B-feature Love Boat Sailing to Parts Unknown

Hi-di-ho dolls!

I sure had an oddball few days in Parsippany New Jersey at the Chiller autograph fest. I have to admit I did have some fun amidst the unique bunch of guests signing their names on various and sundry glossies and posing with endless smiles for thrilled strangers. Thank the saints that my Austin pal Roggie Baer met me at the Hilton (in the vast middle of nowhere-like an island unto itself) and helped me set up, hang out, and greet fans. It’s almost as if the rest of the world stops and you’re aboard the B-feature Love Boat sailing to parts unknown, very slowly.

To my immediate right was a long lost hero of  mine, Mickey Rooney, (if you haven’t seen the film, ‘The Last Mile’, and only know Mickey as Andy Hardy, please go to Netflix and be amazed) who is now 89 and sort of propped up by his smiling wife Jan. I was there a couple of days and finally got the courage to ask if I might have a photo with him. It was Halloween and I was wearing devil horns, which he took great offense to. “Not with those horns on,” he said dramatically with a frown. Jan came to my rescue…”Oh Mickey,”  she chided, shaking her head. He had long, long lines and I am sure his very old hand must have ached and throbbed, signing so many  “Mickeys.” When Richard Dreyfuss arrived, he toddled over and hugged him tightly.

It was a great pleasure to have my longtime friend (and fellow groupie-she has a chapter in “Let’s Spend the Night Together”)  Cassandra “ELVIRA” Peterson there to wave to across the crowded room.
The only time we left the premises was to have dinner with her at a fab Indian restaurant one evening – otherwise, as I said, it was a strange bulky Hilton floating through Nowheresville. It was grand to
meet some of my fans, and I enjoyed chatting about their personal rockin’ experiences. I sold a bundle of photos, which I also have here on the site for sale. The big sellers, of course, were the naked
hippie shots by the late great Tom Wilkes, but Robert Plant was popular as well!

Bowser from Sha Na Na was there (The GTOs used to dance with them on stage) Davy Jones from the Monkees too. When I met him (40 years later) and reminded him that we once hung out at his Hollywood  Hills pad, he looked at me as if I might have 2 or 3 heads. Maybe  because his very young new wife was observing. (Actually, I got high with him more than once, and Mickey Dolenz too) Linda Blair was a sweetheart and I actually got to meet Ann Margret, who was quite charming and seemed to have heard of me. Viva viva Las Vegas, baby!

I  went looking for a fellow I was surprised to see on the menu, one David Johansen of the New York Dolls. I finally found him, pretty disgruntled and unamused in a small room filled with florescent lighting, making him appear craggier than ever. He still looked hot to me, dolls. A VIP in my rock & roll book! I gave him a copy of the GTOs album and 8X10(on sale here too!) and attempted to pay him the  appropriate homage without groveling. Many years ago I read that he  said the GTOs were his fave band. Perhaps he was kidding.

I did meet some kindred spirits and had a few Absoluts with some creative souls and all was right with this wacky world – Parsippany New Jersey, a place I will probably never see again.

. . . Like Any Crazy Darn Thing Could Happen

Oooohhhh, it’s so windy outside here in the City of Angels tonight, it always puts me on edge, like any crazy darn thing could happen at any minute. Since my bf Mike has been gone, I’ve spent quite a few nights at home, bumbling around, watching dvds ~ my very cool friend, Gabriel Byrne’s, In Treatment. I feel like I’m in therapy, I’ve seen so many episodes lately. He kindly sent me all of last season and how I wish I was on his couch! Just kidding, dolls…er, well, sort of…His character, Paul, gets right down into the heart of the matter, and I believe  Gabriel was robbed of the Emmy this year. So there.

