PART FOUR
HUNTER S. THOMPSON
“Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”, “Hell’s Angels”, “Generation of Swine”, & “Rum Diaries”
At a friend’s place sometime after high school graduation someone put on the movie “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” during a family get together. I was intrigued by Johnny Depp’s portrayal of this zany, crazy writer named Thompson. This is not to say that I wanted to drive 120 MPH through the desert on a head full of hallucinogens, by any means. But what struck me was that amid all the craziness here was this writer covering a motorcycle race in Las Vegas and it ends up being a book about finding the American Dream. I knew I need to read the book as soon as possible. And downhill it went from there…
I had a writing teacher in high school named Mr. Perry. He was a great teacher, but one I wished I’d had later in life when I was more committed to writing. One of his mantras was “No one gives a damn about the writer.” The idea behind the phrase being that people want interesting subject matter so keep the focus off yourself as the writer. Essentially, stay on point. That is advice well heeded for many contexts of writing.
No writer breaks that rule so thoroughly and as entertaining as Hunter S. Thompson. Regardless of the topic, his books and articles take on an adventurous, fast-living insanity that Dr.Thompson thrived on and maintained for years as a daily lifestyle. Whether he’s covering a Super Bowl or the fabulous Mint 400 motorcycle race in Vegas, rarely are the events themselves worth noting. Instead the reader is engrossed in what type of craziness Thompson conjures up amidst his coverage.
What I like about his work is that he put himself in his work so that you were interested both in the concept of his work as well as what he contributes to the action. My favorite book of his, that exemplifies this to a ‘T” is “Hells Angels”
What made Thompson fit into this category of hardcore writers is not his well documented drug appetite or his gun collection. Though not as dangerous as some of Robert Young Pelton’s adventures becoming an honorary Hells Angel can’t be too far off. That is what Thompson became for most of 1966. He rode with them, partied with them, flipped his bike, and even got stomped by them and documented the whole thing from a perspective until then (and probably still) never witnessed by mainstream America.
Hell’s Angels is very genuine reporting of the notorious motor cycle gang. He does not paint them as sort completely misunderstood, lovely group of young men who just have a bad rap with the law. He tells it as it is; that Hell’s Angels is notorious for a reason and there are some hardened criminals within. But he also touches on the history of the group, the demographic of the group and their origins.
He was a master at covering not just an event, but the scene surrounding the event. He has done this with Super Bowls, the Kentucky Derby, and numerous political campaigns and in doing so he transcends simply physical observation, but ties these events into how it represents American culture, for better or worse.
Hunter S. Thompson and his brash, free-wheeling style of writing is missed since his death in 2005. Appropriately, his ashes he were shot out of a canon on his property near Aspen, Colorado.
PART THREE:
ROBERT YOUNG PELTON:
“The World’s Most Dangerous Places” , “Three Worlds Gone Mad” & “Licensed to Kill”
This author is by far the most hardcore of any writer I have ever read. All this guy does is go into the most dangerous, gritty, war-torn, tragic areas of the planet and write about them. He is best known for a lengthy book called “The World’s Most Dangerous Places”, in which he travels to the 30 or so most dangerous countries on the planet and breaks them down. He examines the conflicting parties, their leaders, the current climate, outside influence, even natural dangers. Amazingly, he does all this with a black humorist sarcasm that makes the reading funny at times despite the horrific conditions he describes.
He does not do this simply by reading history books and looking at the local papers. He actually gets in the middle of the conflicts and interviews tribal leaders and politicians who are generally all but inaccessible. He has been shot at, held captive, roughed up. He has been to the mountains of Afghanistan, the diamond mines of Sierra Leone, the deserts of Algeria and Sudan. He has covered drug wars in Colombia, mafya dealings in Georgia, and the genocidal killing by Zimbabwe’s President Mugabe. Oh, and the United States even gets a section, too!
He is not a traveler, but an adventurer, seeking to report the real scoop and not a watered down, general picture of world conflict as is the case with most reporting. The other book of his that I have read is “Three Worlds Gone Mad” , which examines three conflicts in depth. He looks at diamond mining in Sierra Leone, the war in Chechnya , and rebel fighting in Papua New Guinea. Part of the struggle he faces is just getting into the country (or region) in the first place. He is non-partisan in these conflicts, simply there to report it as he sees it unfolding which is genuinely fair reporting–not the ‘fair and balanced reporting’ FOX keeps talking about.
