Not Quite Quietly Into the Night

Yo,

I can't say that Hunter S. Thompson was the only reason I wanted to become a journalist, but I can't say he wasn't a big factor. Thinking back, before I came across his work, a journo was, in my mind, that frumpy, do-gooder chick who toiled for the school paper. A journo wrote about daily minutiae nobody cared about -- and wrote it in such a leaden, objective way it was like dropping an anker off a ship. If The New York Times is the old "gray lady," as media-types like to call it, Thompson is the stabbing force of Hawaiian-shirt color that rapes and pillages all that she stands for. HST made it fun. He removed any pretense of objectivity and, by virtue of his unchecked ego, became a brand of his own, bigger than the story.

You pick up HST and within a paragraph you know who you're reading. That's a testament to his skill as a magazine writer; one of the funniest I've ever read. But a reporter? Not a fucking chance. If I took the kind of liberties with the truth (small "t") that he did with his stories, I'd get tossed out on my ass and/or devoured by the cyberspace school of blogger barracuda that has only begun to wreck vengeance on Old Media peddlers. There's something I hate about Hunter S. Thompson when I go through at the end of editing a story and check off with a red pen every single word, word-for-word, that goes out, double-checking ad nauseum that I got it right as I could.

He took his license early and often with the truth. He realized his value was as an entertainer and, as for informative, well, there's that Truth with the capital T. He used drugs, loved sports, consumed politics. I identify with and adore him for it. And what he shot back out at the world, like the blast of the cannon that he wants to be sent off with, was fucking awesome; genius and unfair to the rest of us stiffs who can only eke out Post-New Journalism on occasion.

HST made journalism cool, more so than any other man in history. He was not a great journalist, though -- a paradox that will, for me, be his defining legacy.

Mahalo,
Seraz

"Res Ipsa Loquitor"-Hunter Stockton Thompson

I might have butchered the Latin on this one, so perhaps J-Ray could lend me a hand and be sure that I've properly quoted "Let the Good Times Roll" or something to that effect. Heedless of all that noise, many of you know a fascinating character who I have never met and rarely seen outside of print media took his life the other day. I don't know why Hunter S. pulled the trigger. I'd like to think he was afflicted with a terminal ailment, or that the fatbacks were closing in on him and as one last "fuck-you" he whipped out a monster .44 and called it a day.

At present it's not clear why he did it, nor am I sure if we'll ever know, and though it is not my place to eulogize a figure I've never known it suffices to say that he truly did live the way he died, on his own terms.

When it's all said and done it is fairly obvious that he was a product of a bygone era. Yet despite this fact he was the only viable resource for a fireball brand of venomous hilarity who never failed to tap what he always referred to as "the Main Fruit" with an unmatched simplicity and eloquence. While far more talented writers and academics will henceforth remember Thompson as the father of "Gonzo Journalism" (or perhaps more familiarly referred to as "New Journalism") I will always remember the man as one who seamlessly integrated his chillingly incisive observations with a wit and prose that has yet to manifest itself into a literary form on today's socio-political landscape.

For this loyal fan his diatribes never grew stale, and though he was an image from an eroding past he never devolved into a dinosaur. For to brand someone in that manner is to recognize the ascendancy of another figure more towering and omnipresent that its predecessor.

As Amanda said, "we lost a good brain". Perhaps now he's with friends like Plimpton, Zappa, and Oscar Acosta; keeping the home-fires burning to light the way for others like Kesey, Jann Werner, Sonny Barger and a host of others. Maybe H.S.T. and Dick Nixon can finally bury the hatchet, mix a stiff drink, and talk about professional football.
"Res Ipsa Loquitor"
-Aden

Out of a Cannon

The family is looking into whether Thompson's cremated remains can be blasted out of a cannon, a wish the gun-loving writer often expressed, Brinkley said.

"The optimal, best-case scenario is the ashes will be shot out of a cannon," he said.

One Less Egg to Fry

As some of you may or may not know, I have been sent to Phoenix for 6 weeks to deliver babies at the county hospital up here. All the confined mothers up here are illegal Mexican immigrants and speak as little English as I do Spanish. This is not a problem as "I'm going to stick my hand all the way up you!" is universally understood in any tongue. I don't know how many of you have ever taken part in a spontaneous vaginal delivery before but let me tell you now: I am never going to have anything but oral or perhaps anal sex from this day (to the chagrin of the sisters Ramey). My ability to become intimate with the human vagina has been lost forever. I have delivered 5 babies over the weekend so far and I can only describe it as catching a triple helping of Mama Serazio's eggplant parmesan from a woman's vagina with extra . . . sauce. The most difficult part about the whole thing is holding on to the slippery little brat while you tuck it into your arm like a football. I still haven't figured out how to deliver the placenta without getting a hot spray of fermented womb blood 'n' mucus in my face or on my shoes. Jesus Christ.

