Today is the birthday of actress Barbara Parkins. Here is an entry from my diary in which she is a central "character."
Last night I had a terrifying experience with something called "ice pack" grass, brought into the house by Hog Farm guru Wavy Gravy (nee Hugh Romney) who warned any and all about the powerfulness of the stuff. It's just grass, I thought as I reached out to take the proffered joint. Famous last words. The next thing I knew, I was flat on my ass sobbing like a baby that I was going to die. The lovely and aforementioned Barbara Parkins happened to be visiting upstairs/downstairs-fashion from the "great house" one flight up. As sensible in real life as the character she'd limned in Valley of the Dolls, cradling my head in her lap, this angel of mercy began smoothing her palm across my forehead, repeating to me over and over again the standard bad trip mantra: "You're going to be alright. . .You're going to be alright." Under normal circumstances I probably wouldn't have made it; however, coming out of a bad acid trip (ice pack was grass soaked in LSD) and gazing up at the stunning Parkins worked wonders. Thanks, Barbara. And Happy Birthday!