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So, no more Hunter S. Thompson.
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Shame.
Shame.
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I can just imagine the turmoil and anguish he must have gone through before doing the deed. Pacing up and down. His mind wracked with confusion and doubt, and always that question ringing between his ears …
I can just imagine the turmoil and anguish he must have gone through before doing the deed. Pacing up and down. His mind wracked with confusion and doubt, and always that question ringing between his ears …
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Which of his twenty-two available, fully-loaded and meticulously maintained firearms was he going to use to blow his brains out?
Which of his twenty-two available, fully-loaded and meticulously maintained firearms was he going to use to blow his brains out?
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I am a fan of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I was also, and still remain, a fan of Hunter S. Thompson. Admittedly, everything he wrote after Fear and Loathing was rubbish but he is that rare example of a subversive figure who maintained his edge, even after he had achieved success and fame.
I am a fan of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I was also, and still remain, a fan of Hunter S. Thompson. Admittedly, everything he wrote after Fear and Loathing was rubbish but he is that rare example of a subversive figure who maintained his edge, even after he had achieved success and fame.
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OK, he was too smacked out of his face for the last thirty years to write anything worthwhile, but he did withdraw to a compound filled with peacocks, vulture statues, drugs, hard liquor, dynamite and firearms. He didn't die young but he did the next best thing. Big time.
OK, he was too smacked out of his face for the last thirty years to write anything worthwhile, but he did withdraw to a compound filled with peacocks, vulture statues, drugs, hard liquor, dynamite and firearms. He didn't die young but he did the next best thing. Big time.
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Nope, no toilet paper commercial voice-overs, game show presenting or celebrity telethons for Hunter.
Nope, no toilet paper commercial voice-overs, game show presenting or celebrity telethons for Hunter.
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Hunter S. Thompson I salute you.
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It's hard to retain the fire of youth as you get older. Years ago I did some voluntarily work with disabled grannies. We would take them away on holiday for a few weeks and give their family carers a well-deserved break. We wouldn’t actually take the grannies very far from home. We would drive round in a long loop for a couple of hours and put them up in specially equipped residential facilities, usually no more than 10 miles from where we first collected them. But they were none the wiser. Bless …
It's hard to retain the fire of youth as you get older. Years ago I did some voluntarily work with disabled grannies. We would take them away on holiday for a few weeks and give their family carers a well-deserved break. We wouldn’t actually take the grannies very far from home. We would drive round in a long loop for a couple of hours and put them up in specially equipped residential facilities, usually no more than 10 miles from where we first collected them. But they were none the wiser. Bless …
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The reason why I mention this is that the sitting rooms in these places were always well-stocked with ancient, granny favourite records suitable for group sing alongs; after dinner and a small glass of sherry all round. Even by the admittedly sedate standards of the 1940s these records were dull; dull and slow. I would often wonder what my generation would be like when it was their turn. Would our tastes change as we got older? Would we want to listen to increasingly easy listening music as our eardrums, brains and bladders rotted with age? Or would we still be singing along to the punk and new wave hits of the 1970s and 1980s, jiggling away on our commodes whilst the kids looking after us were nodding away from the sheer tedium of it all …
The reason why I mention this is that the sitting rooms in these places were always well-stocked with ancient, granny favourite records suitable for group sing alongs; after dinner and a small glass of sherry all round. Even by the admittedly sedate standards of the 1940s these records were dull; dull and slow. I would often wonder what my generation would be like when it was their turn. Would our tastes change as we got older? Would we want to listen to increasingly easy listening music as our eardrums, brains and bladders rotted with age? Or would we still be singing along to the punk and new wave hits of the 1970s and 1980s, jiggling away on our commodes whilst the kids looking after us were nodding away from the sheer tedium of it all …
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'Here you are Stef, shall I put on a record? Would you like to listen to some Stranglers? How about Bring on the Nubiles? You like that don’t you? I know. Let's listen to Orgasm Addict. That's your favourite. Come on everybody, sing along …'
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'Here you are Stef, shall I put on a record? Would you like to listen to some Stranglers? How about Bring on the Nubiles? You like that don’t you? I know. Let's listen to Orgasm Addict. That's your favourite. Come on everybody, sing along …'
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Well you tried it out for once,
found it alright for kicks.
but then you found out
it's a habit that sticks
you're an orgasm addict
you're an orgasm addict
sneakin' in the back door with dirty magazines
and your mother wants to know
what are those stains on your jeans
you're an orgasm addict
you're an orgasm addict
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Twenty years later, I and many others, still like the hard-edged, thrashy records we liked back then. Nope, rather than my record tastes atrophying over the years it would appear to be the popular music industry that is dying on its arse. Records made fifteen or twenty years ago still stand up well against more recent competition and, perversely, often sound fresher and more original than a lot of the stuff being sold today.
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When those grannies of old used to complain about modern music being rubbish, their opinion was based on a lifetime of listening almost exclusively to Mafia-connected crooners wurbling to a big band backing. Now some years later, with the benefit of almost 50 years of rock, pop, blues, reggae, ska, funk, techno and all the rest to call upon, a more objective opinion can be reached. Most contemporary music really is crap. And so dull that even my old stable of grannies could probably listen to it without having heart attacks. That's if any of them were still alive that is.
When those grannies of old used to complain about modern music being rubbish, their opinion was based on a lifetime of listening almost exclusively to Mafia-connected crooners wurbling to a big band backing. Now some years later, with the benefit of almost 50 years of rock, pop, blues, reggae, ska, funk, techno and all the rest to call upon, a more objective opinion can be reached. Most contemporary music really is crap. And so dull that even my old stable of grannies could probably listen to it without having heart attacks. That's if any of them were still alive that is.
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A curious role reversal seems to be taking place. I can quite easily picture a time in the future when 80 year old pensioners, sitting in bacofoil covered anti-gravity wheelchairs, are slagging off their grandchildren for listening to records that are slow, tedious and rubbish and begging them to put on something with a stronger base line.
A curious role reversal seems to be taking place. I can quite easily picture a time in the future when 80 year old pensioners, sitting in bacofoil covered anti-gravity wheelchairs, are slagging off their grandchildren for listening to records that are slow, tedious and rubbish and begging them to put on something with a stronger base line.
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But more of that a little later …
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3 comments:
There is a business opportunity here - instead of old people's homes, old people's compounds could be set up, which are filled with peacocks, vulture statues, drugs, liquor, ammunition and firearms (and perhaps a small number of call girls). Those that choose to end it all early and ease the burden on the state's finances may then do so at their convenience, after a bit of indulgence, and can take some of the others with them at the same time. The compound owner would then invoice a fee (say 10%) from the government, calculated as:
10% x (yearly cost to the government of keeping an old person alive) x (estimated number of extra years they would have lived otherwise)
plus, in the case of a multi-person event, eg an explosion, the same amount for each additional person that disappears. A small provision for actuarial fees would also need to be made against the total fee.
Yes, I've already thought of a similiar scheme which would involve being paid a double pension if you consent to be murdered by the State when you turn 75. I've not mentioned it before it case Tony Blair's policy unit came across it by accident during a google search and took it seriously ...
Bradley
I wish you all the best with your efforts, particularly with supporting Juan (He found the body didn't he? That must have been awful)
I didn't know the man but the myth is strong and one that I buy into wholesale. I stand by the first half of my post - he was a true individual and, as such, represents a dying breed ...
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