Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ and

Friday, April 28, 2006

Clams on the Half-wit

Okay, I'm sorry, I just can’t restrain myself any longer...

Batshit-crazy couch assaulter Tiny Tom Cruise (otherwise known as TTC) and Blank-eyed "actress" Katie Holmes have delivered their baby Clam. Or had it delivered. Perhaps by a pillow company. No word as to whether BEAKH kept her mouth shut tight as a, well, clam during labor, as the Clams’ (otherwise known as Scientologists) religion prescribes.

All righty, then! It’s a “religion” pretty much the same way I am Queen of the Universe. It was founded by a science fiction writer! ON A BET! A BET WITH ANOTHER SCIENCE FICTION WRITER! Or so at least the beautiful myth would have it, and I do so love believing that it was...

But even if it wasn’t on a bet with a writer far his superior, it was still the work of a sci-fi hack, and the bigamistic Elron of Driveldell has been tagged by many reputable witnesses with expressing, on numerous occasions, the sentiment that why was he wasting his time on unremunerative (and badly written) scientific fiction when he could be brilliantly inventing a scientificological religion and raking in millions of—sorry—clam$.
Oh, the humanity! Oh, the clam-osity! Oh, the great galactic goober Xenu!

As a science-fiction writer myself, I feel that I have MISSED a bet here. Any science-fiction writer friends of mine want to compete with ME to invent a religion? No? Well, you’ll be sorry you didn’t, when I really AM Queen of the Universe.
I’m going to call mine Patricianism. Yes! I am! And there will be no clam worship about it, but whatever responsibly prescribed drugs you need. And chocolate will be the Sacrament. And there could be spiffy uniforms if you play your cards right. I mean, LITERALLY play your cards right. (More details to come later, perhaps, some afternoon when I’m REEEEEALLY bored...)

Oh, and OMFG, TTC wanted to eat the placenta! Though, being reportedly dyslexic, maybe he thought it was “polenta”.

TTC, or “Clambo”, as he is also affectionately known, says “Suri”, the name given to “his” defenseless infant daughter (or pillow), means “princess” in Hebrew and “rose” in Persian. Gosh, and here I always thought “Sara” or “Sarai” meant “princess” in Hebrew. In fact, people who actually SPEAK Hebrew say, uh, not so much for the Suri/princess thing. In fact, they say they've never heard of it. Obviously TTC's naming skills are on a par with his knowledge of psychiatry and post-partum depression.Though doubtless he knows FAR more Hebrew than Hebrew-speakers do, because I'm sure he's studied it as extensively as he's studied psychiatry. Or needs psychiatrizing. Did I mention “sydlexic”? Uh, sorry, “dyslexic”? Yes, I b’lieve I did.

But stop the presses! I have just learned that “Suri” means “trouser” in a language spoken in Ethiopia and it means “pig” in Punjabi. Not to mention "pickpocket" in Japanese, "pointy nose" in the southern Indian language of Todas, an epithet for Lord Krishna (ooooh, Xenu pissed!), a breed of alpaca, "anthill" in Hausa and "large sack" in Pushtu. Well, hooray for comparative nomenclature!

All this stuff I have gleaned from online commentators (and, oh, okay, maybe added to a bit). Except the polenta one, which came from my friend Michael Rosenthal. (Bet it would have been tasty with a—wait for it—CLAM sauce. Mmmm, placenta con vongole!)

Seriously, though, can there BE anyone nuttier? I somehow don’t think so. Or anyone sadder than Blank-Eyed Katie Holmes? The lights aren’t on, haven’t been for months—probably Con Ed’s disconnected the wiring by now—and we have long been aware that nobody’s home. Poor little force-fed Clam!

The Vatican is saying boycott “The DaVinci Code.” I say boycott “Midget Impossible: 3”!

[The opinions expressed herein are those of the Great God Tiggywinkle, Galactic Creator Hedgehog, and not those of the author, who has temporarily been possessed, or Tigged, and which may be supplemented in future as The Truth is further revealed to her and she progresses to various levels of Clear, er, Hedge.]



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