Dave

Grammy nomination 2005

Somebody mentioned (I think Null) that Lite Rail deserved a Grammy. This may be true, but wait until you hear the new shit. I'll send a copy to Houston tomorrow. I suggest everyone involved smoke some tobacco out of a tobacco pipe and then listen to the magic.

J

Ode to Me Smacking Aden with a Sack of Nickels Borrowed from Cory

If you'd like to inquire about my sister, please call my father at 781-461-1560. This is how we do it in the Ramey family: http://www.houstonpress.com/issues/2005-01-27/news/feature.html


And her name is spelled with a K.

My sister wants to go to U. Mass. She says Arizona is for "Gay Dudes and Ugly Sluts." I told her not to be prejudiced, but then I remembered that I know like three gay dudes that went there, so odds are she's right.

A View From the Top (Of My Cube)

Beware the office monkey, friends. Office Space isn't a clever piece of satire, but a living and breathing world that I am fighting to survive in. Short-sleeve dress shirts and ties abound, this place is slowly draining the life out of me. Ten minutes ago, I was talking to some brainwashed retard in my office about mortgages. MORTGAGES! I am 24 years old, the last thing I need to think about is how many percentage points over prime I'll get. Jesus, I need to think about boobs and beer and naughty French Maids. When did it all change? When did it become an absolute joke? There is nothing "real" about this world - my job is not required. I'm sure I could train a Bonobo and a Jack Russell terrier to do basically everything that I do now (aside from mandatory Robot practice from 9:45 to 10:30 every day). Is it the hallmark of a good manager to recognize inefficiency and waste, or to promote and celebrate it? I put it to you, Company, because if this was my operation I was running, I would've fired everyone and brought in some Indians and taught them how to speak in an accent-neutral dialect...

Null

Ode' to Catherine

Normally I awake on Valentine's Day morning with as much excitement as one can expect from shoving bamboo sheets under one's toe nails. It certainly isn't an effort on my part to vilify St. Valentine, I simply haven't had much impetus from the fairer sex to rise with any semblance of joy.
This Valentines Day proved to be different. I rose from my wistful slumber with a vexing sense of fulfillment and glee. The goblet of amorous joy hath runeth over. Initially I was shocked, for Valentines Day has always been a day for glum introspection. It wasn't long before I realized that, unlike Feb. 14th's of yesteryear, this one brought the promise of one Catherine Ramey in '05. Oh how my heart palpitated in such unfamiliar ways at having received the news that she would soon be here in my very own dusty hamlet.
Sure, ostensibly her intent is to pursue a higher education at the University of Arizona; however, it's plain to see that her insatiable lusting for Aden acclaim has manifested itself into a heart-wrenching, dare I say, love that can only be assuaged by leaving behind the chaotic hum-drum of Boston in lieu of the affectionate embrace of, well, me.
Granted she is probably, I mean she is, coarse and sometimes belligerent. Yet beneath this rough and jaded exterior is a personality no different than the landscape she'll soon call home. A vacant and harsh xeroscape of rugged terrain, yet a landscape that blooms a pleasing array of life when given water. Yes indeed C. Ramey, like the desert, just needs a healthy shower of love and affection and she too will bloom like a desert rose!
-Lovestruck Aden

Tread Lightly, Fascism is Making a Comeback

I think we all owe the Good Doktor and Mr. Null a collective "thank you" for their erudite delineation between the "kidnapper" and "rapist" vans. Moving along, I can't argue too much with Mr. Serazio's movie shouts because I don't get out to the picture show and see the "talkies" with much frequency. (By the by, that was a shout out to timey-time)
While I understand the appreciation for the Bourne Supremacy I must stick to my guns and leave Spy Games at the top of my list. Conversely, why are you punching Jeremy in the nuts? "The Life Aquatic" is brilliant, and I would expect that even someone raised on the timeless comedic value of, oh, a little show called "Police Squad", would appreciate this dark and incredibly dry cinematic hue. To say nothing of the David Bowie score set to acoustic guitar and sung melodically in Portuguese throughout the picture.
Clearly the syphilis has either gone to your brain or we need to re-ignite a little game we like to call, "who's behind the 'we'".
-Aden "The Seventh Pillar of Islam" Acklin

