Pouf Honey! Before we begin, I said to the Mister recently that if his current Herr Direktör didn’t let him go home early, I would go down to the set with a pair of pinking shears with which I’d cut off Little Herr! What? Too much?! The Mister thought so…after he’d…
Category: Short Stories
When I was a kid the Gabors roamed Palm Springs. Zsa Zsa, pictured here, Eva, of television fame, Magda, who married well and often. Their mama, Jolie was a jewelry designer (I think) and I know she had store on Palm Canyon in Palm Springs. Well babies, I am not…
If you drop in this morning, stateside, in the early evening in Europe, in the wee small hours of the morning in Australia and New Zealand… you get my drift… the point is I will start reading you a saucy story all about Hollywood, but it starts in Palm Springs.…
I am doing something I’ve never done before, and I’m going to read, out loud, a little bit of my novel, “It’s in His Kiss”, and post it on the site tomorrow. It is saucy, mildly funny, it is about Hollywood, and it is kinda a romance-mystery behind the scenes…
THE SCENE I bid you welcome to the most unsettling afternoon tea party in an English rose garden of which, I hazard, you will ever partake. An afternoon tea, in an English rose garden, unsettling? Why in the name of heaven how? Why? Well there’s a killer at the table…
You will find poetry here, and thoughtful conversation. Click on the candy-colored text: SINGING IN THE RAIN? | The Old Marlovian. *** An aside: I visited this set. A recreation of Kyoto for Memoirs of a Geisha nestled in the Agoura Hills with the blazing California light filtered through giant…
“Did he love her?” “He loved her more than anything.” “Did they live here?” “Yes. In the ruin.” via It was called Slave Hill | The Pink Agendist. Photos of Panama by Eadweard Muybridge
You know, this thing struck me about blogging recently… It’s made me have more faith in people, not less. I’ve always been the kind of person who tends toward suspicion, even as a child. I remember going to work with my father one day, I think I was about twelve,…