To the moon, Hunter

A month or so ago, I was making copies of something I wrote that mentioned Hunter S. Thompson at a Kinko's-type place in Hoboken. As the copy guy (who seemed right out of Central Casting) made the copies, he decided to read what he was copying. While standing right in front of me.

I'm not really sure of the copy-shop etiquette on this, but I think you should at least try to be discreet about it. But he wasn't, and so after making the copies, he came up to the front desk.

"You write this?"

"Um, yeah."

(I should note that at this point I had decided to disregard my anger about him reading what I wrote and was gearing up for a compliment. I'm very needy.)

"You read that Jack Kerouac book 'On the Road'?"

"Um, yep." (How was this leading up to that compliment?)

"You know Dean Moriarty in the book?"

"Uh-huh."

"Kerouac based that character on Hunter Thompson and a trip they took."

At this point, I had a great urge to scream, "You moron. That's completely and embarrassingly wrong. And probably not even possible. Do you just sit here and make shit up all day? Have you ever even read a Hunter S. Thompson book, you tubby, pale-faced goon?"

Instead, I fell back on my standard response when I know someone's wrong but don't have the heart to tell them: "Oh yeah?"

Then I took my copies, paid the man, and ran.

****
At some point today, Hunter S. Thompson's ashes will be shot out of a cannon on the grounds of Owl Farm compound in Woody Creek, Colorado. Hunter S. Thompson was not the basis for any character in "On the Road." Nor was he, as some would have you believe, a drug-addled fool whose writings can only be appreciated by similarly baked readers. And he was certainly more than just "that guy who wrote the book they made into that Johnny Depp movie."

He was a writer, a journalist, a character in a world that could use a few more like him. As much as I enjoy what he wrote, I might enjoy even more his appearance on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien," where he and Conan shot various items (from posters to stuffed animals) in a field somewhere. That segment is why I still say "Fuck you, bear" a little more often than I should. And I remember telling Hunter how much I enjoyed that appearance when I saw him at a book signing...and then having him turn away to talk to somebody else. I moved down the line, but then I was called back amidst much yelling from staff and hangers-on. When I went back, Hunter apologized and mumbled, "Sorry man, I thought you were some kind of loose cannon." It might be the greatest compliment I ever got.

But sometimes lost in all the tales of Hunter's misdeeds is the fact that he wrote a ton of great stuff, like "Hell's Angels" and "Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72." And you don't have to be under the influence of any drug to know that it's all burning with the fire of a man who waged an unending battle against boredom and drudgery.

And the battle continues today with the shooting of his ashes into the Colorado sky. His remains will be launched out of a giant, Gonzo-fist cannon as a group of friends and family look on. It's not exactly your average way to go out. But Hunter S. Thompson was never average.

Rest in peace, Doc.