But no woman was there and I don't believe in ghosts
I realize it would be funnier if I saw Psycho (1960) twice in one day and then got nervous of showers, but I am afraid I came out of the shower just fine and talking about Psycho II (1983) and III (1986)—sorry, Hitch. My early birthday present actually totaled seven hours of Anthony Perkins: I sat through the triple feature and then stayed for the evening re-run of Psycho. It was like a miniature marathon.
teenybuffalo came for the evening show.
spatch dropped by II on his break. The streets when I went outside between the first two movies were filled with HONK! and I count myself lucky that I managed to purchase a macaroon from the Diesel, because any place that sold actual food (or, God forbid, ice cream) I wasn't getting near without siege machinery. I didn't manage to eat dinner until eleven o'clock tonight, but I had a wonderful time. Review definitely forthcoming, albeit after I finish some major work. Unrelatedly, I promise, I wish I were in D.C. to see this exhibit on Frances Glessner Lee.

no subject
My mother and grandmother once cleared out of a motel on a cross-country trip c. 1967 because the solitary proprietor reminded them overwhelmingly of Norman Bates. (I haven't been able to establish whether this means he was transfixingly beautiful or just weird.) I understand that all actors have to live with their screen reputations as distinct from their lives, but I feel Anthony Perkins must have had a particularly strange time.