The Fantastic Fandom of the Phantom

This new weekly column chronicles life in Southern California--the small moments that define this community. The funny, the bizarre, the poignant, the mundane. The people, some of them celebrated, some not. Reader suggestions are welcome.

In their voluminous black capes and wide-brimmed fedoras, Phantomphiles--among them a few Ms. Phantoms--opened up their minds and let their pfantasies unwind at a gathering of pfanatics.

Cashing in on the somewhat unpfathomable craze, vendors hawk “Phantom of the Opera” teddy bears and Phantom and Christine Christmas ornaments ($15 a pair). Offered at silent auction is a black terry-cloth bathrobe with silver logo once worn by Davis Gaines, the current star of the Music Center production.

Fans--young and middle-aged--hum along as singers and lip-syncers perform to the recorded “Phantom.” These people could write the music of the night themselves: some are said to have seen the show 60 times.

Wally Wingert, a deejay at KTWV (The Wave), proves that phantoms can be funny with his winning routine in the talent and costume contest. With apologies to The Muppets, he portrays Kermit as the Pfrogtom of the Opera--now in its “pfourth pfrogtastic year.”

Wingert, who has seen the show six times, explains his fascination with Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical about the hideously deformed wretch who casts his spell over the beautiful Christine:

“Anytime the guy can seduce the girl, even though he’s pretty messed up, it’s OK with me.” Wingert marvels at the way in which the Phantom uses his power and genius to entrance her “without being Mel Gibson.”

Wingert likes to think of himself as “an ugly little guy who lives in an apartment in Culver City” and woos and wins a Christine. But listeners to The Wave know him as that voice they hear between 2 and 5:30 a.m. “The Phantom kind of has a double meaning for me,” Wingert suggests.

They Believe in Santa

Santa Claus is coming to town--and he (or she) may have a degree from Santa school under that wide black belt.

On a recent evening, five costumed Santas, one elf and two Mrs. Claus candidates sign in for a class offered by the Learning Annex. For $24 and three hours of their time, they hope to come away with some tips on being creditable ambassadors for Kris Kringle.

Their teachers are David Gross and Jim Skaggs, both magicians and veteran Santas. “This is a recession and people are having a tough time,” Gross tells them straight off. But even in the worst of times, he adds reassuringly, people need something to believe in--and everybody loves Santa Claus.

Gross and Skaggs then offer some do’s-and-don’ts that, they suggest, will convince skeptics and Scrooges and also put top cash in Santa’s red velour pockets:

Shy away from mall jobs. Malls pay about $10 an hour for a long, sweaty stint in a Santa suit. A neophyte Santa can make $50 an hour at a big corporate event or private party.

The truth is on the side of the doubters, so Santa does not try to defend himself. When confronted with the information that there is no Santa Claus, Santa’s best bet is to change the subject--quickly.

Also:

Santa is clean. Santa smells good. Santa has good breath.

Santa does not drink on the job.

In a showdown with a determined beard-puller, Santa is apt to wind up cleanshaven.

Santa does not flirt with women who come on to him. Santa is happily, happily, happily married.

Marcia Mueller, an adult school teacher, wants to do a turn as Santa as a Christmas gift to her English-as-a-second-language students, to whom the jolly old gent is somewhat baffling.

On principle, she isn’t much interested in being Mrs. Claus. She asks Skaggs, “Are there equal opportunities for female Santas?”

He is not encouraging. When there’s a budget crunch, he explains, “They’re not going to X Santa and keep Mrs. Claus.”

Deborah Schram, a college student and preschool teacher, is handed a green elf costume with bells when she arrives. But she, too, is thinking she could pull off the main act. And she’d like to pick up some of that holiday cash.

One member of the class wonders: Does Los Angeles possibly have all the Santas one city needs?

Gross assures him that there are gigs aplenty for good Santas: “This is not like Cabbage Patch dolls. It’s an evergreen.”

Overheard

In a move uptown and upscale, Loehmann’s “Shop With a Vengeance” discount designer outlet hit Beverly Hills (Adjacent). And, seemingly, Beverly Hills and most of Greater Los Angeles hit Loehmann’s.

The communal dressing rooms are a sea of cellulite. In a feeding frenzy, bargain-hunters all but trample one another in the quest for cheap Donnas and Oscars and Annes and Perrys.

They check for status labels (those not snipped out to protect the designer) and they stalk the faux leopards through the cavernous hall of racks and into the more exclusive Back Room:

“Are you sure the slit goes in the front?”

“I want something dressy in a tailored sort of way with the sequins and all that.”

“Are these pants returnable? I have to try them on at home with a panty girdle.”

“Hmpff. Last year’s spring stuff.”

“For my daughter’s bat mitzvah, what did you expect?’

“It’s still cheaper than in the stores--and so much of it!”

“Tell her to wear a camisole and nothing will show.”

“Look, this is what retirement is about . You spend a lot of time shopping.”

“It’s the new short long look.”

“I have to go back and get Phyllis. I left her in sweaters.”

“Someone just took that little black vest. That was mine!”

“It’s stunning, but it’s heavy. I try not to buy heavy. Heavy is New York.”

“Size 2? As in 2? “

“I don’t care if this is Loehmann’s. She still stepped on my foot!”

“So you starve all year . . . “

“That kid’s picking off the sequins!”