over time. But then stores like Big Lots expanded and it became clear that a lot of the items in the Fingerhut catalog were similar closeout items. Still, they had their definite place in the world of mail-order, just as Big Lots had its place in the retail world.

In my adult life, I always loved getting the Fingerhut catalog. It felt old-fashioned, comforting and a total throwback to a simpler time. I could easily jump online and buy the same things with a few clicks using a credit card or even go to the Fingerhut website and use a Fingerhut credit card, but nothing beat flipping through those glossy pages.

So, it's been a while since I received one and curiosity finally got the best of me. I went to the website and discovered the gut-punch news: they have recently gone out of business. How incredibly sad is that? To me, this company seemed like one that would last forever. It’s been around as long as I can remember.

Now that they’re gone, will you miss them? If you loved the old-school Fingerhut business, you can still check out a similar online store called Ginny’s, which is owned by Colony Brands—the company many of you might remember as Swiss Colony, who also own the current incarnation of Montgomery Ward. Were you a Fingerhut customer? What products did you buy? Share your favorite memory in the comments below.

If you enjoyed this little trip down memory lane and would like to support my writing and future nostalgic deep dives, you can buy me a coffee through my profile link. Your support helps me keep the lights on and the memories flowing. Thanks for reading!

The Bible, a Nasty Hotel and the Customer Who Spat at Me: A Wild Front Desk Story

First off, a quick note on my book: I'm in the final stretch of revisions! Out of 35 chapters, I've powered through 31. It’s been a serious, sometimes exhausting, learning process and honestly, if you’ve self-published your first book, you have my complete admiration. Now it’s just a matter of those last few chapters and then one final, meticulous read-through to make sure the timeline is perfect before it heads off to the editor and then publisher. I'm so excited to get this first book in my series out to you soon!

Funny enough, today’s topic was inspired by a sick day. I woke up this morning not feeling well and had to call out, even though I really can’t afford the time off right now. As I was laying in bed—totally bored, as you can imagine—my mind started wandering back to some of the wildest times in my life and one particular incident from my hotel days flashed into my mind. I worked at a Ramada Plaza in College Park, and let me tell you, that place was a whole world of its own. It's no secret the hotel was, well, not a nice hotel. The super cheap rates meant we attracted a lot of less-than-exemplary people: addicts, transients, hookers and others. We staff—especially at the front desk—had to deal with some seriously weird situations, and while we tried to keep calm, sometimes you just had to refuse service and cut your losses. The owner would claim our safety was a priority, but the reality was that, apart from housekeeping during the day and security arriving at 8 PM, the front desk person was often completely on their own, especially at night.

It’s been years, but I’ll never forget the day a man came in, dropped his Bible on the counter with a loud thud, and became the central character in a story I still can’t quite believe happened.

It was a Friday afternoon, and the moment I made eye contact with this Nigerian man, I just knew he was going to be a problem. When you’ve worked a front desk as long as I did, you can spot trouble before it even hits the automatic door.

He had a very thick accent and simply announced, “I am a man of god and I need to get a room.”

I gave him the standard room rates and his immediate reply was just a repeat: “I am a man of god.” Then he started quoting scripture, seemingly about giving away accommodations for free. I explained that while I could maybe offer a system discount (like an AA discount or something similar), I absolutely couldn’t just give a room away.

That’s when he started to get irate. Things really escalated when I mentioned the mandatory $150 security deposit in addition to the room rate, anyone who has ever checked into a hotel would know this as a hold for incidentals. He literally grabbed his chest, acted like he was having an attack and spat at me across the counter. That was it. I told him he had to leave, walked to the back, and just let him scream and call me every name under the sun until he finally left, realizing I wasn't going to engage further.

The next day, I was back on the same shift. I could have sworn I saw him leaving at the front door, but in a place like the Ramada, everyone looked like everyone else from behind. The next day, however, I was on the morning shift, tasked with getting all the departing guests out by check-out time. I had one person left who wasn't answering the phone, so I sent housekeeping to knock.

Not only did he refuse to leave, but he started screaming at the poor housekeeper for "invading his privacy." When he called down to the front desk to yell at me, I instantly recognized the voice.

Turns out, someone had checked him in—but they hadn't charged him but a quarter of the lowest Priceline rate and there was no security deposit on file. He was simply going to check out when he "felt like it." That’s when I knew I had to call the police to have him removed.