On another track…I actually hit the Strip last night, the House of Blues in particular, to see a band I never thought I would stand in front of. My friend/writing student, Bonnie invited me to see Train, and since I’ve promised myself to get out to meet and greet, I said, ‘Why the heck not?’ Bonnie used to date the original bass player and has seen the band over 300 times! That beats my record by a country mile, dolls. I probably saw the Burrito Brothers 50 or 60 times, the Doors and Zappa, 20 or 30 times, Love and Captain Beefheart and Zep maybe 20 times, but 300 times! It’s a breathtaking feat. Apparently Bonnie dropped out of school to follow Train. Now that is dedicated groupiedom!

I waited expectantly, clutching my Absolut and soda with lime, amidst the obviously adoring capacity crowd, and when the band appeared, I was immediately impressed. After a few numbers, I actually swayed and grooved. What a surprise. Yes, they are a tad corny, the lyrics overly upbeat, but the vibe was joyous, and everybody sang along with the optimistic words, feeling good, baby, waving their arms, smack dab in the moment. The lead singer, Pat Monahan has a graceful, astute handle on his audience, and about midway, he invited 4 girls from the audience to become the Trainettes and sing backups with him, a real crowd pleaser for sure. When he launched into ‘Goin’ to California,’ he hit notes that the Golden God can’t reach anymore. But I swirled back, back, back in time to sitting atop Jimmy’s amp, watching Robert  sweat, wail, toss his golden locks around, throwing his Leo shoulders back like nobody has done before or since. Robert once held up a Zep show at the Forum until the car he sent for me arrived at the venue. Sigh. But I digress…

I have never been a Train fan, even though I have to admit, “Drops of Jupiter” got ahold of me when it hit the airwaves in 2001. “Tell me…did you fall for a shooting star…” By the end of the night, I was glad I chose to throw on a skimpy frock and hit the trail. Bonnie took me backstage to meet Pat and the boys, and when I told Pat he was a stellar showman, we wound up discussing the glory of the last great rock frontman, David Lee Roth. Apparently Diamond Dave often caused a ruckus by announcing that he had fucked the girlfriends of various annoying geeks. Or something like that.

I am off to the New Jersey Chiller fest this coming weekend, Halloween, signing photos. I have even made some copies of “I’m With the Band’ out-of-print audio book and some GTO’s cds up for grabs, so come on down and meet me! I have never done one of these and I need  you! Thank goodness my pal Cassandra “Elvira” Peterson is going to be there…and I just found out David Johansen is going to be among the celebs in attendance. He once said that the GTOs were his fave group. Groovy, eh?

Later rock angels…
Kisses, Miss P

DYLANISMS

ROLLING STONE COLUMN #74

DYLANISMS

Pamela and Bob

Last week I waited in a long line once again to stand in front of my favorite musician. I raced past fans of all ages, races, shapes and sizes to be as close as possible to The Master of Peace. I was still in high school the first time I saw Bob Dylan shake up the Universe. He had just gone electric, plugging in and juicing up his potent in-your-face truth-telling Yes, he was pissing off the gentle folkies, but gathering rock fans into his undeniably profound and mind-blowing-in-the-wind lyrical genius.

I have long been drawn to blasts of wisdom by various philosophers, poets and saintly folk – those able to shift my mood from one of stressed out impatience to serene acceptance with a mere two-sentence blast of insight. A few brief words that embolden, reassure or electrify. More than once I have had an ‘Aha!’ moment reading comforting phrases by Plato, Emerson, Lao Tsu, Jung, Jesus.

I’m grateful that I was a teenager in the sixties, because my generation had our very own fearless rabble-rousing soothsayer. Somehow a young man from the great American Midwest was able to express the tumult, wonder, and emerging rebellion of millions starting to question the status quo. Even though Bob Dylan continues to sell out stadiums all over the world, and his last album entered the charts at Number One, it concerns me that the generations that came after me haven’t been exposed to his exquisite declarations. I encourage my Italian readers to dip into Dylan’s massive catalogue, if you haven’t done so already. Every rock musician alive today owes a debt of gratitude to the American Bard.