He has a fantastic website here.
PART TWO
TED CONOVER:
“Coyotes” (below), “Newjack: Guarding Sing Sing Prison“, & “Rolling Nowhere: Riding the Rails with America’s Hobos”
Conover is a name that was completely unknown to me until last summer. I was standing in a used book store in Quito, Ecuador desperately searching for a book to finish off the trip. None of the authors I had gone in looking for were available so i was down to the grab n’ hope method of book buying. Being the artist I am often it comes to what book catches my eye, similar to trying a new bottle of wine (cool label, must be good…). I picked out a book with a red binding with the word “NEWJACK” written on it. As I picked it up for as look the friendly guy from England running the place told me it was a good book and the author was a good writer, perhaps just to get me to buy something so he could close up shop. So it was, i had a new book.
The author, Ted Conover took a peculiar interest in the New York Prison System. He decided that since no prisons would allow a writer to enter to research or interview on the inside he’d have to take a new approach. He became a prison guard and got a job at New York’s Sing Sing Prison, notoriously one of the most rugged, underfunded and dangerous prisons in the country. The book is amazing because it calls upon a perspective that is rarely seen: through the prison guard. There are books written by/about prisoners as well as books written about prisons and the prison system, but from the guard’s point of view not much is out there.
If anyone wants to question the hard core-ness of his literary diligence I beg you to offer up some evidence to the contrary. Conover deals with insane prisoners, riots, inhumane work conditions; all to describe how our penal system works or does not work. You won’t see beat writers, the news, or even 60 Minutes inside the prison like Conover captures it.
The book I am reading currently prompted my to start this little four part series. His book “Coyotes” (above) is a series of adventures traveling with migrant Mexican workers as they head into the States and fight to find work and avoid La Migra. Again, there is much written about the effect of illegal migrants on our country, how law enforcement deals with the issue, and how pundits in Washington rant about the problem want to deal with illegal migrants. But once again Conover captures a different, rarely seen angle and in doing so puts himself in very dangerous situations. He crosses the Rio Grande in a raft, picks oranges and sleeps in orchards in Arizona, makes lifelong friendships, and tells the other side of the story: the Mexican side.
I haven’t read his book about riding the rails with America’s Hobos but I can tell just form reading the other two books that it will be an exciting trip with a fresh perspective.
In the summer sun I sat reading today thoroughly enjoying the book I was tearing through. A good book is like a good movie because you want anyone within earshot to read/see it. I told Amity as she passed by me for the fifth time in the last three days: “You gotta read this when I am done.” She gave me another tolerant ’sounds good.”, in response and went along hopefully not deterred by my persistence.
During a brief pause in the book I thought about what connected the book and author to my other favorite authors and stories and it dawned on me that my interest lies in experiential writing. It is one thing to have a vivid imagination at some desk or computer. But it is a very different thing, and more exciting in my opinion for a writer to go out and experience life for themselves and record the happenings and their perspective on those happenings–especially when those happenings are not the tame, ordinary, or even safe events that often fill books and magazines.
Essentially, I want the writer to risk his/her life capturing whatever they are in search of to entertain me as I sit sprawled in a lawn chair reading. There are five writers that I have read to varying degree that all have in common the urge to place themselves in precarious situations that most people would find unsuitable to reach their creative goals. Some are household names. Some are not. They are all hardcore.
I will share these authors in a four part series so as to better align this blog with the current attention span of most people, including myself.
PART ONE
A. C. WEISBECKER: “In Search of Captain Zero” & “Cosmic Banditos”
I found this author by accident. Traveling in Costa Rica a couple of years back I was hanging out in Puerto Viejo, which is what everyone does in Viejo as far as I could see. Viejo is a surf town on the Caribbean side of Costa Rica, which explains all the lethargic hanging out. I was waiting for a friend who was in a store when an older man wearing only a pair of shorts steered his bike towards me and came to an abrupt stop. Puerto Viejo abides by the surf-town dress code: “no shirt, no shoes, no problem.”
