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Showing posts from August, 2011

And That's When the Strange Music Starts

I have had that line stuck in my head for days. It's from the book Hell's Angels written by Hunter S. Thompson.

"... and that's when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that the fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms."

I know what he means. I scratch my head and look around the apartment -- boxes packed with books, waiting to move, wife about to burst with baby, waiting to move, dog, restless legs, waiting to move, and me, finally, waiting to move and begin the next chapter from Brooklyn to Connecticut, leaving the shattered beer bottle glass strewn on the road for the tempered bowl like concoctions filled with keys and other men's wives.

Lavender shirts and whale belts. A miserable Mets franchise and a Giants team who seems to be no more than a whimsical flirt in the back of a high-school bus.

I had never read Hunter's suicide note. Was surprised to see it posted on wikipedia. It reads:

Football season is over. No M…