These are weeds but they're lovely
Yea, every once in a while I like to use big words. I have no idea what the heck it means. It just looks good.
In my previous post I promised that I would address all of your comments in my next post. Well, this is my next post and I'm too lazy to address your comments individually. I'll merely sort of generalize.
I've had a few beers, so I'll ask for forgiveness in advance for my disjointed ramblings.
First of all, mysterious and anonymous "NB" brought up the subject of scorpions and wondered if I ever saw my cats kill one. In Texas, my oldest cat Scratch killed several scorpions but I never actually saw how she did it. I had heard that cats are immuned from the venom of a scorpion sting - - but upon doing research I discovered that it isn't true. Cats have padded paws, thick fur, and tough upper palates which helps protect them from the sting.
On the subject of the memoir that I am thinking about writing: it's unanimous! Apparently everybody is in favor of me spilling my darkest secrets like sacrificial blood and offering them for public consumption. So I'll do it.
What have I got to lose - - except my dignity, my reputation, my privacy, my friends, and my relatives?
What reputation, Jon?
I actually think everyone should write a memoir. We all have special stories to tell and they should not remain unspoken. It doesn't have to be a masterpiece - - merely a documentation of memories. At any rate, it's a beneficial catharsis. Several of my blog readers have mentioned wanting to write and they definitely should. Don't let your existence evaporate.
End of lecture.
I was worried about the problem of name-dropping and the possibility of being sued, by the living and/or the dead. The dead can come back to bite. Trust me on that.
Careful evaluation of each situation and a selective choice of wording might save my hide. I'll also (unfortunately) have to change some names when relating compromising situations.
Like the time I had a four-day non-stop tryst with a film director in the Beverly Hills Hotel.......
.....or the time I was in the car with the naked actor and I leaped out and ran away when the police stopped us......
or the time I was in a midnight police raid at the notorious Drake Theater (those three incidents are worthy of a book in themselves)
I'm not bragging. I'm just saying.
I'm suddenly (and sadly) realizing that most of these things happened 35 years ago (or more), and many of the places and people I knew are no longer pertinent. My exploits might seem slightly archaic and largely inconsequential. It was a different era but an extremely colorful one.
Now I'm starting to depress myself.
I suppose I can safely express my observations about people I've met without any major repercussions.
John Wayne was a rude drunk. Groucho Marx was extremely fragile and nearly senile. Liza Minnelli is a sweetheart but slightly discombobulated (there's that word again). Joan Rivers was intelligent and surprisingly sensitive. Burt Reynolds is more gay than bi.
Hey, I'm certainly no expert on Hollywood. I don't profess to be an historian. And I'm not about to write a celebrity "tell-all" because I don't know all.
I can only offer what I've experienced and observed. Hollywood is tawdry and fickle, illusional and delusional, very often ruthless and brutal, one gigantic elaborate sham. A lot of tarnish beneath the glitz. The truth that I knew is deliciously stranger than fiction.
Change of subject (and not a moment too soon)
Rain, rain, and everything is green and lovely.
What about those mysterious "ghost" lights that I've seen in the forest?
The nights have been cold here lately. The lights have been sparse but I did see some a few nights ago. I'm still puzzled because there is no logical pattern as to when they appear. My guess is still fireflies - yet, I've never before seen fireflies on such cold nights.
This is the forest by my property where the "ghost" lights reside