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

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

The Real Golden Globes

I settled down to watch the Golden Globe awards last night with my usual cozy anticipation. I was, as ever, well prepared: warm jammies, clean sheets, pizza and marble cheesecake and milk.

So imagine my surprise when I actually saw actual women with actual FIGURES, not the usual procession of bulimic/anorexic/horse-pill-taking walking skeletons. Except for better skin (usually), clothes and hair, the red-carpetbaggers on just about any award show you watch generally look like the pirate crew of the Black Pearl in moonlight.

But not last night. Cleavage ruled! And about time too, I say, being a woman whose rackage looms large in her legend, who could never pass the pencil test and never wanted to. (And whose men never wanted her to, either...)

This was a thing of great cheer and power to behold. Dangerous curves ahead, right up there for all to see: the delightful America Ferrera of “Ugly Betty”, anything but ugly, in a gorgeous purple gown and with eye-boggling cleavage atop it. Salma Hayek and Jessica Biel and Jennifer Love Hewitt, all curvaceous and NORMAL-LOOKING (well, as normal as Hollywood ever gets). Jennifer Hudson of “Dreamgirls”, stunning. Sara Ramirez of “Grey’s Anatomy”, spectacular in clingy red. Penelope Cruz and Beyonce, all hourglass shapes and impressive breastworks. Penelope especially looked like an old-time movie star, Sophia Loren 2.0.
And not forgetting the lovely Kate Winslet, who broke ground for this delightful trend back in her “Titanic” days.
Their globes were golden indeed.

Then when the cameras showed the bone patrol—Ellen Pompeo and Katherine Heigl of “Grey’s” leading the charge—it was painful and pitiful to see the contrast. Maybe, hopefully, the trend will take hold. (And no, it’s not the same as gigundo fake water-balloon boobs affixed like piñatas to stick-thin bodies. It’s more natural and simple and beautiful than that.)

Apart from that:

No great jewels! The Globes are less dressy than the Oscars, true, but that’s no excuse. Didn’t see a decent diamond the whole night. I live for the jewelry, and was sadly disappointed.

Her Majesty Helen Mirren appeared to have a wardrobe malfunction going up to accept her first award of the evening. But she looked great in a teal gown.

Watching awards shows, I generally root for people I know, have met or who have acted with friends of mine, and I am always proprietorially pleased when they win.
This year, it was Kyra Sedgwick winning for "The Closer." Lovely woman. Once met her in the company of her lovely husband and lovely kids, when MDF Kathleen and her lovely husband took me to the Malibu Carnival and Chili Festival. So I am two degrees of Kevin Bacon professionally, since I acted in a movie with Kathleen, who acted in a movie with Kevin. And one degree personally, since I have actually met him. (The whole family is gorgeous and delightful, in case you were wondering.)

Meryl Streep could have used better makeup and wardrobe advice. She looked faded and dowdy, but gave a brilliant and funny speech.

Angelina Jolie seemed annoyed with it all. Hey, Angie, stay home then! Her dress was nice, all gray, but it needed diamonds or pearls to set it off, not boring old gold.

Didn’t care for the bum’s rush they gave Peter Morgan, the screenwriter for “The Queen”, when he started to go off on Betty Windsor. Let him finish! So many gasbags with far less to say got far more than their allotted time. Boo!

On the men’s side: Hugh Laurie, who is a god, and quite disturbingly hot, and Jeremy Irons, who has always been the thinking woman’s bit of crumpet. They looked great (except for Jeremy’s skin, kinda gray and blotchy. Hey, that’s what TV makeup is for!), they dressed brilliantly, they spoke well, wittily and literately. Swoon! Honorable mention: Aaron Eckhart.


Jack Nicholson. What do people see in this bloated clownish eyesore? He’s ragingly unattractive, modestly talented and has an ego the size of the Hollywood sign. I find him loathsome in so many ways, and whenever he was hogging the screen I went back to the book I was reading.

Poor Warren Beatty. Will no one buy this man some speech lessons? He sounded like an eighty-year-old on meds. If I’d been playing a drinking game every time he stammered or stuttered, I’d have been under the table in 60 seconds.

Clint Eastwood seemed a tad insulting, repeating Jennifer Hudson’s acceptance-speech comment about how this award gives her confidence. He looked smirky saying it and sounded ungracious. Boo!

Sacha Baron Cohen’s charmless and tasteless speech referring to the nether regions and bodily functions of his “Borat” co-star. Completely vulgar, NOT funny and the crudity went on waaaaay too long. Didn’t see the movie, now really don’t plan on it.

So all in all, a perfect evening. Now on to the Oscars!


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