He asked me about buying something to which I declined. But he made small talk just the same, telling me that his name was Patrick but everyone around town called him ‘Captain Zero’. Without me asking he told me the origins of his name, how it came from a book that his buddy (Weisbecker) wrote called ‘In Search of Captain Zero”. In the book Weisbecker sells everything except for his truck, surfboard and dog and drives from Long Island down through Mexico and Central America in search of his life long buddy who supposedly was this shirtless dude on the bike.
Whether or not it was the real Captain Zero on the bike that morning didn’t concern me. It was an excellent read. He went through Mexico and Central America surfing all the while searching for his friend with only an old photo to show people. I have traveled in some of the same places he visited but when he traveled much of the places were nearly unseen by gringo eyes. Naturally, given the context of his journey, he came across some exciting adventures and some rather adverse situations, and he writes in a dark humorist tone that is even more entertaining.
Weisbecker wrote another book called “Cosmic Banditos’, that is just your typical book about Colombian banditos, mescal and metaphysics. Highly entertaining. He has a great website that has a photo tour of his travels in “In Search of Captain Zero” here.
First, this needs to be said: I love teaching art. There is no job I would rather do. I thoroughly enjoy inspiring children to be as creative as possible and push them to succeed. Often, I go out of my way to help them secure materials, develop ideas, and fine tune their work. Every school year I spend hours sorting and organizing (really, I do, sounds weird I know) and returning the students art work to them. Much of the three dimensional art ends up in my room and I give them ample opportunity to retrieve it and take it home often reminding kids that it needs to go home.
Good. So. Now, when art doesn’t get claimed after several reminders/opportunities then I do what needs to be done. I load my vehicle with the leftover art, drive to my house and load all the art work onto my fire pit. The alternative is clogging up the already full dumpsters at the school. Given the choice between the two alternatives; having an over-sized fire in the backyard or tossing the art out, the bonfire wins every time.
Sometimes people give me weird looks, even subtle words of disapproval when I tell them that the art will burn if it is not claimed. But I have never had a complaint from anyone in attendance of the “School’s Out Bonfire.” Call it what you will, but what I call it is a big fiery success.
A good ol’ fashion western Maine children’s artwork fire.
Nothing burns quite as hot as adolescent creativity.
Mike was the master fire tender, seeing to it that each piece of art was precisely placed into the inferno so as to capture ‘the perfect blaze’. Mike, also a teacher, has experience with large fires and considers himself to be some kind of fire scientist, boasting a experimental curiosity with the behavior of fire. For instance, a few years back he found some old mannequins used for sewing in his basement. They were set ablaze with the aid of fuel and newspaper. What he was looking for the fire’s reaction to the impact of a Jeep Cherokee at 30 MPH. The result according to Mike: “It was awesome.”
It’s always hard to believe school’s out, so we really try to make it sink in with a healthy fire.
Glen ‘Big Baby’ Davis reveals his leaping ability, fully elevating in celebration of the NBA championship.
Following the clinching Game 6, Kevin Garnett treated those around him to a tearful post game speech entitled: “F*^%in’ Right, Muthaf*^%kaz! F*^%in’ Right, Muthaf*^%kaz!”
With the Big Three hogging the championship trophy a bored Leon Powe plucks a random child from the raucous crowd and holds him up like a trophy. Powe was released from jail later in the evening.
Bill Russell to Garnett after the game: ” Not bad, kid. Now all you need is another ten championships to go with this one and maybe I can be seen talking to you in public.”
Slow white guys simply no match for Rajon Rondo.
Beer and liquor sales at TD Banknorth Center remarkably steady throughout championship run.
Despite having a beautiful girlfriend and front row tickets to a deciding Game 6 between the Celtics and Lakers, Bill Belichick was angry. Really, really angry.
A drunken man seeing his first basketball game cheers at all the wrong times, pissing off everybody–especially Bill Belichick.
Members of Aerosmith reminisce back to days when they were young, cool.
Bill Russell gets a ‘Tommy Point’ before Game 6 for caressing his face for good luck.
