I've been thinking about the film I saw last Friday, "Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson." Although I enjoyed watching it, something was bothering me about it and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. But after talking a little about it with friends, and after reading this short piece last night in New York Magazine (http://nymag.com/arts/books/features/48517/) about it and him, I think I know what it is.
The thesis of that bio was that Thompson let his own myth supercede him and eventually destroy him. I think that's generally true. Most people I've met who say they are fans of his are really fans of Duke, not Thompson. He himself said that he felt he was "in the way" of his own writing. But despite the film's recognition of the destructive influence of Hunter's myth, it still chose to FOCUS on that myth, rather than him as a man or him as a writer. It showed us Hunter as a Public Figure. That's why, as someone pointed out to me, they left out the Air Force, the Rum Diary, Puerto Rico and South America, the "major, personality-forming parts of his life." These were the times that shaped him as a writer. Inventing gonzo writing was a major achievement...or a piece of dumb luck, as I'm sure he'd admit...but interesting and important either way. But I think what is missed is that BEFORE gonzo, he was an incredible writer. The gonzo stuff is hilarious and biting, but truthfully, I am far more often awed at the pieces of straight journalism he wrote.The insight, the detail, and the rhythm of his words are unequalled in anything I've ever read.
So I think what was most disappointing about that film was that it did sort of leave Hunter out of it. His political influence was great at that time...but it neglected to point out why he even got interested in politics in the first place. It sort of touches on it with the Freak Power campaign but it made it sound less serious than I think it was for him based on what I've read. I think when people are focusing on the Myth of Hunter, they are missing out on understanding some really essential characteristics, namely, that he was really and truly a believer in freedom and in people's ability to make change for the better. Something I've read that he said often was that "politics is the art of controlling your environment." But then so much went wrong to show him that they really didn't have that control...they came close in Aspen, but no cigar. And then Vietnam, and Nixon, and McGovern, and so many failures to achieve what he saw as the vast possibilities of what this country could offer. So I think a far more important aspect of his life that could have been focused on in the film, rather than the Myth, rather than how many drinks and drugs he could gobble and still stand straight, is the sincere disappointment in his writing, and his constant struggle to understand and articulate What Went Wrong. For a long time I didn't understand that speech at the turning point in Fear and Loathing about the wave. In the middle of this drug-addled spree, here was this rare introspective moment that always jarred me. Now having read so much that he's written, especially his letters from that time, I think I understand it as much as anyone can who didn't live through it. That, to me, is a much more edifying thing to focus on, something we can learn from him. He was disappointed and dissatisfied with what was going on, and he, more than almost anyone I can think of, constantly lived his life trying to change it and come to grips with it and ultimately, just live on his own terms. I admire that so much about him, and I wish the bios would talk more about that.
Today's his birthday. Let's all have a toast tonight during our Friday revelry to the Good Doctor.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
criteria
New criteria for being close friends with me:
The ability to, with unfettered passion, listen to the same song on repeat for the better part of the day.
The ability to, with unfettered passion, listen to the same song on repeat for the better part of the day.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
know thyself
I am always on the road to further self-discovery. I truly believe that knowing yourself well is a good path to happiness, or at the very least, strength.
In that regard, I learned something about myself today. I learned that I love Fleetwood Mac even more than I thought I did.
In that regard, I learned something about myself today. I learned that I love Fleetwood Mac even more than I thought I did.
Monday, May 12, 2008
In Rain
This weekend I went down to D.C. to visit some friends and see Radiohead play at the Nissan Pavillion. The visiting was very fun and relaxing; the show was a horror.
Any of you who were feeling bitter or jealous about missing the show this weekend will be happy to hear that you were better off at home. This was without a doubt the worst concert experience of my entire life.
We knew going into it that the forecast was calling for rain. However, the radar seemed to predict that the worst of it would be early in the evening and that it would potentially slacken later on. No. Our generous and extremely helpful friends, Jason and Heather, who we were staying with, outfitted us with rain gear in preparation for the worst. They had given us hats, ponchos, wind-breakers, fleeces, and dry socks to change into. Before going to the show, we had spent much of the afternoon phoning local retailers to find a pair of cheap rainboots for me to wear since I only had my Chucks, which will get soaked in a drizzle in about 5 minutes. With a quick stop to Macy's on the way out to where our friends would pick us up, we got a pair that had been put on hold. We then met up with Dan and his friend Steve and got on the road. This was around 5:30 pm.
