Sometimes, as a reader, you are just surprised. And, sometimes reading one thing leads to reading another. And to learning about new things, people, or times in history. When all these things happen as a result of one reading, you've pretty much hit the jackpot.
When I began reading Ray Robertson's, Moody Food, I was a little sceptical. I mean, Ray Robertson grew up in Chatham .... that's where I grew up. But that's not what made me sceptical ... he grew up living just down the street from Jonesy, playing road hockey with all the boys in the neighbourhood. Now, I don't mean to stereotype writers or anything ... but, in my mind, literary genius does not begin with a little boy tripping other little boys so he can get a good shot on net. In my mind, literary genius begins with a child who spends all his/her spare time reading and/or writing; he is quiet, and reserved. He does not spend his afternoons screaming "I'm open!" to teammates, or practicing slap shots, or slashing "friends'" shins. No, in my mind, literary genius cannot develop from a little boy who probably sat on the curb, trash-talking his opponents just because it was his turn to sit out a shift. Writers are sensitive observers of life, right?
Wait ... perhaps I am projecting what I know (and understand) of Jonesy's hockey career on to poor, unsuspecting Ray Robertson. Because my mind is wrong ... Moody Food is the work of pure literary genius.
Plus, Robertson was able to do one thing that no other person in the other entire world has been able to do for me ... but more on that later.
Moody Food is the story of Bill Hansen, a University of Toronto drop-out, working at a Yorkville bookstore in the summer of 1965. The story is fresh and cool and written in a way that is sure to draw you in. Bill inadvertently becomes friends with Thomas Graham, a draft-dodging American musician with a penchant for drug experimentation. They ultimately form a band and make a run for the big-time. They even brush elbows with Jim Morrison and The Doors. And, the way it is written you feel like you are actually on the road with these guys ... like you are at The Whiskey.
Although the story is of Bill Hansen, it is Thomas Graham who fascinates me. He is loosely based on singer-songwriter Gram Parsons. In fact, the similarities are unmistakable ... Thomas Graham = Gram Parsons ... from the beginning of their lives to the end.
Do you know who Gram Parsons is? Me either ... I had never heard of him but he has a wonderfully tragic story and I can understand why Robertson was drawn to him. Parsons was born in 1946, the son of wealthy citrus farmers in Georgia. Sadly, his childhood was fraught with tragedy ... his alcoholic father committed suicide when Parsons was only twelve years old; and his alcoholic mother re-married a man who would devastate the entire family because of an extramarital affair shortly before her untimely death in 1965. Gram Parsons became active in the music industry in the early 1960s, playing in rock and roll cover bands. He eventually joined The Byrds and in 1969, he formed his own band, The Flying Burrito Brothers. Parsons also collaborated with Emmylou Harris toward the end of his life.
Parsons was set to begin a (musical) tour in October 1973, but wanted to get away and relax with friends before leaving. He had become infatuated with the Joshua Tree National Monument (in California), so Parsons arranged for some friends to stay at a hotel just outside the park for a couple of nights. This would allow him to wander around in search of UFOs while high on LSD ... a preferred way to pass the time. Parsons died September 19, 1973 of an accidental overdose of morphine and alcohol in Joshua Tree, California.
But here's where things get really crazy ...
Parsons had mentioned to a couple of friends that, when he died, he wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread over Cap Rock, a prominent natural feature of the National Monument. So, on the day his body was to be returned to his family, these same friends stole the hearse (with Parsons' body inside) from the airport in LA. They drove it to Joshua Tree, where they attempted cremation by pouring about five gallons of gasoline into the open coffin and lighting it with a match. Of course, a huge fireball resulted. The culprits fled on foot and outran the police. They were arrested a couple of days later, and charged with some petty offences, resulting in only a $750 fine.
That is a true story. Sometimes the best stories are based on fact ... because really, you cannot make something like that up ...
So, I bet you are wondering what the thing is ... the thing that Ray Robertson did for me that no one else in the whole world has done. Get ready for it ... because it so unlike me ... He made cocaine seem appealing - which is not a postive thing, of course. And everything my Mom told me would happen if you mess around with drugs, happened to Bill Hansen and Thomas Graham. She taught me that dabbling in small-time drugs like marijuana inevitably leads to trying more hard core (highly addictive) drugs - which is essentially what transpires in the story. But, the way in which it is written makes the descent seem not so bad ... I mean, they got a lot of stuff done while snorting cocaine. Like, I could get all the laundry done and clean the whole house in one day 'cause I could stay awake for 24hrs in a row. Or imagine all the reading you could get done! Obviously, I will not be trying to score any blow/nose candy/snow/coke but this was the first time (in my whole life) that drugs (other than my good friend, alcohol) did not thoroughly disgust me.
