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Showing posts from February, 2006

Orange Crush, Yo!

L.A. Woman was a student at Pace not long ago and I, a guest at her table. She acted like my friend. She had talent. I, a broken Chevy of a talent, watched her exploits on the stage, in film, music video and TV back before she was posing in her underwear on myspace. One night, the Jimmy Kimmel show was on in the background when I heard a familiar voice. Jimmy and Kathy Lee Gifford were performing karaoke at a local bar and L.A. Woman was the emcee, wearing a rainbow-colored wig that reminded me of a snow cone. Now I envision myself, dressed like Jack White, blowing into that bar. She doesn't notice until I take the stage and then her curious brown eyes quiz me. I practice all the time, in the bathroom, in the car, in front of the mirror; one head phone on, the other dangling to the beat. And she smiles like she's practiced a thousand times as I belt out U2's Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses , which may be Bono's most challenging vocal. The crowd wants to

Hunter S. Thompson

"So finally, and for what he must have thought the best of reasons, he ended it with a shotgun." - HST, "What Lured Hemingway to Ketchum?," National Observer , May 25, 1964. On this, the first anniversary of Hunter's death, Anita Thompson published one of her favorite photos at : Hunter once wrote he learned from Hemingway that he could get away with just being a writer. But like any artist, he never had a choice. Hunter had tremendous talent and like Hemingway, he achieved a celebrity rare among writers, where his actual life seemed to dwarf that which he put down on paper. He set a torch to our imagination and in the end, when there was nothing left, he was the first to admit it. The genesis of his legend can be found before Fear and Loathing: "But with the throttle screwed on there is only the barest margin, and no room at all for mistakes. It has to be done right ... and that's when the strange music starts, when you stret


Pint-size plane down to the Bahamas, palm trees and open bar of Miller Lite and sweet, fruit laden concoctions composed of cheap rum. Start day with Bloody Marys at La Guardia, then unnecessary bus ride to the prop before vicodin brunch. Sun drenched dream later, Booze & Cruise crowded, drunk lady on action speedboat jerking at bikini top yelling I'll show you mine if you show me yours . Playful applause. Snorkeling by nearby cliff. Afloat in endless ocean, breathing through a narrow tube, seeing through a narrow screen. Bread crumbs and rib meat cast overboard to stir a feeding frenzy of exotic aquatics looking at me with contempt. Tourists thrashing about like bait for bigger fish. Return to ship deck. Spy beautiful mermaid piercing serene bathwater with Cuban cigar mashed in my countenance like a Kerouac be-bop before the breakout beach blanket dance fiasco and obligatory eardrum plea for peace. Exit flight canceled due to snowy sarcophagus. Three block long line to

Requiem for an Angel

I am at a loss for words this week, so I will defer to William Butler Yeats: Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand I ask the good readers of this blog to remember my friends Danna and Brian Richardson in your thoughts and prayers for the abrupt departure of their angel, Alexandra.