A Ticket to Peru: Priceless (Actually, $795)
June 19, 2008
It is amazing that with one click on the internet machine you can suddenly become significantly less financially solvent. Today I purchased a plane ticket to Lima, Peru which will be the starting point on a five week journey through Peru and hopefully Bolivia as well. As I travel further south from the States with each summer the ticket prices become increasingly exorbitant. Just three years a go i flew from Denver to San Jose, Costa Rica to Boston for $375, and two summers ago it was Boston to Mexico City for three hundred.
Nowadays, I have taken a liking to South America which extends the ticket prices skyward. I’m not sure our floundering economy is helping either. Regardless, I have a ticket to Peru now, the first official step towards the trip which begins on July the first and barring incident ends on August the fifth. I will be updating events of the trip via photo and the written word right here on this blog.
WEIRD ART AT MUSEUM ANGERS MASSACHUSETTS MAN
June 5, 2008
“WE’RE JUST SHOOTIN’ EVERYTHING THAT MOVES. IT’S FRIGGIN AWESOME.”
Arguably my favorite part of Chicago was Millennium Park. Sitting near the lake, nestled on the north side of Grant Park is a beautiful park filled with gardens and sculpture. The big draw is Anish Kapoor’s “Cloud Gate” sculpture which is a large reflective bean that is large enough to walk under. Here are some pictures:
“I SAY “CONTEMP”, YOU SAY “ORARY”
June 4, 2008
Mike and I visited the Museum of Contemporary Art. We always hit art museums when we visit cities and we knew that Chicago has a good reputation for it’s museums.
We were quite intrigued by the collection but one exhibit in particular really captured Mike and I. The museum featured a sculptor named Gordon Matta-Clark who studied architecture but referred to his work as ‘Anarchitecture’. He was well known for doing ‘building cuts’, often taking large abandoned buildings and cutting huge slices and shapes out of the walls, ceilings, and floors. He once cut an abandoned two story house in half, top to bottom. In the museum there sat on the floor big chunks of various parts of a house cut perfectly rectangular so both the exterior and interior of the house were intact.
Anyone familiar with me (or anyone who has glanced at this blog earlier in the year) would understand just why this artist struck a chord with mike and myself. This ‘Anarchitect’ went to Cornell, studied architecture and cut big holes in walls, ceilings and floors for purposes of art and expression. Meanwhile, neither Mike nor I went Ivy League and neither of us studied architecture or anything very closely related. But, like Matta-Clark we cut big holes in walls, ceilings, and floors as a result of boredom and strong drink but also very much for purposes of art and expression.
Fig. A
Fig. B
Fig. C
Which of the following is NOT an original Gordon Matta-Clark ‘building cut’ but instead one executed with a skilsaw at Mike’s house?
I enjoy contemporary art because it seems much more in your face and provocative that traditional art. Often when people see contemporary art they are forced to think why or how the piece is art before they examine it as they would traditional art such as representational painting or sculpture. In the latter they look for accuracy and craftsmanship, an agreeable color scheme, textural qualities, etc. because it is already understood that what they are seeing is art. There is no need to walk up to an Impressionist piece and wonder “How is that even art?” or “What is the point of that?”
What draws me to contemporary art is how confronting the art can be. This is because often the subject matter will stray far from most people’s comfort zone in terms of viewing visual art. When people are confused it often leads to frustration which leads swiftly to dismissal. I find myself laughing, sometimes hysterically at some works, not because they are inherently funny or meant to be humorous, but because of the boldness of the artist in conveying a message and how deliberate and blunt the presentation of the piece can be. I loved this one:
Just another typical ten foot long illuminated sign with a homeless man on it.
It seems to point to homelessness because of the homeless man. But why is he presented on a lit up florescent sign? Why are there no words? There’s room for words but there’s nothing; no poem, no shelter phone number, no artist commentary, just empty white space. This can be seen as a homelessness awareness message, or maybe that in order to have a say in our country you need to ‘have‘ in the first place. Maybe you’re thinking what I though momentarily: I went to school for four years and will never have my face glowing on a ten foot sign in a museum but this homeless dude hangs prominently in a distinguished art museum.