We arrived at the concert close to 9 p.m., after driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic down the one-lane road that takes you to the Pavillion and ends in a disorganized mess of gravel parking lots. We could hear Radiohead already playing when we got out of the car. It provided a nice soundtrack for trudging through the gravel, mud, lake-sized puddles, and then what seemed like hundreds of stairs to get to the actual venue. All around us were the other late-arrivals, in varying degrees of preparation for the weather. Some were more prepared than us with heavy-duty tarps; some were only wearing shorts and flip flops. Luckily the temperature was not too too cold in the low 50s, but the rain was bad enough. It did not slacken as we squelched our way through the slippery, demolished hillside to get to a place to stand for the show where our feet would only sink in ankle-high. Those rainboots turned out to be the best $20 I've ever spent in my life because despite standing in a mud puddle for an hour, my feet remained (mostly) mercifully dry. The rain continued throughout the entire concert in a steady, demoralizing downpour. We had our huge golf umbrella up and so did most of the rest of the crowd, which accounts for me not having seen the stage even once the entire time I was there and only getting a few glimpses of the screen. It kept us from getting further drenched while we stood still but all areas not covered by the ponchos (like our legs) were completely soaked through. We stood out there for close to an hour. We heard a couple of really good versions of some songs (I barely remember the set list, but I do remember singing along with the "rain down" portion of "Paranoid Android"), but overall it was frankly a lackluster performance. At one point Tom Yorke took a stab at being a human and said something of a diffident apology for all of us having a terrible day. Usually I go to a concert with a hope that I'll get to hear a few favorite songs, but all I really wanted to hear from him were two words: "Thank you." Just a "thank you" to all of these psychotic people who came out in the pouring rain just because they love their music.
Immediately after the last song we left. We could hear them playing "Karma Police" as we found our way back to the now almost completely-flooded parking lot, incredibly grateful to be in the car again. That was a sensation that was to wear off as we spent the next THREE HOURS (no joke) sitting in the car, waiting to leave the parking lot. It was a complete and total clusterfuck. No movement whatsoever for 2 hours, followed by an hour of jockeying and 4 cars trying to merge into one ill-defined lane, with no traffic control except for one cop in a poncho perfunctorily waving a club in the direction of the exit. Still pissing rain outside, now trapped in the car in various states of undress, wet clothes sealed to our clammy skin, cramped joints and muscles, we slowly began to become deranged. The collective brain damage suffered by the 4 of us in that car is beyond description.
FINALLY we got out of the parking lot, onto a highway where some more cops were forcing traffic in the opposite direction of the one we needed to go. Luckily the car we were in had GPS and we were able to navigate into free-moving traffic. We ended the night with a crazed search for a 24-hour-McDonalds and a frenzied pigout. It was the best moment of the entire night.
We got back to our friend's apartment at 3:30 a.m. We had left at 4:30 p.m. The entire commute time for the concert (that is time in the car, not counting the one hour of actually watching the show) was almost 8 hours to get to and from a venue that was approximately thirty (30) miles from the city. We realized that our friend could have driven us home to New York and back home again in that amount of time. All in all, it was a truly impressive experience on many levels. Impressive amounts of rain. Impressive amounts of dementia. Impressive lack of foresight, planning, caring, or intelligence on the behalf of the builders and proprietors of the Nissan Pavillion. Impressive that Radiohead was suggesting that people take public transportation to the show in order to reduce the carbon footprint of their tour, while at the same time booking the performance at a place in bumfuck Bristow, VA, which is impossible to reach via any other mode of transportation than car. Impressive amounts of (at least seeming) indifference on the part of Radiohead to the devotion of their fans. But, there was also an impressive amount of fun with the company I had: many thanks to Robert, Dan, and Steve for sharing this horror with me and for all of us ending the night with smiles on our faces.
Any of you who were feeling bitter or jealous about missing the show this weekend will be happy to hear that you were better off at home. This was without a doubt the worst concert experience of my entire life.
We knew going into it that the forecast was calling for rain. However, the radar seemed to predict that the worst of it would be early in the evening and that it would potentially slacken later on. No. Our generous and extremely helpful friends, Jason and Heather, who we were staying with, outfitted us with rain gear in preparation for the worst. They had given us hats, ponchos, wind-breakers, fleeces, and dry socks to change into. Before going to the show, we had spent much of the afternoon phoning local retailers to find a pair of cheap rainboots for me to wear since I only had my Chucks, which will get soaked in a drizzle in about 5 minutes. With a quick stop to Macy's on the way out to where our friends would pick us up, we got a pair that had been put on hold. We then met up with Dan and his friend Steve and got on the road. This was around 5:30 pm.
