Pat was the sixth of Joe and Rose Kennedy’s children and considered the most sophisticated of the five Kennedy sisters.
Early on in Chris Lawford’s book, we learn that one of Bobby Kennedy’s kids took a crap in the Lawford’s swimming pool while visiting them in Malibu. The night after he was assassinated, Bobby went to the Oval Office and expunged JFK’s medical records so the nation wouldn’t find out that its martyred president had the clap. For example, in Seymour Hersh’s “The Darker Side of Camelot,” I was shocked to find out that JFK had a sexually transmitted disease called Chlamydia that he passed on to Jackie, which can cause premature birth and miscarriages in pregnant women. I judge a good Kennedy book by how much new information I can glean about America’s favorite Royal Family. Still, Chris has inherited his old man’s devilish good looks before poor Peter lost them becoming an emaciated drug addict and arranging helicopter drops of cocaine on the grounds of the Betty Ford Clinic while going through rehab with Liza Minelli.
But at age 50, Lawford is looking a wee bit too much like Phil Spector nowadays judging from the photo on the dust jacket, with his fright-night, Spector-esque coif. I always thought that Christopher Lawford, in his younger days, was the sexist third generation Kennedy after John-John.
#COLD TURKEY SOFTWARE CRACK MOVIE#
Lawford is the son of JFK’s sister Patricia and movie star Peter Lawford, who in his prime was one of the sexist bastards of all time. Like the smack, herb, LSD, pills, coke and booze that Christopher Lawford ingested into his body every day between the ages of 13 and 30, these regurgitations of the Kennedy Clan are an addiction that must be fed. My friends and I would sprawl across the aisles in Jewel Osco, reading books like “The Happy Hooker” and “The Sensuous Woman,” after which, we’d help ourselves to grapes in the produce section and practice rolling them between our teeth without breaking the skins, a la the Sensuous Woman’s chapter on learning the fine art of fellatio.ĭo we really need another book on the Kennedys? The answer to that question, darling readers, is yes. When I came back downstairs, a sales clerk asked me somewhat sarcastically as I was headed to the café, “Did you find what you were looking for?” Well, lady, if Border’s doesn't want its customers reading books in the store and returning them to shelves when they are finished looking at them, DON’T PUT IN CHAIRS OR A COFFEE SHOP FOR PEOPLE TO SIT AND READ, BITCH!Īnyway, my dissident reading habits all harken back to when I was 14. I managed to locate it easily, looking it up on the store locator. I found Lawford’s book tucked upstairs in the music department in the celebrity drug addict section. (Which reminds me, I still need to check out the unauthorized Michael Jackson bio, “Freak.”) I’m caught up on all the new Scott Peterson books, and Lawford’s insider memoirs about growing up in the Kennedy family was next on my clandestine reading list. It isn’t that difficult to do when you’re reading mostly crap, and I owe about a thousand dollars in overdue fines at my local public library. The Border’s sales associates are on to me because I haven’t purchased a book there in like three years, preferring instead to speed-read almost complete tomes inside the store. I did manage to get over to Border’s and read a good chunk of Christopher Kennedy Lawford’s new tell-all “Symptoms of Withdrawal,” while drinking some lame coffee drink in the café. No, I just had a very busy week tending to the petty acts of survival and my glamorous job as an underemployed news stringer which included – killing a multimillion-dollar planned development while it was still a watercolor rendering, documenting confused Cub fans’ angst over the Sox playoff success, more zoning stories, police blotters and orthodox Jewish rabbis studying the Halacha. Darling readers, I’m sure those of you who took bets that little Rainy’s ADD had finally kicked in and she was abandoning her blog were thinking about collecting.
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