I was very excited when I read that Ray Robertson had attended Bookfest Windsor in 2009, hoping that I could get a chance to chat with him this year. But he did not attend this year ... so I'm left hoping for next year? Oh ... I just wish I could hang out with him sometime ...
Robertson has published six books and a book of essays. What Happened Next is next on my "Ray Robertson" reading list. Jonesy read it and he really enjoyed it ... it recalls some of Robertson's time as a child growing up in Chatham and his obessession with Jack Kerouac. And so, it was with great enthusiasm that I found some Kerouac in my American Literature Anthology ... hopefully that means I'll get to study his work next semester.
The final count is forty-four ... 44 ... four, four ... forty + four ...
I was talking to my Aunt at a holiday gathering of family, and I told her that the final count came to only forty-four books read in one year. And, I felt bad about it. But as I listened to the words leave my mouth, I realized that I shouldn't feel bad. I have nothing to feel bad about.
I read forty-four (mostly) really good books this past year ...
And, I was going to ask you how many books you read ... but to be honest, I don't care. The number of books you read does not have anything to do with the number of books I read. The number of books you read has no consequence on the number I read, and neither of us are defined by the number of books that we read in one year. I guess I, sort of, felt as though I had failed at my challenge because I did not read 100 books in one year. But, remember what I said?
"Okay, even as I am typing this challenge, I know it is ridiculous. It is unrealistic but I need to make it a challenge. If I say that I am going to read one hundred books ... that is not a challenge. Anyone could say that. The challenge will keep me motivated."
And, the challenge did keep me motivated ...
And one final thought on number of books read ... I have read several short stories for my English courses over the last semester. Books are great, but I have come to appreciate short stories in a new way these last few months. I will be writing about it soon, because there are some short stories that are a reader's dream to interpret. Stephen King has a new book of short stories out that I am dying to get my hands on ... as does Joyce Carol Oates. Look for those to be consumed (by me) in 2011.
I may have grown as a person because of what I read. I certainly learned new things, and became familiar with writers I had never read before. I did exercise my brain, which was my original intent. And, most of all, I think this little challenge lead me to return to school. Because as fun as it was to read and blog, I quickly realized that it was not enough for me. I wanted to learn more about literature, and the craft of creative writing.
I bet you want to know if I had a favourite book ...
That is a hard question to answer ... I especially LOVED A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. I mean, you cannot meet Owen Meany and remain unchanged. I was pleasantly surprised by Ruth Reichl's Comfort Me With Apples, and I was fascinated by the role of the Jewish woman (in both her family and in her community) in Kaaterskill Falls by Allegra Goodman. I learned SO much from Randy Shilts inAnd the Band Played On; and, Alice Kuipers taught me that a really moving story can be told using very few words at all, in Life on a Refrigerator Door. And, I was both mesmerized and outraged by what I learned about the food industry. But those are just a few of many really great books that come to mind immediately. I honestly enjoyed most of what I read this year, but I also appreciated reading the ones the weren't really my favourites. Because I strongly believe that to understand what you really like, sometimes you have to explore the things you don't.
In very general terms, I find fiction is read faster than non-fiction. A fictional story often draws one in, and the reader is anxious to find out what happens ... will the protagonist reach their goal, get caught, realize their mistake, live, find their true love ... Non-fiction is often more dense, and cannot be read quickly while stirring a pot of chili with three crazy children running around - 'cause you cannot lose yourself in the story world. For instance, the difference in reading Fast Food Nation and Presumed Innocent was huge. Both really, really great books ... but read very differently. For me, anyhow.
And so, there it is. One year of reading and blogging ... done. Well, not all the blogging is done but I am working on it. There should be posts going up regularly until the Winter Semester begins .....
Originally written in Oct/10, but not posted until now.
This has been a crazy week. In fact, the last six weeks have been crazy for me. It has taken some adjustment (by everyone) to get used to the idea of Jill Jones, University Student.
