My name is Ginny, and I have a problem.
I am addicted to this:
My addiction began sixteen years ago, just before my ninth birthday. Gene Kelly had just died, and suddenly the television was flooded with tributes and quickly-assembled retrospectives on the life of a truly legendary artist. One of the networks scheduled a special broadcast of "Singin' in the Rain". I hadn't heard of it, but Mom said it was a good one and that we should all watch it. Since she used to be a dancer we figured she knew what she was talking about. So we gathered around the television that night and my heart was stolen away to the jazz age. In the months to come, rainstorms would bring me out onto the back deck to sing as loud as I could and stomp in the puddles in imitation of Gene Kelly's legendary dance number (Thank heaven no video footage survives of my performance. It was not Oscar-worthy.). I idolized Donald O'Connor and laughed 'til I cried at his "Make 'Em Laugh" routine. Lines like "Heeeere we aaaaare, Sunset and Camden!" or "I make more money than Calvin Coolidge! PUT TOGITHER!" made their way into our family vocabulary. And, can we just note the clothes? I have not admitted this to very many people, but to this day there are only a very few things that fill me to the brim with pure, unadulterated, exploding fireworks of bliss, and this movie is one of them.
If you've never seen the movie (or even if you have), you should probably watch this and this. Your heart might explode -- Don't say I didn't warn you!