We arrived at the concert close to 9 p.m., after driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic down the one-lane road that takes you to the Pavillion and ends in a disorganized mess of gravel parking lots. We could hear Radiohead already playing when we got out of the car. It provided a nice soundtrack for trudging through the gravel, mud, lake-sized puddles, and then what seemed like hundreds of stairs to get to the actual venue. All around us were the other late-arrivals, in varying degrees of preparation for the weather. Some were more prepared than us with heavy-duty tarps; some were only wearing shorts and flip flops. Luckily the temperature was not too too cold in the low 50s, but the rain was bad enough. It did not slacken as we squelched our way through the slippery, demolished hillside to get to a place to stand for the show where our feet would only sink in ankle-high. Those rainboots turned out to be the best $20 I've ever spent in my life because despite standing in a mud puddle for an hour, my feet remained (mostly) mercifully dry. The rain continued throughout the entire concert in a steady, demoralizing downpour. We had our huge golf umbrella up and so did most of the rest of the crowd, which accounts for me not having seen the stage even once the entire time I was there and only getting a few glimpses of the screen. It kept us from getting further drenched while we stood still but all areas not covered by the ponchos (like our legs) were completely soaked through. We stood out there for close to an hour. We heard a couple of really good versions of some songs (I barely remember the set list, but I do remember singing along with the "rain down" portion of "Paranoid Android"), but overall it was frankly a lackluster performance. At one point Tom Yorke took a stab at being a human and said something of a diffident apology for all of us having a terrible day. Usually I go to a concert with a hope that I'll get to hear a few favorite songs, but all I really wanted to hear from him were two words: "Thank you." Just a "thank you" to all of these psychotic people who came out in the pouring rain just because they love their music.
Immediately after the last song we left. We could hear them playing "Karma Police" as we found our way back to the now almost completely-flooded parking lot, incredibly grateful to be in the car again. That was a sensation that was to wear off as we spent the next THREE HOURS (no joke) sitting in the car, waiting to leave the parking lot. It was a complete and total clusterfuck. No movement whatsoever for 2 hours, followed by an hour of jockeying and 4 cars trying to merge into one ill-defined lane, with no traffic control except for one cop in a poncho perfunctorily waving a club in the direction of the exit. Still pissing rain outside, now trapped in the car in various states of undress, wet clothes sealed to our clammy skin, cramped joints and muscles, we slowly began to become deranged. The collective brain damage suffered by the 4 of us in that car is beyond description.
FINALLY we got out of the parking lot, onto a highway where some more cops were forcing traffic in the opposite direction of the one we needed to go. Luckily the car we were in had GPS and we were able to navigate into free-moving traffic. We ended the night with a crazed search for a 24-hour-McDonalds and a frenzied pigout. It was the best moment of the entire night.
We got back to our friend's apartment at 3:30 a.m. We had left at 4:30 p.m. The entire commute time for the concert (that is time in the car, not counting the one hour of actually watching the show) was almost 8 hours to get to and from a venue that was approximately thirty (30) miles from the city. We realized that our friend could have driven us home to New York and back home again in that amount of time. All in all, it was a truly impressive experience on many levels. Impressive amounts of rain. Impressive amounts of dementia. Impressive lack of foresight, planning, caring, or intelligence on the behalf of the builders and proprietors of the Nissan Pavillion. Impressive that Radiohead was suggesting that people take public transportation to the show in order to reduce the carbon footprint of their tour, while at the same time booking the performance at a place in bumfuck Bristow, VA, which is impossible to reach via any other mode of transportation than car. Impressive amounts of (at least seeming) indifference on the part of Radiohead to the devotion of their fans. But, there was also an impressive amount of fun with the company I had: many thanks to Robert, Dan, and Steve for sharing this horror with me and for all of us ending the night with smiles on our faces.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
employee review
In anticipation of the totally pointless annual tradition that is the "Employee Review", my job requires us to fill out a "preappraisal form" with a bunch of asinine questions that will supposedly shape the discussion during our review. Below are the answers that I would like to put on my form:
1. Does the attached job description accurately reflect your current duties and responsibilities? If not, please cite any discrepancies.
My job description does not list "getting jerked around by socially-incompetent troglodytes" or "dealing with a manager with the
emotional age and haircut of an 8-year-old as he nervously taps on my cubicle in abject fear of me".
2. What do you consider the strengths of your performance this year?
Some babble about streamlining schedules and getting more organized.