As a teenager, after listening to ‘Freewheelin,’ ‘Bringin’ It All Back Home,’ and ‘Highway 61’ endless times, the expected suddenly became unexpected. There was way more to it than I realized. I often say that Dylan spoke our minds for us, putting into words what the hippies, flower children, love-craving freaks and peace-niks, were thinking. But he did more: he wiped the sleep from our eyes and yanked off the rose-colored glasses of acceptance and resignation. The faÁade of the Status Quo suddenly seemed like a cocked and loaded gun pointed directly at anyone looking too deeply or too hard. It was like being given second sight; I was able to see through the shuck and jive, getting a peek into the thorny heart of the matter. It was breathtakingly frightening and wildly exhilarating all at once.

Dylan appeared to be addressing disenchanted youth with songs such as ‘The Times They Are a Changin’ and ‘Masters Of War,’ and he did speak our minds for us, heralding a spiritual revolution that hasn’t stopped, but his vast vision has far surpassed that brief, bright instant. His words transcend time, just like the ‘banned-in-Boston’ poet, Walt Whitman, who also challenged hypocritical morality.

“Like A Rolling Stone” was the first ‘long form’ rock song (over six minutes!) that emboldened DJs dared to play in its mind-blowing entirety. Before Bob (BB) rock music was all about how to get the doll of your dreams or how to heal a broken heart. After Bob (AB) musicians were forced to face the music and leap into the abyss.  The insistent phrases that lit a never-ending flame in my brain, ‘You shouldn’t let other people get your kicks for you…’ and ‘When you got nothin’, you got nothin’ to lose,” were as profound as Blake, eternal as Shakespeare, and as demanding as Dante. Dylan blazed a high-beam at the bullshit, demanding that we take a long, hard, unobstructed look. And he has not gone gentle into that good night. “A cold blooded killer stalking the town/Cop cars blinkin’, something bad going down/Buildings are crumbling in the neighborhood/But there’s nothing to worry about, ’cause it’s all good,” he says on my fave song, “It’s All Good,” on his latest album, “Together Through Life.”  Dylan takes that horrible, worn out, lame phrase and infuses it with the tragic irony of truth.

I had the pleasure of meeting Bob Dylan several years ago, and gave him my first book. When I saw him again a few weeks later, he told me he had read it “from cover-to-cover” and that I was “a good writer.”  It was one of the most delightful, joyous moments of my life, and made me realize I was on the proverbial “right track.”

I have combed through all of Dylan’s lyrics, and want to share a few of my supreme favorites with you…

“Now, each of us has his own special gift
And you know this was meant to be true,
And if you don’t underestimate me,
I won’t underestimate you.”

“Most of the time
I’m strong enough not to hate
I don’t build up illusion ‘til it makes me sick
I ain’t afraid of confusion no matter how thick…”

“The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin’.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times, they are a changin’…”

“The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.”

“May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.”

“In the fury of the moment I can see the Master’s hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand…
Then onward in my journey I come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.”

Well, dolls, I could go on and on and on for many pages, but I only have this one.

“How does it feel…
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?”

The Golden God Speaks My Name and the Word is Good!

Greetings dolls o’ mine!
It’s been far too long since I chatted you all up! I have been one  busy chick lately, lots of travel and enervating negotiations going  on. I spent my usual week in the tiny town of Fairmount, Indiana,
celebrating the short, sweet, passionate life of its finest  inhabitant, James Byron Dean. It is always a treat to hang with the  unique array of ‘Deaners’, people that the rebel himself would have found delightfully strange, I’m sure. I started going to Fairmount 12  years ago when I was working on a Dean project that turned out to be a  screenplay – my first. I actually went to UCLa for 2 years so I could  learn the important factoids about writing for the screen. One day I  will meet the brave soul who’d like to produce the darn thing.

Sooooo…. I am so fortunate to be able to stay at the James Dean Gallery when I hit that little town of 2,900. I sleep so peacefully in  the room next to my dear pals, former New Yorkers, Dave and Lenny, the  charming fellow I dance with all over town. We came in second again at  the JD dance contest, losing out to a pair of white-haired charmers  pushing 90.

