| Feb. 25th, 2005 @ 09:49 am (no subject) |
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Old Dr. Thompson blew his brains out. His family seem fine with it. He seemed like a controlling kind of guy; Probably had them all signed on for this last, stupid happening for some time.
I was REALLY into Hunter Thompson when I was younger. By younger, I mean seventh and eighth grade. An old friend from school (who as an adult, is a journalist) and I imagined ourselves the protagonists in his wild adventures, which we read over and over like kids nowadays read Harry Potter. We ingested something we shouldn't have, and prowled the gilded cage that was the new Crossgates Mall in Guilderland, NY. We made notes and sketches of the scene there. Bob, making entries in his illegible handwriting and me drawing hideous drawings in the style of Hunter's long suffering sidekick, Ralph Stedman, famous to most for his later artwork on Pink Floyd's The Wall.
I even took to dressing like Hunter Thompson: the same shorts, the same shirts and the ever present Tilly hat. How many kids can claim that bit of obsessive stupidity?
In a few years, we would move on to punk rock. More of the same really, just more kids doing it.
I had the chance to meet Hunter Thompson in college, during the elections that dumped the first Bush into office. Hunter was on stage at a NYC nightclub, supposed to be providing commentary while the election results were reported. He was very late - the manager of the club, a "non-traditional" student at my college, who had comped me, asked if I would help retrieve a wild, drugged out Dr. Thompson from his hotel room. It was reported that he was still clad only in underwear and was threatening to kill anyone who closed in on him. I declined the offer.
When he finally arrived, he spent a few hours lurking about the stage, accepting and putting to use the offerings of illegal substances thrown from the audience. It was a pretty dull affair. Afterwards, I was asked again if I wanted to meet Dr. Thompson. Again, I declined. I suppose I really had burned out on him before turning 14, much as children now tire of certain stomach baring pop stars and boy bands.
That night I went on a Hunter Thompson like adventure, led by a classmate who would soon be dead from cancer (unbeknownst to me at the time). It was a stupid, childish adventure, which I may recount some other time. Basically, I saw how pathetic it is when people engage in the politics of absolutism and purism, imagining their elected (not by them) leaders cruel, evil demigods who must be opposed at every turn with blind fury. Or put more simply, when they trust their own emotions over hard fact. And then lose election after election.
Democrats of all stripes feel this way towards Bush, and it hasn't helped them keep pace with reality - or be active participants in the processes of our Republic. Howard Dean's regrettable statements, such as he "hates Republicans and all they stand for" have more in common with Islamofacists chanting "death to America" than they do to the statements of the great leaders his party once produced.
Among the elephants, if disdain and rhetoric for Madame Clinton continues to decline to such levels, it will only help her. If they (and I include myself among them) wish to rid the country of her leadership, of whatever her creepy brand of ambition might be, they should engage her only on issues, and not recap all of the "Billary" (or lesbian) slurs from the past decade. Once was enough. If the far-left think she's really that much of a thorn-in-the-side of conservatives, they will overlook her posing as a moderate, sometimes a hawk, and will throw their sorry lot in with her. When she talks about leaving the troops in Iraq, conservatives should embrace her and salute her. That'll be poison to her among the ranks of Indymedia, Democratic Underground as well as the thousands of closet Ward Churchills who teach our children.
Making light of her claims of a "Vast Right Wing Conspiracy" are however, fair game. Karl Rove couldn't have planted a dumber bit of drivel in her mouth. Nor could Bill, apparently.
Yuck. |
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