This past week I had one midterm, one quiz, and two essays due. So today, after I handed in the last essay, I decided that Addie C. and I should go out for lunch. To McDonald's, of course ... her favourite.
While we were eating, I asked her about school.
"So, Addie," I chatted, "are you still learning about apples at school?"
"Nope, that's all done now," she explained.
"Oh, I bet you'll talk about leaves soon," I told her, feeling fairly confident since I have been through the JK curriculum twice recently.
"Yeah, Mommy, we already do that," Addie told me. "It's called Fall."
"Oh, pardon me," I said. "I didn't realize you were so smart. I wonder if you'll go on a nature walk this year." I was sort of talking to myself, wondering if I could somehow swing tagging along as a parental helper.
"We already did that tomorrow," she informed me. Addie C. gets her "esterdays" mixed up with her tomorrows sometimes. "And me and Simone were partners. So we shared a bag and we go alot of leaves, too."
What? How could I not know about this?
This is what I have been afraid of.
There are things going on in my little girl's life that I don't know about. That I am not involved in. It's what I have been afraid of, and I was heartbroken.
When Caiden and Marnie were in JK, I dropped them off every day and picked them up every day. I talked to their teachers every day; I knew what was happening in the classrooms; I knew who was naughty and who was nice; and occasionally, I did things with the class.
But now, I am doing things in my own classroom. With my own classmates. It feels great being out there, back in the world, talking to people, learning new things. But sometimes I feel like I am missing out on the stuff with my own kids. Like the effortless chatter when they come through the door after school.
But I cannot just sit at home, in case something interesting happens at school, right? Or wait around with the hopes that I might get the chanve to help out on a nature walk. That would be crazy ...
"I just want to eat something relatively healthy," he explained.
""What?" she said. "Do you think I am getting fat? Look at me. Do you think I am getting fat?"
"No," he answered.
"No, really," she pressed. "Do you think I've put on weight? Look at me."
"No, it's not about that," he said, getting frustrated. "It's about eating something with some nutritional value."
"Well, the only reason you need to worry about eating healthy is if you need to lose weight. So, you must think I need to lose weight."
He sighed, obviously frustrated.
"Listen, I ate at McDonald's AGAIN last night," he said. "And, I feel like shit. I just want some vegetables."
"Look at me," she demanded again. "Do I look like I need to worry about eating vegetables?"
A big sigh was (over)heard ....
This is a conversation I overheard standing in a food line in the University Centre. It made me chuckle for two reasons ... girls still have the same (body image) insecurities they did when I attended University twenty years ago, and the boy makes a good point about food options on a University Campus.
While the boy was right on point, the girl completely missed the point. The boy was concerned about health and not weight ... which was great to hear. He understands food as fuel for your body, and the importance of eating fresh food. The girl, unfortunately, was wrapped up in appearances.
As far as the choices available, I'm not really sure what could change or how to make it better. I mean, they are trying to make food for thousands of people ... there is no time to make large quantities from scratch. But what about a soup from scratch? With actual fresh vegies? Or a huge batch of fresh, homemade tomato sauce? Leftovers in the freezer?
Perhaps I am too ambitious. But I do agree with the young man in line behind me. Some fresh vegies would be nice.
There is a totally awesome fresh salad bar ... with a Southwest Salad that cannot be beat! So, if I lived on Campus, I would eat salad for lunch and dinner.
I wish girls did not have equate their worth with how they look. We have all done it, at one time or another. Fortunately for me, I have never had a weight problem ... yes, I know that I am lucky. This does not mean that I have always loved the way I looked. In fact, a couple of years ago, in a moment of self-(body)loathing, I checked out the BMI Index. I thought that it might inspire me to get my act together and get serious about eating healthy. And do you know what? My weight was in the healthy range for a woman of my height and age. And yet, I hated my body.
Women's bodies should not be skeletal. Bones do not need to be sticking out. And, skinny does not equal healthy. Do girls know this?
I say these things with caution because there is a large obesity problem in North America. No pun intended. People eat too much fast food, junk food and processed food. I have written about this many times.
When did food and eating become such a problem? Shouldn't it just be something you enjoy with some people you like? Guess not.
"Fine," she said. "I'll have a stir-fry. But I still don't think I need to."
I have a friend who has been encouraging me to read something by Stephen King as part of my challenge to read one hundred books in one year. Did you know that Stephen King reads seventy to eighty books each year? Suddenly, my pitiful thirty-five books read (to date) seems even more heartbreakingly pathetic.