SHIPPING UP TO OLD MILWAUKEE
June 1, 2008
Mike and I noticed that Milwaukee is only ninety miles north of Chicago. It was not my childhood dream to one day ascend upon Milwaukee, Wisconsin, but we were on a midwestern exploration of sorts and neither of us had been there so naturally it was time. Often I end up in places due solely to the fact that I’d never been there, and now I can add Milwaukee to that list of places.
I’m not sure that I would have ended up in Milwaukee for an evening, even with my hankering for new places, had the Milwaukee Brewers not been in town. (That last statement perhaps is not the best publicity for a city–that the only reason I am visiting is to see a woeful team play another woeful team on a Wednesday night only to actually end up spending the night in a town well outside the city called Racine).
But Milwaukee it was. We rented a vehicle, cranked the Widespread Panic, and steered towards Milwaukee. After a brief foray in Madison, and the fantastically attractive campus of University of Wisconsin we arrived at Milwaukee’s Miller Park. After a couple of hours driving by farms and truck stops and rolling hills and seeing the modern, intergalactic expanse of Miller Park was a shock to the system. The place looks like it will takeoff for uncharted universes at any given time–maybe if the Brew Crew win a pennant (or make the playoffs). We were looking to buy some $9 tickets high in the stratosphere and take it all in but settled for some $5 tickets some guy had who was looking to get rid of them.
The Jetsonic facade of Miller Park
The five dollar tickets were our passes into the stadium, from there we were primed to explore. We found some seats on the third base side in a rather rowdy section. A man with a nasally, high-pitched voice proudly explained why the Brewers coach bats the pitcher eighth instead of ninth, like all other managers. His logic failed him when the pitcher came up with two outs and two runners on and promptly ended the inning. Batting the pitcher eighth: another reason I wake up and thank God every morning that the Red Sox play in the AL.
The inside of the park is beautiful. The designers were definitely going for the shock and awe effect, like a Eurpopean cathedral, only with way more sausages and Miller Lite references.
One memory of the games was a one minute promotional cartoon soon after the game called the “Two Fisted Slopper” featuring a drunken cartoon sleaze ball. It describes the plight of the drunk, inning by inning beer by beer as he deteriorates into a stupor. Eventually they instruct the crowd to report the “Two Fisted Slopper” to your nearest usher. Imagine if they did that in Boston. First, I’m confident that the cartoon would accurately depict too many people in the crowd and lawsuits would result. Second, how long would the Red Sox publicity people go before they turned it into a reality show, sending multiple NESN cameras into the crowd looking for and following the “Two Fisted Sloppahs” (Boston edit) until they either puked on their laps or got arrested. And yes, I am positive that they would dip that low if it meant a few extra bucks.
Our mission really involved two goals. One: finding a really good hot Italian sausage for dinner that are supposedly Milwaukee’s claim to fame (sorry Chamber of Commerce, but that really all the outside world thinks of Milwaukee–and watered down beer). And two: finding and purchasing a vintage powder blue Brewers shirt with the 1980’s glove logo, maybe a Yount or Molitor jersey. As for the sausage, perhaps we picked the wrong booth but I can’t say I was overly impressed. But to be fair, unless I had eaten a dozen or so sausages from different stands at the park I cannot use the one I had to be the tell all sausage. Eating twelve Italian sausages was not an option for many reasons, namely because I wanted to be able to fit into a plane seat for the flight home. As for the shirt, i could not spend more than forty dollars for piece of clothing that said “Milwaukee’ or “Brewers’ on it no matter the scenario.
We checked with the clerk and this wasn’t a joke. Jeff Suppan jerseys. For sale. For money.
The game, for the most part was rather forgettable. The Brewers won so people were happy, Prince Fielder got two homeruns, unfortunately former Red Sox Eric Gagne didn’t get to pitch because we wanted to see if booing sounded the same even in Milwaukee. The only other thing worth mentioning will be describe via video because words will not do it any justice. All I will say are simply the facts: At every Brewers home game in the sixth inning five people dressed in seven foot sausage costumes race each other around the field. The fans cheer, “Chariots of Fire” plays, the players stop and watch, and five tall, awkward sausages race around a baseball field. Here you go:
