Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety; other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where she most satisfies;

Act II Scene ii
Antony & Cleopatra

The following all concern Michelle.If you would like something included, contact me at adamskat@iafrica.com and it will be included...

Michelle Pfeiffer

Goddess
descended from
Asgard.

I pay for my ticket and enter your temple-
Celluloid immortal
projected onto the altar.
We receive your words-
16 millimetre communion.

Unrequited love updated and only a mouse-click away...

They call you beautiful       By Crusi

Eyes as blue as the ocean
and cheeks so high and fine
hair blonde and silky
your skin untouched by time
They call you beautiful...
their jaws drop to the floor
they've never seen anything like you before
but you're more than beauty
if only they could see
how much you mean
to people like me
They call you beautiful...
because they don't know
how else to describe
someone with such a glow
What lies inside
your charm and your wit
make you so special
make us adore you more than a little bit
They call you beautiful...
because you are
but someday they'll see
you're more than just a star.

ALLY MCBEAL MEET MACBETH

I have to look at the world around me for inspiration, but nothing in my immediate existence grasps my attention. Human beings are everywhere, and while there is a fascinating side to the observance of them, they really are so predictable.

Take a classroom for example. Ignoring the fact that mine is restricted to one sex, a classroom is a microcosm of this world. You have your group of politically-correct winners, who form themselves into their own inner-circle of sports and committee captains, and who can ensure a rigging of votes whenever democratic elections are concerned. I suppose they could be seen as a government: for some reason everyone listens to them and they always get their way, even though they are a bunch of wet blankets.Some of these government officials are still approachable and palatable in terms of conversation. Others however, have long since been lost in the fog that is power.

On the other end of the scale you have the ultra-nerds. They rarely react in class yet during breaks they have souped-up discussions concerning politics and religion among other things. They are truly a strange breed. While they are conformative to the highest degree inside the pink walls, outside, their actions can strike fear into the heart of any parent.

Neither of these two groups, the winners and nerds, are connected to the modern world. The one sector because they do not have time for it, and the others because they are super-glued to the past. Computers and modern music are enigmas to them, leaving their radios to thud out the two extremes of Christian music and Heavy Metal, both of which are hardly trendy.

In case you have not worked it out by now, I am a member of the select middle group shouldering between these sectors. We are the ones filled with intriguing variety, and are the most hope for this world, but we will never really get the chance to exhibit our gifts because of those hogging the spotlight.

I, myself, exist as a strange mixture of Ally McBeal with Macbeth. My life is normal, if overrun by imagination, but simultaneously, the workings of my mind are fuelled by dark fantasies. Sometimes I think the only emotions that make me function in this world are anger and jealousy. Yet there also exists that desire to be loved, and to love, that is very McBealish.

Apart from my family and friends, the Entertainment Industry is probably my only other saving grace. Without the concept of celebrity worship filling the bag of magic tricks that is my mind, I know would feel tragically empty. But I hold little interest in being a groupie to the likes of Leonardo Di Caprio or the Backstreet Boys. Even thumbing through magazines in the hope my favourite model will be advertising some new perfume, does not brighten my day. When my family and friends no longer alleviate my symptoms, a turn to a different sensation to break the monotony. My love for an actress.

I adore Michelle Pfeiffer. Now before those critics can pipe up, calling me a psychotic lesbian, there is one thing I can say: THERE IS NOTHING SEXUAL TO WHAT I FEEL FOR HER. And do not think that I am alone in my worship. Through the Internet I have come into contact with other teenage girls who feel the exact same way about her. We have debated for a long time our attraction to her, and without sounding like someone on Sightings, we have come to the conclusion that there exists some sort of spiritual bond between her and us. We must relate to her somehow. And that got me pondering, and reading and writing.

Perhaps the answer is on the horizon. Well, for me, anyway. How do I relate to the most beautiful woman on this planet? A blonde, blue-eyed American old enough to be my mother. In fact, seven months younger than my mother. Maybe it's because I think her situation in the Hollywood Machine is related to mine in my life.

She leads a private existence, almost completely free of paparazzi jumping out from bushes to snap pictures of her taking her children somewhere. Her life may be devoid of dark scandal, but looking closely you will see she has a dark side. Like me. Many times I have heard people remark when glimpsing my other side, 'I never knew you were so complicated.' It's the same with Michelle. In terms of her career in the last few years, the darkness may have been underplayed, but it is undeniably there, and always present in her choice of characters. She could choose to ignore it and join the ranks of 'good girls' like Meg Ryan and Julia Roberts, who the public wishes to see acting only in fluffy romances.

My goddess is not like that. To give into commercialism would be a selling-out of everything that she is. And she wants to be an example to her children, so instead, she walks the middle ground. Please note how'middle' comes into it again. The message behind Michelle's actions in her career and public persona are clear. You do not have to give into opinions, or care what other think. Only you govern yourself.

Even in her career, this principle is evident in how she balances on that tightrope suspended over the canyon that is typecasting. Underneath her the options stand sentinel like jagged rocks. You have good and bad, virginal heroine or dark seductress, Doris Day or Bette Davis. But then again maybe I'm not being completely honest. Michelle has cornered the market in playing melancholy beauties, and more recently, gorgeous but not-so-perfect mothers.

The point I am trying to make is that it's her subtlety that sets her apart, and ensures she is not as huge as her counterparts in terms of publicity. She has not posed pregnant and nude for a Vanity Fair cover, or opened her legs on screen to reveal she is not wearing underwear. Michelle keeps to herself and retains a public persona that is more easily associated with her CV than anything else.

You will see her at awards shows, but she does not hog the limelight. The fact that so much attention is lavished on her by the cameras is because through her own discretion, she is not everywhere.

And yet, I have to sit and fight for her when she is called a talentless bimbo. Why can't people just open their eyes and see what I can, and have for seven years now? They would then realise their sacrilege, and escape my wrath. If you insult her, you insult me. A resident of the middle-sector and a melding of Ally McBeal with Macbeth.

(C) Noelle Adams 1999

Public Webuser sent the following fantasy piece in for your reading pleasure:

MELANIE, MELVIN AND MICHELLE

I am walking along a concrete path in a beautiful park outside of town, minding my own business. I turn the corner and standing in front of one of many trees in the park is Michelle Pfeiffer. She crooks her indexed finger, beckoning me over. She wears the beautiful black sundress she had wore on the November 1993 cover of Us Magazine, complete with matching pumps. She has a wistful, childlike look on her face. She brushes her sandy brown hair away from her face. Then she raises an extra-long cigarette to her smiling lips as I approach her, appealing to what would appear to be my chivalrous nature.

I pull a Bic from the pocket of my blue jeans. It is a very breezy day and it is a struggle trying to keep the flame going. It darts this way, then that. I am also distracted by Michelle's endless beauty. The full skirt of her dress flaps freely in the breeze. Finally the errant flame makes contact with the tip of her cigarette. She coyly and very slowly draws smoke from it.

At that same second, two grisps firmly grasp my right elbow. Startled, I jerk the lighter toward the thumb and forefinger of my left hand, and burn it with the flame. I turn to my right, and there is Melanie Griffith holding my right arm in both of hers. Evidently she had been hiding behind another tree while Michelle distracted me.

Melanie has on the pretty white dress her character in Something Wild wore to the high school reunion in that movie. Her hair is shoulder length. She giggles at having caught me so effortlessly. It's the same giggle she had in Working Girl, when the elevator door closed on Harrison Ford, showinr her reflection. She keeps my right arm firmly locked inside the wrist of her left arm. Meanwhile, Michelle very gingerly clasps my other arm, smiles slyly, looks at me catlike, takes her freshly lit cigarette from her lips and blows a huge gush of smoke directly into my face. Like Melanie she begins to giggle.There is a triumphant tone in her giggle.