They arrived on a bicycle built for two and I knew the jig  was up, so to speak. It’s such a cosmic blast to dance with Lenny, we  have an exquisite connection when we dance like they did back in the  50s. Our tune was Rock Around the Clock and we merged with Bill Haley and his spectacular Comets as we twirled and spun. Lenny actually  taught me how to swing dance, as I was always a love-in freewheelin’  hippie dancer, and I am forever grateful to him.

I took my friend and  writing student, Nadine, to F’mount for the first time, she being a massive JD fan, and it’s such a thrill to share the experience. She wept at his grave just like I did when I first pulled up to his simple gravestone. James B Dean – 1931-1955. Sigh. He shook up the world by being surreally real, and film acting has never been the same since.

My longtime spiritual teacher Light (she was ‘Arianna’ in my second  book, Let’s Spend the Night Together)just turned 70 and I was  fortunate to have her birthday bash here at Chez Pamela. Her friends  and clients came from all over the world to kiss her holy ass. She treated us to many little gifts- creating little hand made scrolls for each of her students. Mine reads: “Make the divine your love, your hopes, your dreams, sing your songs of longing, loss and hopes to the divine. Be a groupie of THAT.”  She knows where I dwell, dolls.

I am off to Austin Thursday to teach my writing workshops, see my  goddaughter, Polly and great goddaughter Harper Lee, and spend some precious quality time in Houston with my darling Mike Stinson. He’s doing amazingly well there, lots of gigs and well-deserved attention.  I miss him insanely every day. I get to see 2 of his gigs while I’m there. I miss his music almost as much as his kisses.  And then I’m heading for NYC/Jersey to do that oddball ‘Chiller’ autograph signing  deal. It’s my first and I don’t know what to expect. Come see me!! I  just printed up a passel of photos and cds and will be offering them here soon ~ signed just for YOU!

It looks like my groupie doc based on Let’s Spend the Night Together’ is really going to happen! VH1 is on board and we start shooting soon. Can’t wait to see Sweet Connie in Little Rock and  Cynthia Plaster Caster in Chicago. Such great tales, captured forever!
yay!

If you’re local in L.A., join me for my next Rock Tour November  14! Already filling up. FUNfunfun!

If you sweethearts haven’t seen or heard my fave rave Todd Snider, please check him out. I have my faves and he’s been in the Top Ten for  a long time. My friend Kymm and I saw him play the Grammy museum last week and hung out with him for awhile, grooving it up. He sings from the center of his heart and touches you where it hurts and hums…he ran into Robert Plant at the airport a few days ago and mentioned that he knew me and RP lit up apparently, saying all kinds of yummy things about me. The Golden God speaks my name and the Word is good. Ha ha!  Life is grand!

Luvluvluv,
Miss P.

Secret Lives of Women: Groupies

When: Tuesday, September 29, 200910:00 PM to 11:00 PM EDT with Miss P! 

Where:  On the O Channel

Here are photos from yesterday’s dance contest. We came in second!

Will write more later!!

Sock It to Me!

Hi dollfaces!
I love my girlfriends so much, all of them are so crazy creative and brilliant. I went to my groovy galpal Allee Willis’s Museum of Kitsch bash Monday night and marveled at  her ability to keep the ball
rolling 24/7. LIke myself, she collects many many things. I just love looking around my pad at all the scintillating colorful vintage finds.  They make me happy to be alive. Allee’s taste is even quirkier than  mine and now she has put some of her extra special items under glass  in a Hollywood art gallery. I was dead chuffed to discover that 3 of  the gifts I have found for her over the years made the cut… my fave  being a melted beer bottle with psychedelic lettering – Sock it To Me!  Oh yes. Good idea. Allee wrote all the Earth Wind & Fire hits and lo and behold, 2 members of the band turned up! I was actually featured in the centerfold of their very first album, a bug eyed blonde, high as a kite, and introduced myself to Verdeen and chit-chatted about the eccentric photographer, the fab Lee Lawrence. They got up on stage and sang with Allee and an hysterical comedienne, Luenell Campbell, who played the hooker in Borat . . . she helped me zip up my vintage frock after I attempted to show the crowd my Jesus tattoo (trying to cajole someone out of their awesome bible purse!), and she astutely remarked that she was honored to zip me up after so many rock gods had unzipped me, ha ha!