Before the police arrived, he came downstairs, bible in one hand, grabbing his chest with the other and started yelling at me again. He put on a full performance, claiming to be having a heart attack and suddenly starting to cry when he saw the police coming through the front door, insisting I was causing him "distress." When the police arrived and called the paramedics, his theatrics went into overdrive. Still clutching the bible, he kept telling the paramedics that I was the devil and was causing all his problems.

The police, thankfully, got the full story about the refusal-to-check-in the day before last, the weirdly low room rate and his refusal to leave. When the paramedics checked his vitals, they confirmed he was fine, asking if he wanted to go to the hospital. He said, "No, I want to go back to my room," which is when the police informed him he hadn’t paid for his room. He then claimed he was just waiting for "that lady to come back to extend the room."

I had to call the owner, who told me to call "Dulce," the manager. Dulce had no idea what was going on, so she told me to have the police remove him and leave the check-in info on her desk.

I was off for the next two days, but I watched our group chat explode with messages from Dulce which included a corporate complaint screenshot from Wyndham about me, the state of the hotel and a photo of his ID, which came with a strict note: never to rent a room to him again. Oh, and the final, disgusting detail? Feces was also found under a towel in the bathroom.

I had been telling the owner and manager for ages that things weren't adding up—people were getting rooms for weird rates, deposits were being skipped—but they always brushed it off until this incident blew up. Even then, they acted like I could have "handled things better." I still think the better solution would have been to hold the person who checked him in accountable for breaking protocol and, frankly, running a hotel that wasn't a complete dump catering to sketchy people. I have so many more stories from that place, including people who ended up being arrested and on YouTube videos in other locations!

Anyway, I am so glad I’m not working there anymore and am in a much better place years later. 

What's the wildest, most unbelievable customer service story you've ever experienced or heard? Drop your comments below—I need to know I'm not the only one with these kinds of tales!

When Legendary Childhood Idols Leave Us: Remembering Ace Frehley

It’s a strange thing when someone who shaped your childhood, whose music was the soundtrack to countless memories, suddenly isn’t with us anymore. Over the past few days, there’s been a quiet sadness rippling through the community of Ace Frehley’s fans. While his health concerns were known to many, the specifics remained private. There were whispers of a stroke or a heart attack, but the definitive issue was unclear – just that our beloved "Spaceman" wasn't doing well. Then, the news came yesterday, though I didn’t get it until I woke up this morning and it hit hard.

For so many of us, growing up meant growing up with KISS. My sister had those iconic 8-tracks of Destroyer and Love Gun and that shiny silver Double Platinum album. But for us kids, Ace was the guy. His Spaceman persona wasn't just cool; it felt like it jumped right out of a cartoon, perfectly matching his laid-back personality and incredible stage presence. He was the one who made us all want to pick up a guitar.

Ace, born Paul Daniel Frehley in the Bronx, New York, in 1951, was immersed in music from a young age. His father was a church organist, and both his older brother, Charles, and sister, Nancy, were musically trained. Ace himself taught rudimentary guitar chords by playing along with his siblings' records. He had a fascination with both art and mechanics, which, along with his growing love for the guitar, helped keep him out of trouble in school and on the streets. Though he was popular for his ability to find dates for friends – earning him the nickname "Ace" – he was kicked out of several high schools before eventually earning his diploma. He got his first guitar at 14, learning from his brother and, true to his mechanical interests, tinkering with its inner workings. He picked up the guitar at 13, inspired by legends like Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, Jimi Hendrix and Jimmy Page and even worked as a roadie for Hendrix at 18.

In 1973, Ace co-founded KISS with Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons and Peter Criss. He became known for his distinctive, bluesy, hard-rock guitar solos, which he once described as "unorthodox" because he never took formal lessons. He penned KISS classics like "Cold Gin" and "Shock Me," and contributed to beloved tracks such as "Parasite" from Hotter Than Hell (1974) and "Getaway" from Dressed to Kill (1975).

As I got older, I somehow stumbled upon Ace’s Trouble Walkin’ album and added it to my cassette collection and played it until it practically wore out. His version of “Hide Your Heart” is still my absolute favorite, even over the KISS version!

I honestly never thought I’d see Ace play live with the band. But then, during KISS’s Farewell Tour, my friend Karen invited me to go to Knoxville with her. It was one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to. Seeing all four original members of KISS on stage, together, was pure magic. On a side note, Karen and I would hang out at the Ritz Carlton in Buckhead during the band’s Southeast leg of that tour, just hoping for a glimpse of them. Gene, Paul, Peter and Ace were all incredibly kind. Doc, their manager, would even give us a heads-up if the guys had a rough night, which was our cue to respectfully leave before they came in. Karen even baked Gene cookies (which Ace claimed for himself!) and a cake for Ace. It was such a cool experience and a reminder that these "rock gods" were just as human as us. Walking away with those incredible memories is something I’ll never forget.

