yo, hunter

the reason I was at paper cuts was because the times main page pointed out that hunter s. thompson would be celebrating (with lots of drugs of course) his 70th birthday (or the 70th anniversary of his birth, to be more accurate).

hunter always held a special place in my heat, but mostly because back in the day (oh, this must have been 1991 or so) one mr david grubbs pointed out to me that his father and hunter were school mates and that mr. s. (I will use his middle initial from here on) was tarred and feathered (really! this was kentucky after all) for taking bets against their high school on homecoming.

i love this story for so many reasons. it explains a lot to me about how louisville became what it was (in terms of music in the 80s, and 90s too I guess) as it sort of assimilated into the rest of the world (and as those that assimilated faster fled). it's got this personal element to it. it shows exactly why s. hated the world and loved guns. and of course, it shows how horrifically cow townish and old moneyish that watery kentucky really is.

art is so often made by those that can afford to make it; thank goodness some of them are genuinely challenged by their place in the world and thank extra goodness that some others make it despite real adversity.

if living and breathing were so easy, more of us would be doing it.

(ps, herr burroughs, also fondly remembered from this watery bathosphere)