I used to carry Hunter S. Thompson’s address around with me in my notebook for, you know, that day when I inadvertantly found myself washed ashore in Colorado. Now he’s dead. Why are all my heroes dead?
It seems implausible that I haven’t told this story on on a blog before but I like it so much I’m gonna tell it again.
On the morning that the news broke of Hunter’s suicide I was apropriately flawed. I was at university at the time and as I made my way to that mornings lecture I told every single person i met. They would look at me nonplussed.
So i would elucidate. Fear in loathing in las vegas? Johnny Depp? He wrote the book on which it was based?
“Oh,” they would say.
I hooked up with my production group in the bar. It was where we would meet in the mornings, maybe chat over the latest project. It was also where we would hold production meetings, usually over pints of lager. This fact aparently earnt us the reputation as most bad ass production group, which was something I didn’t hear till much later. I can only explain this by the fact that there were alot of uptight, somewhat megalomaniacal, middleclass boys (the gender is important although probably something for another post) on the film & video course, probably one or more for each production group, and this meant we were the ‘cool kids’ be default.
Anyway, back to the morning in question. I’d told everyone i could get my hands on about the death of the great doctor gonzo and not really gotten much semblance of understanding out of anyone. There were a couple in my production group that got it although perhaps not in the same way.
5 minutes before the lecture was due to start my phone rang. It was my friend Sion. Sion was cool. Sion got it. Sion asked me if i wanted to come into Cardiff and get drunk with him. You know, in honour of the guy.
So i bailed on the lecture and made my way back to Cardiff. We sat in a wetherspoons and drank wild turkey (HST’s favourite tipple) all day, talking about writing & writers & of course Hunter S. Thompson.
So, this link. Snarfed from therumpus.net. It details the occassion when a sound-recordest went to see HST in order to record DVD commentary for the Fear and Loathing movie.
The following transmission is an e-mail from September 2002, which I sent back to Criterion headquarters after spending a night at Hunter S. Thompson’s cabin in Woody Creek, Colorado, recording commentary tracks for the DVD release of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Reflecting on that peculiar night now, five years after Thompson’s death, I’m struck by how gracious our host was, giving so generously of his time and mind and supplies. It was clear he was struggling physically, but what I remember most about the session is the sense of humor in the room. From the random crank calls at four in the morning to the house full of booby traps like exploding pens and toilet paper that doesn’t unroll, the man really loved to laugh, I think, and that energy was absolutely infectious. When I left in the morning, my face hurt from cracking up. Wherever you are, Hunter, a thousand thanks! Mahalo, mahalo, mahalo. —Michael Wiese
via the rumpus