After his initial departure from KISS, Ace embarked on a successful solo career. His 1978 self-titled solo album, released while still a member of KISS, featured the top 40 hit "New York Groove". He continued to release solo albums, including Frehley's Comet (1987), Second Sighting (1988), Trouble Walkin' (1989), and Anomaly (2009), which reached No. 27 on the Billboard 200 chart. His later works include Space Invader (2014), Origins Vol. 1 (2016), Spaceman (2018), Origins Vol. 2 (2020), and 10,000 Volts (2024). He also made guest appearances on albums by other artists, showcasing his versatile guitar skills.

Ace briefly ventured into acting with the low-budget crime thriller Remedy (2005). In 2014, he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as a co-founder and original lead guitarist of KISS. Guitar World recognized him in the Top 15 of its "100 Greatest Heavy Metal Guitarists of All Time".

I’ve kept up with Ace over the years, collecting his solo albums and even an album by his touring band, Rock City Music Co., which featured my friend Jeanne’s boyfriend, Ryan Spencer Cook.

Hearing the news of Ace’s passing this morning left me with a profound sadness. It’s not just for the loss of a person whose music was such a huge part of my childhood and who gave me incredible memories in my adult life, but also for his family, friends and bandmates. My heart truly goes out to everyone whose lives he touched and who are now feeling this immense loss. He was a true original, a "Spaceman" who left an indelible mark on rock and roll, inspiring countless musicians like Slash, Tom Morello, John 5 and Mike McCready of Pearl Jam.

Ace Frehley also shared his story in his New York Times bestselling memoir, No Regrets. For fans looking to dive deeper into his world and the history of KISS, other great books include KISS and Sell: The Starchild, the Demon, an American Icon and a Story of Loving Too Much by C.K. Lendt, and Kiss: Behind the Mask – The Official Authorized Biography by David Leaf and Ken Sharp.

It’s hard to say goodbye to our childhood idols, but their music and the memories they created live on forever.

Pac-Man Fever: A Nostalgic Dive into the Classic Game's Legacy

Today, I want to share a nostalgic trip down memory lane, celebrating one of the most iconic video games of all time—Pac-Man. Whether you were an arcade aficionado or a casual player, Pac-Man has left an indelible mark on our hearts and minds. So, let’s dive into this fun and engaging story about Pac-Man fever!

I was too young to fully appreciate the release of Pac-Man, but my sister was all about it. She had Pac-Man fever for years, playing the game on consoles in front of TG&Y, at Pizza Hut, and at her friend Laura Moon’s house. When we finally got our own Atari 2600, she would play Pac-Man all night long during weekends and holidays. While I appreciate the game, it moves a bit too fast for me. I’d be lying if I said I made it past the 5th board. Ms. Pac-Man, while I love her, has only seen me reach the 4th board. I’m more of a Tetris fan, but Pac-Man still holds a special place in my heart.

Decades after its debut, the sights and sounds of game designer Toru Iwatani's legendary creation, Pac-Man, still represent the golden age of video games for many. But Pac-Man has been embraced by subsequent generations, too, and it remains one of the few arcade games from that era you might still run into at arcades, bars, pizza places, amusement parks, skating rinks, and bowling alleys. Pac-Man didn’t become an immediate hit when Namco launched it as Puckman in Japan on May 22, 1980. But once Midway Games started distributing it in North America on October 10, 1980, the craze took off. Within its first year, the game grossed more than $1 billion in quarters. Throughout 1981-82, millions of people caught Pac-Man fever—so much so that Buckner & Garcia's novelty song "Pac-Man Fever" became a gold record, spending three weeks on Billboard's Top 10 in early '82.

As one of the first identifiable and marketable characters in video game history, the lovably cute Pac-Man appeared in many other pop-culture arenas. He graced apparel, had his own breakfast cereal, starred in a Saturday morning animated series from 1982-83, and even had a brief cameo in Disney's original Tron film. By 1982, Pac-Man also had a sequel—Ms. Pac-Man, which many consider even better than the original. Ms. Pac-Man introduced a new ghost, Sue, alongside the familiar ghosts Blinky, Pinky, Inky, and Clyde. Each ghost had unique behaviors that added depth to the gameplay. Blinky, the red ghost, is the most aggressive and speeds up as more dots are eaten. Pinky, the pink ghost, tries to ambush Pac-Man by moving to a position in front of him. Inky, the cyan ghost, has unpredictable behavior that combines elements of Blinky's and Pinky's strategies. Clyde, the orange ghost, moves randomly, making him less dangerous but more confusing.