Earth and Wind of Earth, Wind, and Fire

My eternal pal, Iva Turner and I bopped to Boogie  Wonderland like we did in my ‘bop room’ back in Reseda, and a few  folks dared to karaoke their version of ‘September.’ I have never seen Allee so happy. Gail and Div Zappa were there, and sweet (pregnant!) Lisa Loeb.

Lisa Loeb and Pamela

Fancy pretzels were served but I couldn’t dig in as I am gluten-free these days. I did indulge in a mediocre white wine served to me by a very attractive boy. . . Miss Mercy was with me and we had a ball . . .

I am off to Fairmount, dolls, to commune with the ghost of my darling  James Dean. Will write to you from the heartland very soon . . .

smooches,

Miss P.

PS- Check Allee out! www.alleewillis.com

ROLLING STONE COLUMN #73: REFLECTIONS ON AMERICA’S FIRST TEENAGER

“Dream as if you’ll live forever, Live as if you’ll die today. . . .” –James Dean

When I had just turned eight years old, I was riding along the perfect new L.A. freeway in our ’48 Ford, my head in my mama’s lap and my feet in my daddy’s. It was dusk and the sky was turning pale violet, and this little girl didn’t have a care in the wide, wide world. Frank Sinatra was crooning on the radio when suddenly a voice broke through, shattering the perfection, “I am sorry to have to report that actor, James Dean was killed in a highway accident this evening on route 446.” It was September 30, 1955. My mom shook her head sadly, “Oh, how sad, he was so young…”

“Who was James Dean, mama?”

Good question. People have been trying to figure that out ever since. At such a tender age, I had not yet experienced death, and was instantly curious about the young actor, this shooting star who was important enough to stop Sinatra in mid-croon.

For the next few weeks, all the silver screen magazines had James Dean’s glorious high-cheekboned puss plastered on their covers and I bought every one of them. The stories inside held intriguing facts about this audacious outsider from a tiny town in Indiana, who came to shake things up and change acting forevermore. He had only been in 3 films, “East of Eden,” Rebel Without a Cause” (which cemented his eternal teen rebelhood) and “Giant,” which he had barely finished before his little silver Porsche Spyder was hit head-on by a big bulky station wagon driven by a sorry fellow with the hapless name of Donald Turnupseed.

There are only a handful of icons that continue to make zillions after their demise – Elvis (of course), Marilyn Monroe…and James Dean. His moody visage brings in about 5 million every year. He still inspires creative souls to take chances, take risks, take the bull by the horns and climb on. Apparently Elvis was such a massive fan that he knew every single word of Dean’s films, and whenever he uttered a line, the King expected his cronies to respond with the very next line-or they were in Trouble with a capital T. So besides raising the bar in acting, it’s very possible that James Dean also helped create rock and roll.

In 1956, the first book (of many) about Dean was released, “James Dean” by his former roommate, William Bast. I chewed and swallowed every word about his short, troubled, determined life and stared at the photos with bleeding teenage sorrow until I couldn’t breathe. I was devastated by this huge loss and carried a tattered photo of his headstone around in my pink plastic wallet for years, dreaming of the day I could put flowers on his grave in the small Midwestern town of Fairmount, Indiana. The goofy, gangly boys at my Junior High School could never measure up to the dead, holy perfection of James Byron Dean. 1931-1955.

