ora sat very still. "Okay," she said finally. "A museum and a hotel. But Mama--what do you know about running a hotel?" "Darling, I'm not going to discuss this with you if you're going to be negative, like your father. I finally have a chance to realize my dream. And all I want is for you to be a little excited for me, okay?" Carrie Fisher, Delusions of Grandma

Suddenly, the lights dimmed. The show was to begin. Over the sound system, cool and clear, like a conscience: "Hi. It's Debbie." I swear to God I almost lost it. That very salutation was so crytalline and pure and juicy. It was like a mantra. I stifled back a shriek. God, this was so delicious. I wish all my friends who'd get it were here. And I knew Carrie was here, in spirit.

"The show is about to begin," Debbie continued on in that unique way of talking that old stars have, a blend of '40s softspeak and the disembodied futuristic voice of the Death God in Logan's Run. "And if you have to use the bathroom, please do so now, and one of the ushers will escort you. Getting up out of your seat at any other time will trigger an alarm and stop the show. And we don't want to stop the show, now do we?" Debbie ended this on the sweetest, most motherly-cynical lilt. Carrie, I know how it feels.

Then the screen went up and Debbie walked across the stage. Debbie on celluloid, that is. She sort of zoomed in and out, one arm by her side, the other pointed in constant demonstration mode, like one of those product-presenters on The Price is Right.