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

Thursday, July 05, 2007

'Cause You Gotta Have Friends. Or...Do You?

Flatteringly, over the past few days a number of friend requests have come in, both here and at the new MySpace site. In a bit of a policy break, I'm inclined to allow most of the requests, always aware that Doorzoid scum and villainy is everywhere in the galaxy and hoping my cordiality won't come back to bite me on the ankle.

Some of the requests have been all that one could ask: courteous, funny, moving, literate. And I allow those as soon as I read them. With pride and thanks.

Worryingly, though, I have noticed that a number of these would-be friends do not allow me access to their profiles, sites, spaces or blogs. And some of the ones that do have empty blogs and me listed as their only friend. This, as you may well imagine, makes me deeply suspicious.

People! Did we learn nothing from the Trojan Horse? Listen, if I'd been at that little bunfight, King Priam would never have let that thing through the gates...

So. If you want me to consider friending you, I require a few things up front. No, not dinner and roses. Just an email (you can send one through MySpace) explaining who you are and why you want to be my friend (and no sucking up, either. I hate suckups), and providing a valid email address and an accessible profile/blog/site so I can go there and read it.

Because you can darn well bet I'm going to be checking up on your history/attitude/style/substance. And your friend status will depend on what I find out: tiresome little gothboy, young genius and wit, someone my own age whom I might have liked in college.
If I don't like what I read, you won't be getting friended. And even if I do friend you, I reserve the right to revoke the friending at any time, for any reason that seems good to me, even if it doesn't seem good to you.

I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, but I need to know who wants to come in before I open the door (as I recently wrote in a song). There have been too many painful incidents in the past, and I see no reason to allow any more at this late date. And there are a lot of liars and poseurs out there in cyberspace.
Plus, I don't want my friends list cluttered up with people who post inane bulletins or can't write a good English sentence. I expect a lot from people, and I've found that when I do, they invariably come through, not just for me but for themselves.

Sooooo...them's the ground rules for entry into the Lizard Kingdom. If you don't like them, no soup for YOU.


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