In August I read, On Writing - A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King. I'm not sure if this counts as a Stephen King book to the general populous, but I sure did enjoy it. In fact, I loved it, however it is not for everyone.
For me, it was great to "talk" with someone who speaks my language. This is not to say that I feel like Stephen King and I are equals in the world of writers. Nothing could be further from the truth. However I completely understood everything that he wrote about with respect to the craft of writing. In fact, I learned a great deal, not the least of which is that I do have an understanding of the process. Some of the things he writes, I already do, some I understand the importance of but have not been able to achieve (because of the small people running around my house), and other things I had never thought of before, but completely appreciate. All that, just from reading this book.
His number one piece of advice to achieve great writing is to write a lot ... and to read, a lot. Well, that sounds like just about the perfect job to me. Does that mean that I can pick up a great book, hush the children (which means ignore them) and explain that Mommy is working? I'll have to try that one some time.
On Writing begins with a resume, of sorts. StephenKing remembers some of the early times in his life and some of the things that stand out from his childhood. He moves on to describe the events surrounding his first book (Carrie - 1974) being published, and he touches briefly on his alcohol and drug addiction. In fact, he admits that he has no recollection of writing Cujo (1981), which saddened him because he really loves that book and wishes he could recall the process of writing it. It is the kind of the auto-biographical writing that, when read, you want to share with someone else. So, suffice it to say, that Jonesy knows way more about StephenKing than he ever wanted to. But, having said that, I think he found the tidbits I threw out there, kind of interesting. Funny, gross, interesting ...
The other two thirds of the book are fairly specific to the craft of writing. Some is down-right instructional, other parts are teaching through example ... which I love. Sometimes he is specific - 2000 words per day- and other times he is more ambiguous, like when he says. "I'm doubtful about writing classes, but not entirely against them."
If you are a budding writer, I highly recommend picking this book up. But if you are just a fan of Stephen King and not really interested in writing as an art form, this may not be the book for you.
StephenKing - I cannot refer to him as King or Stephen, just StephenKing, all one word - is a really incredible person. I mean, aside from the writer; because as a writer, he is a genius and obviously, well-respected. I read lots of his stuff as a young girl ... Carrie (plus I saw the movie), Pet Semetary, Cujo are the ones that stand out. Of course, I have seen The Shining (red-rum, red-rum, red-rum) and The Green Mile which are movies based on his novels. And please, don't forget The Shawshank Redemption, based on the novella by StephenKing entitled, Rita Hayworth and the Shawhank Redemption -probably one of my favourite movies. I'll have to look for the novella.
But as a girl, my interests changed and I moved on to different writers, like Danielle Steele. Plus, at about the same time in my life, I developed a heavy social agenda, so I didn't have much time to read. Because when you are a teenaged girl, it takes approximately the same amount of time to "get ready" as it does to attend the actual event you are getting ready for.
He is a goofy looking man, whom I did not find compelling enough to really find out about the person behind the stories. For many years, I have thought of StephenKing as a grown up kid; like an adult with a boy's imagination. And, I don't think StephenKing would be offended by that statement; in fact, it would probably make him happy inside. Although he has matured, his interest still lies in the realm of science fiction. Just like it did when he was eight or nine years old and hitchhiking to movies in the nearest town. He wrote that he likes to get his character(s) into a predictament and then watch as they figure their way out of it.
Another admirable thing about StephenKing is that he has been married to the same woman for almost forty years. Which I consider a true accomplishment in the world of fame. He talks about her with respect and love and admiration. Don't you hope that your husband would describe your laugh as "adorable" or that he has a full understanding (and respect) for your lack of putting up with his bullshit - even after forty years of marriage?
Anyhow, after reading this book, I have my own piece of advice. Be patient as a writer. It is much easier to verbally tell a story than it is to write it down. Because most times, your brain moves faster than your fingers, so you have to slow down a bit and take the time to get it right. It is simple to invoke humor or expression using your face or hand-movements when telling a story. However, when writing a story you must be skilled at making your point (whether sad, or funny, or inspirational) using only words and punctuation. And you don't even get to read those words aloud to your reader ... you must hope that they can hear your voice.