Long before every household had a VCR, I would set my alarm whenever one of his movies played on TV in the middle of the night, and swoon all by myself in the dark, wishing I could be Julie Harris or Natalie Wood. “I Looo-ooove somebody” she whispered, gazing into the rebel’s dreamy blue eyes. And so did I.

I have always felt a cosmic connection to James Dean. When my son was born in 1978, we called him Nicholas Dean Des Barres, not even realizing that the day he came into the world was September 30.

It took me decades, but ten years ago, I finally made it to Fairmount, Indiana. I had finished three books, and decided to do some kind of James Dean project, which eventually turned into a short story in the collection, “Carved in Rock,” and a screenplay called “Kills the Cat.” I had interviewed many of his friends, even spending an entire week with his best chum, Lew Bracker, in Kansas City. By this time I was calling him “Jimmy,” like all of his pals did. I had been having intense dreams about him, in which he invited me into his psyche, divulging his acting technique in a very personal, humorous and vivid way. I had his signature tattooed on the back of my neck, and it felt like I’d been branded.

When my friend and I pulled up at the small graveyard in front of Jimmy’s small headstone in Fairmount, it was dusk once more, and there were two people tending the grave, who turned out to be his cousin, Marcus Winslow and his wife Mary Lou. Marcus takes care of Jimmy’s estate and still lives in the house where Jimmy grew up. The timing was impeccable which didn’t really surprise me. It was Jimmy at work. I could just see his sly dimpled smile up there in rebel heaven. Marcus invited us to the farmhouse where I got to sit in Jimmy’s childhood room. With my heart pounding I held his record albums, (One was “Hello Young Lovers” by Sinatra) and looked through his writing and artwork. Touching his things, my hands throbbed and felt like they were on fire. It is one of my fondest memories in this lifetime or any other. I had finally made it to James Dean’s bedroom.

Since that first trip, I have been to Fairmount at least 20 times. I can’t get enough. I have made forever friends with many of the locals, and actually consider the town my home away from home. I’m making another trip there next week, for the annual celebration of his short life. I’ll check out all the 50s cars, don my dancing frock and hang out with all my Dean pals–but when evening falls, I’ll walk through the violet dusk to Jimmy’s gravesite, I will lay down in the grass and commune with the ghost of my favorite rebel, America’s First Teenager.

“I think there is only one form of greatness
for man.  If a man can bridge the gap
between life and death. I mean, if he can live
on after he has died, then maybe he was a great
man. To me the only success, the only
greatness, is immortality.”

–James Dean

Gram Parsons

My beloved Gram Parsons passed away 36 years ago today…I am so grateful to him for turning me on to George, Merle, WIllie and Waylon…oh lord, grant me vision, oh lord grant me speed…Here is his granddaughter, (and my great goddaughter).

#9 #9 #9

Hi dolls o’ mine,
I have just returned from the far shores of Virginia, spent a week with my dear Mike Stinson at his mom’s beauteous pad right on the  ‘creek’ in Bayford.

Pamela and Mike Stinson

Their idea of a creek is pretty amusing as it is miles and miles long and extremely wide to boot. I have visited Susan  several times and wanted to see Mike for my birthday, so grabbed the  opportunity to meet with him there. It was a relaxing, sweet and  slightly melancholy experience because he now lives in Houston and our time was short. We celebrated my 9-9-09 day with a few friends and a  bunch of gluten free honey cupcakes, a big surprise from  Susan. . . luscious and yummy.

Susan and Pamela

I was toasted at 9:09 PM and my head spun  with #9,#9.#9!!! Mike chose such perfect gifts for me, a cowgirl purse, some bracelets with big chunky gems, and a cool vintage  cowgirls shirt that fit perfectly. One of my heroes, the 86 year old  artist, ‘Babbie’ came to the little bash and I was honored.

I met her  years ago and we connected like kindred dolls because she is a member of the church of religious Science and actually KNEW one of the founders and brilliant thinkers, Emmet Fox. She is collected  by many  folks on the Eastern shore and paints with her heart. Her paintings  live, breathe and move like Van Gogh’s do. She really shocked me last  year when she asked for a photo so she could paint ME! Zowie, what a  spectacular honor!

