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

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Potato, Potahto...

I have been following, with horror of several different sorts, the story of the cyclone disaster in Burma. First off, the appalling loss of life and property, and the equally appalling backwardness of the government in not allowing foreign aid workers in. Though when Shrub starts stuttering about US Navy warships standing off the coast willing to "help" I can sort of see why they want no part of it.

But yes, that's right, I said Burma. I absolutely refuse to call that poor sad lovely country by the name given it by the bunch of repressive thugs that run it.

In this, I take my cue from the Times of London, which calls it Burma loudly and proudly in all its coverage, and I want to smack all the newspapers and TV and radio stations in this country who cravenly cave in and call it by the unattractive, thug-conferred moniker of "Myanmar."

You'd think that since our own government is so allegedly opposed to the ruling junta, they wouldn't accept the imposed name. And yet they do. Go figure. While all the exile organizations and exiles I've seen in print and on TV unambiguously call their land Burma. They should know what its true name is...

Hey! BURMA BURMA BURMA BURMA BURMA! So much more evocative...can you imagine Kipling writing "There's a Myanmar girl a-sittin'" by that old Moulmein pagoda while the dawn comes up like thunder out of...what, Vietnam 'cross the bay? No, you can't. At least I can't.

I dislike being so railroaded. Which is also why I don't cotton to the damn Pinyin system of Chinese transliteration. Why in the name of hot horse-apples must we use the unlovely and unpronounceable romanizations such as Xi and Qi?

I don't know about you, but when I see Xi and Qi and Qan I say Zee and Kwee and Kwan. If the Chinese want us to say Shi and Chi and Chwan, then they should damn well let us spell them like that. It makes no difference anyway, since it's different letters and different alphabets, so why not go for the simplest orthographical solutions?

Again, a bunch of stubborn, repressive, ingrown, sullen thugs. Let 'em eat lo mein. As long as they don't start trying to spell it differently.


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