Initially, I borrowed this book from the Public Library. I will be purchasing my own copy because I know I will refer back to it time and time again. That is how much I loved and appreciated this book. StephenKing is a natural teacher, and he has much to share. Do you want to learn from him?
It is the same, but it is different, too. University, that is.
As I have mentioned before, the campus is mostly the same. Of course, many of the classrooms have been updated to accomodate the use of laptops ... which means there are electrical outlets at each desk space. The classrooms are equipped for multi-media presentations, and there is free wireless available in several buildings on campus.
For the most part, the students seem the same ... the geeks, the jocks, the artsy people, the cool chicks. Plus those guys who you know will get kicked out after the first semester... They all wear jeans and t-shirts, just like in the late '80s. Pretty much anything casual goes ... I saw a guy today wearing a rainbow-coloured belt ??
And, I feel the same; which is to say that I feel comfortable. I am looking through my same eyes; the only problem is that when people look back, I look a little different to them than I did twenty years ago. I feel comfortable in a classroom, and until my Early British Literature class, I felt fairly confident in my abilities. Don't worry, we'll discuss it soon; just not today.
The one thing that has changed significantly are the professors. When I was a student twenty years ago, the professors were impersonal and distant. They were there to lecture and bestow their knowledge upon us. The professors did not care to know our names or anything about us (the students) for that matter. I felt like a number in a sea of faces. And they certainly didn't care if you came to class or not.
Today, professors seem genuinely interested in getting to know their students. In each of my first two classes, we had to introduce ourselves ... because the profs want to learn our names. They are interested in the students' opinions and thoughts ... they encourage open discussion. Sometimes they even talk about themselves in a personal manner. One of my profs told the class she failed Economics when she was an undergrad, and she talked about her little boy. This would NEVER have happened twenty years ago.
Plus, each of my four professors has given their curriculum vitae (verbally) ... like they need to reassure us they are qualified to teach university-level courses.
The professors care if you attend their classes. They want you there, and they encourage it by providing marks for class participation. Each of my four courses awards marks for attendance, and participation.
Teaching styles have changed drastically. Professors lectured when I went to school twenty years ago. They stood at the front of the class in front of a lecturn and they spoke at us. Many times it was boring, and dry, and unengaging. Today, the professors teach. It is interactive and fun. In one class, we got into groups, moving furniture around the room and putting together very small presentations on literary terms. I will forever feel comfortable in defining ideology, paradigm and hegemony.
As I am sure you can imagine, laptops are everywhere ... these kids even sit in the hallway, and while awaiting a class, they pull out their laptop and log in. Right there. While sitting cross-legged on the floor. I just don't have the energy to do that. It's much easier for us old ladies to just pull out a good old fashioned paperback book and do a little reading if we're a little early for class.
The other thing that bears mentioning is the abundance of information that is available to students today. There is an obvious and enormous difference from twenty years ago, and the contrast in the level of understanding is incredible. No longer are you dependent on just your textbook for information or explanation ... you have the Internet at your fingertips. For instance, my professor referenced a book that further expounded on the point she was making. In days past, I would not have really thought any more about it ... what could I do, other than check the University Library? However, since it was an essay published in 1967, I would never have found it. Plus I had the title wrong. After just a few clicks, I had all the information I needed to appreciate what she was talking about. My History professor posts all his power-point lecture notes on-line for easy access to what he lectured about.
It is all about easily accessed information.
The University of Windsor Library has put together special resources for each department ... just to make things even easier for research. For instance, the English resource page links students up to further readings by era, but also gives access to newspaper publications dating back to the 1800s. You can read the newspaper from the day your Grama was born ... how cool is that? But you must have a Student ID to do it.
Yep, things are definitely different. But in a strange way, it is all still the same. Except now I have to attend classes, do the assigned reading, complete the assignments on time, attend class and participate ... and try to get supper on the table for three hungry kids and a husband, too. But more on that another day.
In October of 1989, my Grampa Smyth gave me my first (serious) cookbook. Until that time, I cooked using my mom's recipes, her cookbooks - which numbered two or three, perhaps - and a children's cookbook I had received as a Christmas gift when I was ten years old. I still have it, and it was important in the life of me because it taught me how to make Cinnamon Toast.
