Fear and loathing in excelsis

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson idolized Ernest Hemingway, but I had no idea he'd want to shuffle off this mortal coil in the same dramatic fashion.

Yet there he was, at his Woody Creek, Colorado home, dead from a gunshot wound that was almost certainly self-inflicted. And ultimately, it fits into the pattern of the man's life: no matter how bizarre the story you heard about him, it was very likely true.

Thompson's brand of intensely-personal "gonzo" journalism really didn't catch on, which is also a good thing: while I'd argue that we certainly need our eccentrics, even if they're just this side of dangerous, I'd also argue that hardly anyone could possibly come up (down?) to the standard set by Thompson. (The late Lester Bangs, maybe; but Bangs has long since been relegated to the category of "music reviewer," even though his writings ranged nearly as widely — wildly? — as Thompson's.)

And if we do not see his like again, well, that just adds to the legend. "I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone," Thompson said, "but they've always worked for me." Indeed they did.

Posted at 8:21 AM to Almost Yogurt


TrackBack: 11:29 PM, 21 February 2005
» So I knocked back a fifth of Wild Turkey and I blogged this suicide... from The Anger of Compassion
And if we do not see his like again, well, that just adds to the legend. "I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone," Thompson said, "but they've always worked for me." Indeed they did. Thus speaketh......[read more]