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, June 12, 2007

Smiley Smile

It may be just me, but it seems that New Yorkers are SMILING at people more. And I don't know what to do about it.

In the last, say, couple of months, I have noticed people catching my eye and smiling as we pass each other on the streets of my 'hood. This rather unsettling phenomenon takes place only on my home turf, never in midtown. And I have to say, it Creeps. Me. Out. Bigtime.

This isn't Hayseedville, Redstate, USA. This is New freakin' YORK! We do not look at our fellow citizens, we do not make eye contact as we peripheral-visionally give approaching strangers the Manhattan Once-over (Is she crazy? Will he mug me? Do they have guns?) and we CERTAINLY do not SMILE.

I know none of these people. None of them know me. Okay, it's only been a few, maybe a dozen, twenty at the outside, over the course of numerous weeks. But STILL. It's gotten to the point where I'm wondering if I forgot my trousers, or if my shirt is open, or if I have finally arrived at that special place where I am publicly perceived by strangers as a dotty old lady, and not in a good way either.

Or, I could just be going nuts. Always a possibility. But I don't think so. No, something strange and worrisome is going on here, and by God I'm going to find out what it is. And I am not smiling as I say this.


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