3. Do you have thoughts on how your performance might be strengthened?
I think if I cared more about such important distinctions as whether a sentence should read "in light of" or "in the light of" instead of wanting to do something worthwhile like being a neuroscientist my performance would improve.
4. Are there any other comments regarding your job, your progress, your unit, or the MLA that you wish to make?
I wish to make the comment that I find it despicable that the personal whim of one person can dictate what I can and cannot wear to work, when the spirit of the organization (being non-profit) and the attitude of the office (excepting that one person) obviously are not corporate. If I could wear my jeans I would be a lot less of a malcontent and would probably smile at people more in the hallways, in addition to taking less breaks during my work to play Scramble.
1. Does the attached job description accurately reflect your current duties and responsibilities? If not, please cite any discrepancies.
My job description does not list "getting jerked around by socially-incompetent troglodytes" or "dealing with a manager with the
emotional age and haircut of an 8-year-old as he nervously taps on my cubicle in abject fear of me".
2. What do you consider the strengths of your performance this year?
Some babble about streamlining schedules and getting more organized.
3. Do you have thoughts on how your performance might be strengthened?
I think if I cared more about such important distinctions as whether a sentence should read "in light of" or "in the light of" instead of wanting to do something worthwhile like being a neuroscientist my performance would improve.
4. Are there any other comments regarding your job, your progress, your unit, or the MLA that you wish to make?
I wish to make the comment that I find it despicable that the personal whim of one person can dictate what I can and cannot wear to work, when the spirit of the organization (being non-profit) and the attitude of the office (excepting that one person) obviously are not corporate. If I could wear my jeans I would be a lot less of a malcontent and would probably smile at people more in the hallways, in addition to taking less breaks during my work to play Scramble.
Friday, March 21, 2008
avalanche
The following wreckage was strewn across the wasteland of a gmail chat box that has no one on the other end (you know who you are):
Most of the conversations in my life are with people who leave in the middle of them with no warning and no indication of when they will come back. This will, inevitably, add to my psychosis. Despite understanding that others have demanding jobs that may take precedence over chatting on the computer, the impotent rage that is being built layer upon layer like a core of hot magma in my stomach will no doubt have lasting physical and social repercussions.
I think that there is a general lack of understanding of just HOW MANY words I have in me. There are a lot. Think of the most words you can think of and then double that. And once they start, particularly when someone gets me going on a topic dear to my heart, like Labyrinth, or atrocious 80s music, or the Good Doctor, they don't stop easily. They spew forth from my brain to my mouth with incredible number and alacrity. And one day, all the dammed-up ones from thwarted IM conversations will finally overflow, drowning all of you who lack the etiquette to give me a simple "brb" in the avalanche.
Most of the conversations in my life are with people who leave in the middle of them with no warning and no indication of when they will come back. This will, inevitably, add to my psychosis. Despite understanding that others have demanding jobs that may take precedence over chatting on the computer, the impotent rage that is being built layer upon layer like a core of hot magma in my stomach will no doubt have lasting physical and social repercussions.
I think that there is a general lack of understanding of just HOW MANY words I have in me. There are a lot. Think of the most words you can think of and then double that. And once they start, particularly when someone gets me going on a topic dear to my heart, like Labyrinth, or atrocious 80s music, or the Good Doctor, they don't stop easily. They spew forth from my brain to my mouth with incredible number and alacrity. And one day, all the dammed-up ones from thwarted IM conversations will finally overflow, drowning all of you who lack the etiquette to give me a simple "brb" in the avalanche.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
comparative reality.
Last night Rob and I watched "Margot at the Wedding", which is the new movie from Noah Baumbach, who also did "The Squid and the Whale". I did not remember the connection, and when Rob realized it as he was about to put the movie in, he commented that I had hated "The Squid and the Whale". I didn't remember hating it and, although I found it rather depressing, if asked I probably would have said that I thought it was a good movie.
The reason I bring this up is that it is very strange when you have two people contributing to a collective memory, because in ways you hold each other accountable for your exaggerated reactions to things. Of course, in your own head, these are tempered by time and you don't remember being so drastic in the first place. I think that's what happened last night. It's certainly a head-fuck to be told that the way you think about something is not how you thought you think about it, or at least it wasn't. This is a slippery sucker.
The reason I bring this up is that it is very strange when you have two people contributing to a collective memory, because in ways you hold each other accountable for your exaggerated reactions to things. Of course, in your own head, these are tempered by time and you don't remember being so drastic in the first place. I think that's what happened last night. It's certainly a head-fuck to be told that the way you think about something is not how you thought you think about it, or at least it wasn't. This is a slippery sucker.
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