But my Grampa recognized my interest in cooking, and I suspect that it was the first time he acknowledged (to himself) that I was growing up. He would have wanted to ensure that I could cook a good meal for my future husband. So while home (from university) for a long weekend at Thanksgiving, he presented me with the book. We had all gathered for Sunday dinner at Grampa's apartment, and he handed me this book, which had been wrapped up, if I remember correctly. I think this memory is so vivid because I was shocked that he was giving me a present ... we didn't exchange gifts at Thanksgiving?? And then I was so touched that he had been able to see me as a person, as an individual instead of just his granddaughter. That cookbook gave me my start into the world of culinary experimentation and exploration.
The book of which I write is the Good Housekeeping Illustrated Cookbook, and I absolutely adored it. I think I looked at every recipe, and then I tried lots of them. I perfected Cheesecake, homemade bread and pie crust and even made my own pasta occasionally. But it also served as a reference for roasting whole birds and (as Grampa always said) roast beast.
From that point on, my Grampa took credit for any and all my accomplishments in the kitchen.
"I gave her the first cookbook she owned," he would tell anyone who would listen, as he enjoyed a piece of my latest (dessert) creation. It was then that I became responsible for the dessert course at all family gatherings. But that is to be expected when you pump out the best apple pie on the planet, or homemade Cream Puffs.
The Good Housekeeping Illustrated Cookbook became my reference manual ... my cooking Bible.
Until I found Bittman, that is.
I have been wanting to buy How to Cook Everything (10th Anniversary Edition) by Mark Bittman for some time now. So, I finally did so a little earlier this summer, and I have not been disappointed.
Mark Bittman is a food journalist and an author. He is current, with an old fashioned sense of style. At least, that is how I think of him. He is a strong proponent of sustainable living and homecooking. He uses the freshest, most natural ingredients he can find, and his cookbook provides the reader with cool, hip recipes and some old-fashioned ones he has made-over.
How to Cook Everything is akin to a Journal or an Index of Cooking Information. It is my opinion that every kitchen should have this book ... even if you have been cooking for a number of years. Because you can always learn new things, right?
Bittman is a genius ... there, I said it. And I completely believe it, too. He makes food simple, but creates interesting, complex flavours. And he teaches technique as well. Most recipes are quick to make, with ingredients the average cook would have on hand.
One of the unique things about his cookbooks is that Bittman includes several variations for many of his recipes. For example, he will begin with a basic recipe for pasta or rice salad, followed by ten to fifteen different variations. Leave out this and this, and instead add that, that, and that ... totally different salad. And many times, he will give ideas on how take the same basic recipe and make it vegetarian by substituting cauliflower or a legume for the meat. It's really easy once you get the hang of it.
I'm sure you are familiar with the Apple campaign, "There's an Ap for that." Well, Bittman's marketing slogan could easily be "There's a recipe for that." Several times I have had an ingredient that needed to be used up so it would not spoil, and each time I have found a great use for it by consulting with Bittman. Just the other night I had some leftover corn-on-cob, and found a recipe for corn salad that was out of this world.
Don't let this turn you off ... but there are no photographs in this cookbook. Normally, the first thing I look for are great photos of the dishes you can create. Because we all eat with our eyes first, don't we? The only pictures in How to Cook Everything are instructional drawings. But, to be honest, I didn't really notice the lack of photos. I didn't need them, and you won't either. Because the more you make Bittman's recipes, the more you will come to trust him. He will not steer you in the wrong direction. Like the recipe for Watermelon and Tomato Salad ... it seems like the strangest combination of ingredients, but I cannot wait to try it. Especially since watermelon and field tomatoes are at all the local food stands.
If you are in the market for a new cookbook, please pick this one up. Look, this book has more than one thousand pages of recipes and ideas; so, if you cannot find a few good ones that would warrant the $40 you have to shell out for your own copy, then perhaps you should assign meal preparation to someone else in your family.
I think my Grampa would love it, and I wish I could surprise him with a copy of it. Why don't you? Surprise someone that you know with a fresh point of reference for their kitchen.
You can read Bittman's NY Times column, The Minimalist, here.
Parsons was set to begin a (musical) tour in October 1973, but wanted to get away and relax with friends before leaving. He had become infatuated with the Joshua Tree National Monument (in California), so Parsons arranged for some friends to stay at a hotel just outside the park for a couple of nights. This would allow him to wander around in search of UFOs while high on LSD ... a preferred way to pass the time. Parsons died September 19, 1973 of an accidental overdose of morphine and alcohol in Joshua Tree, California.