Mike and I  thrifted, (Check out my ebay auctions this week!) and ate lots of crab and shrimp, stayed up late to watch ‘darkness files,’ (those scary tawdry tales on Tru TV) and gazed into each others’ eyes, as usual.

I came home to a couple of high powered meetings and I hope t be telling you all some incredible news very soon!!

Next week I make my annual (sometimes tri-annual) trek to Fairmount,  Indiana to commune with James Dean’s very sensual ghost. I have made so many good friends there and I often actually LONG to be in that quaint little town, walk the same streets Jimmy walked down, the sidewalks haven’t been updated since the 20s. . . I feel his footprints and sly madness everywhere. 2 years ago, my dear pal Lenny & I  came  in second place in the dance contest and I want to enter again, wearing my finest crinolines and spike heels. Somehow his death day, September 30, has becoe a huge event, with 50,000 rockabillies arriving in their 50s Deanmobiles. He’s cracking up in heaven I’m sure.

I hope some of you dolls can make it to New Jersey for the Chiller Autograph event over Halloween. It’s my first one and I am printing up a bunch of photos and cds. . . then I’ll be teaching my first writing workshop in Manhattan Nov. 2-3. I’m thrilled! I am teaching my bi- annual Austin workshop Oct. 16-17 . . . come join us, you hot Texas angels!

I have been fairly freaked out by the scary Republican depictions of our president as a Nazi and an African native with a bone through his nose. Can we call just send our handsome, thoughtful prez some love and light to counteract the hatred? And then lets send some more love to those hate mongers. . . maybe it will do them some
good…
Love you all,
Miss P.

Shake, Rattle, and Roll

Greetings my dear dolls!

I had a small gathering of my darling doll-pals to celebrate my birthday a few days early last night, and it was such a comfy sweet groove. I adore my girlfriends. . . yummy red velvet cake was gluten-free and deee-lish! Lots of tasty potluck and thoughtful gifts. My friend Vicki made me some ‘bottle art’ and included a photo of me and my new fave-rave, Jack White. Talk about Yum. Loads of Elvis prezzies – my girls know me well! One of them asked about my Top 5 and it’s actually 6.

1. Jesus

2. Elvis.

3. Walt Whitman

4. James Dean.

5. Mary Magdalene

6. Bob Dylan.

In no particular order except Numero Uno! Rounding out the Top Ten would be All Four Beatles and William Blake. Eleven, but who’s counting? I leave before dawn tomorrow to visit Mike Stinson, my bf of over 5 years. We visit his mom on the Eastern Shore often, and I just found out it will be pouring with rain on my actual birthday, 9-9-09! I am meeting him at the Houston airport and will be stunningly excited, as I haven’t seen him in 2 months! He moved away, alas, to pursue his music career in Texas, where it is already going swimmingly for him.

My next Rock Tour of Hollywood and Laurel Canyon is October 3–come see where I rolled around with Jim Morrison! And I just decided to hold a writing workshop in Fairmount, Indiana on my annual trek to James Dean holy ground. It will be at my dear pals, Dave & Lenny’s James Dean Gallery September 29. Let me know if you can attend! I feel so at home in that tiny midwestern town. I love to loll and laze at Jimmy’s grave and catch him up on all my latest shenanigans. I also have a 2 nighter coming up in Austin, Oct 16-17, and another in Manhattan Nov 2-3. Come meet me and get your muse to wake up and scribble! I am also one of the guests at the upcoming Chiller even in Jersey Oct.30-Nov.1, and will be selling GTOs cds, photos, shirts etc. Ann Margret is going to be there. Wowie! She touched the king, she shimmied with him Viva Las Vegas, baby!

Every day I still wake up and say ‘Yay!’ I am always excited about something and that’s the way it should be. Remember dolls, we’re all in this together.

Shake rattle and roll . . .

XP