Pac-Man's influence on the video game industry cannot be overstated. It launched the maze chase game genre, was the first video game with power-ups, and was among the earliest games to feature cutscenes. The game's other beloved characters—Blinky, Pinky, Inky, and Clyde, the ghosts who relentlessly pursue or are pursued by Pac-Man—were designed with early artificial intelligence.

By the time the Atari 2600 version of Pac-Man was hurriedly released to poor reviews in 1982, Pac-Man fever—and the golden age of video games—was nearing its end. The video game market would crash the following year. However, in 1981, Pac-Man was first bundled with the Atari 2600 console. This move significantly boosted the sales of the Atari 2600, attracting more buyers despite the game's mixed reviews due to its poor adaptation. But 40 years later, Pac-Man remains not only an indelible symbol of that era but also one of its few enduring survivors. For Pac-Man, it will never be "Game Over." Pac-Man wasn't just an arcade phenomenon; it also made its way onto various consoles, computers, and handheld devices. The Atari 2600 version might have received poor reviews, but it was just the beginning. Pac-Man has since appeared on countless platforms, bringing its iconic gameplay to new generations.

Some notable versions and spinoffs include Ms. Pac-Man Maze Madness, a 3D platformer released in 2000 for multiple platforms, including the Nintendo 64. In this game, Ms. Pac-Man navigates through various mazes, collecting items and avoiding ghosts. The game features a mix of classic Pac-Man gameplay with new elements, such as power-ups and mini-games. Terry and I spent countless hours playing Ms. Pac-Man Maze Madness on our PlayStation. It was a blast navigating through the mazes and chasing those pesky ghosts.

There were various handheld versions of Pac-Man. The MGA Handheld Series, launched in 1992 by Micro Games of America (later MGA Entertainment), includes numerous models of handheld LCD games based on the original Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man arcade games. The gameplay varies slightly across models, with some featuring nonlinear maze layouts and unique "Energy Fruits" that act like Power Pellets. The Nelsonic Pac-Man Watches, released in the early 1980s, were essentially miniature handheld games that could be worn on the wrist. Coleco also released a series of table-top versions of Pac-Man, which were essentially handheld games with a larger screen and more robust controls.

The console versions of Pac-Man varied in quality and gameplay. The Atari 2600 was one of the earliest home console versions, released in 1981. Despite its popularity, it's often criticized for its poor adaptation of the arcade game. The Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) version, released in 1984, is more faithful to the original arcade game, with improved graphics and gameplay. Game Boy and Game Boy Color versions brought Pac-Man to the portable gaming scene, with the Game Boy Color version featuring enhanced graphics and additional features. The Super Nintendo Entertainment System (SNES) version, released in 1993, includes updated graphics and additional gameplay elements. The Nintendo 64 version, released in 2000, includes Ms. Pac-Man Maze Madness, a 3D platformer that features Ms. Pac-Man as the main character.

Here are some interesting facts about Pac-Man. Thought to be the highest-grossing video game of all time, Pac-Man's inflation-adjusted intake is estimated at about $12 billion in total revenue. The release dates for Pac-Man are May 22, 1980, in Japan, and October 10, 1980, in North America. There are 256 boards in Pac-Man, and the highest possible score is 3,333,360, known to have been achieved by eight people.

Pac-Man's success spawned numerous spinoffs for consoles, computers, and handheld devices, but the notable arcade spinoffs include Ms. Pac-Man (1982), Pac-Man Plus (1982), Super Pac-Man (1982), Baby Pac-Man (1982, video game/pinball hybrid), Professor Pac-Man (1983), Jr. Pac & Pal (1983), Jr. Pac-Man (1983), Pac-Land (1984), and Pac-Mania (1987).

I hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane and reminiscing about the iconic Pac-Man. If you have similar stories or memories of your own, please share them in the comments below. Your feedback and shared experiences help build a wonderful community. If you'd like to support this effort, your contributions are greatly appreciated. Even small gestures of support mean a lot as we continue this journey of storytelling and connection. Thank you! ❤️

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