The next thing I know, the three of us continue walking down the path. I have no choice; the two ladies are guiding me by the elbows, flanking me like two guards, making sure I don't attempt to flee. Michelle clasps my left arm, smoking with her free hand. Melanie holds my right arm, also smoking a cigarette she has just lit. I gaze in either direction and see streams of smoke floating up to the firmament. Also as I gaze in either direction I see full, billowy skirts blowing to and fro in the breeze as if they have minds of their own. Interesting how in my position I contrast from the smoke and the skirts, which move about so freely. My freedom of movement is so limited, sandwiched as I am between the two ladies, caught in their clutches, totally at their mercy.

I know I really should be enjoying myself, but I am so confused by their behavior, which to me seems so bizarre. The girls talk across me as if I were a window screen at a drive-through restaurant. My equilibrium is disturbed with Melanie's voice going into my right ear and Michelle's going into my left. I continue to blow on the fingers I burned with my lighter. The girls are clearly enjoying my helplessness.

About fifteen minutes later, we approach a turquoise Chevy Luv three-seater pick-up truck. As we approach the passenger's side of the truck, Melanie unhooks her wrist from my right arm and she pulls a set of keys out of her handbag. Evidently the truck is Melanie's. She daintily strolls over to the driver's side, swinging her keys on her finger, and twirling her skirt as she walks. The sight drives me crazy. Michelle in the meantime continues to keep a firm hold of my left arm with both her\par wrists. She looks very determined.

Then Melanie unlocks her door, gets in and sits in the driver's seat. She reaches over and unlocks the passenger door, waiting for Michelle and meto get in.

I try to stand aside so Michelle can enter first, but she jostles my arm, scowls and says "You're sitting in the middle!" I sheepishly climb in, while Michelle motions me with her hands toward the center seat. I move next to Melanie, who is smoothing her skirt and smiling devilishly. "Vicious, isn't she?" she asks before giggling again.

Michelle climbs in on my right side and closes the door.

Melanie starts up the truck, and we drive along out of the park and onto the highway. Melanie, one hand on the steering wheel, lights another cigarette and hands one across me to Michelle, who is straightening the hem of her dress and crossing her legs at the knees. Melanie then hands the lighter to Michelle, who in turn lights up.

With the breeze outside as strong as it is, the wind wings are only open so much allowing little ventillation. The girls continue to puff away, while chatting across me and giggling at various periods.

Finally, I can't stand it anymore. Surrounded by so much estrogen and smoke, blowing on my fingers that still smart from the burn, and my eyes stinging and watery, I ask them, "Just what is going on here??!"

Melanie replies, "Well, Michelle and I just saw Thelma and Louise. Believe me, we've had our man problems just like they have."

Michelle continues, "The two of us agreed to get revenge on the next man we saw by catching him and driving him crazy." She titters, takes a slow draw on her cigarette, sprays some more smoke into my face, and as I cough up a storm, she adds, "You're it!"\

I resign myself to the inevitability that I will go completely bonkers, sitting there between the two women of my dreams.

From Anonymous:

I'm thirteen years old, and I've been a fan of Michelle since I was eleven years old. I first became interested in her when I saw her in her movie "The Deep End of the Ocean." Since then I've been saving up my allowance to buy her movies, soundtracks and magazines. I write to her every
week at her fan mail addresses trying to get her autograph, but until now I haven't gotten any replys but I'm not giving up I will still continue writing. Some people even think I'm like a tomboy but I'm not! Everyday when I get home from school after I've finished my homework I visit her fansites. I'm one of Michelle's biggest fans and like Noelle when you insult her I get hurt too. But whatever happens no matter what I will always support her and be her fan.

(THE SHORT POEM)

Dear Michelle

Your hair is the color of gold
Your lips are as red as blood
Your eyes are like sparkling blue crystals
and your teeth are like shiny pearls
Everything about you is perfect
That is why you are the most beautiful person that ever lived....