I just responded to Mikey's last post, and afterwords, I realized that I wanted to know when Big Trouble In Little China was made. To my shock and horror, it was made in '86. To any of you who are on the yahoo listserve, there is a "polling" section (that has not been utilized). In this "polling section", I had an '86 movie poll, asking which were the 5 best movies of '86. I, right now, realize that this poll was not very well researched, because on it, Big Trouble In Little China, was not.

So. 1) Mikey is still a big fat homo 2)Big Trouble In Little China was the second best movie of 1986 (Top Gun was #1) 3)If anyone has disagrees with my opinion that Russell's best movie was "Big Trouble", I would love to hear an arguement, however wrong it may be. 4)Mr. Poopypants.

J

Oscar Shmoscar

Excellent work, dudes. Nothing heats up the blogosphere like talkin' vans. (And greenhouse gas emissions.) I might depart momentarily from said Company Line to offer up and invite forward --
redundant phrase?
-- the top films of last year. I'm no longer the aggressive cinephile that I was in my youth, but I still do enjoy a good flickticle. And both the tasteful and the tasteless, the credibility-building and the shamefully guilty find a place in my heart. I must issue this list with an apostrophic (say it, it's tasty to say, notice how you put the emphasis on sexier syllables) caveat because, as yet, I haven't seen the following, which may or may not compete for elbow room in this space:
* Sideways, Million Dollar Baby, Motorcycle Diaries, Hotel Rwanda, Friday Night Lights, House of Flying Daggers, Passion of the Christ
(P.P.S. If any of the above suck a major D, let me know so I don't waste my time.)

Best Pictures
Napoleon Dynamite - I am currently obsessed with this movie, but I think that might dissipate with time. Freaking ridiculously hilarious. Or maybe not. Is "I caught you a delicious bass" all THAT funny? Right now, um, yeah.
The Bourne Supremacy - Pretty obvious why; it's like the first one only better. If I don't get into grad school this film (plus Spy Game) is why I'm going to try to join the CIA.
Collateral - I want Michael Mann to buy my clothes and music for me and then design my home along with its interior lighting. Like Heat, only less the epic but with even more style.
Eternal Sunshine - Kaufman's a sly one. I was confused and happy and sad. It would be my number one, but I'm not sure how much I'd want to see again and again rather than just stand back and respect what I think I caught the first time. His movies are like that.

Honorable Mentions
I Heart Huckabees - All over the map and often indulgent and boorish but good enough to be great. Marky Mark kicks ass.
The Day After Tomorrow - Cool effects that's all, but that's plenty.

Crappiest Films
The Life Aquatic - Laaaaaaaame.
Oceans Twelve - Smug fuckers. Watching this was like get pillow talk -- but no action -- from the hot cheerleading chick in high school.
Spiderman 2 - I can't remember exactly why this sucked, all I know is I will never have these two hours of my life back.
The Aviator - I was checking my watch every fifteen minutes like ten minutes before it even started.

El Glocko

Cruisin' the Schoolyards

Although I do not dispute the technical details described in the previous entry regarding both kidnapping and raping vans, I proffer a drastically different take on what defines a raping van. I agree with a kidnapping van being a non-descript transport van, usually with some type of signage (hopefully "City Morgue") but a kidnapping van, at least in my conception, has always been the really creepy conversion van, with a model year not exceeding 1984. Some accompaniment of oddly-shaped windows (diamonds, portholes, and the very rare teardrop) that are completely tinted so that onlookers cannot see in are also customary. Perhaps I have a narrow definition of said vans, and that these would fall into a more rigorously defined category, such as "Molester Vans" or something, but I put it to you. If you were to see a van like this roll up next to you with a sketchy dude in it, wouldn't you feel like you're about to be raped?

Null

The Van-Guard

Aden poses an intresting question about the difference between the "kidnapper" vs the "rapist" style of felony-oriented van models. This is a difficult and tricky delineation that I'll do my best to break down for you. The "rapist" and "kidnapper" van alike both have some overlapping requirements as well as differentiating features. Both must be inconspicuous, mechanically sound to insure an appropriate getaway when required (this might or might not include a spoiler), and provide the much-needed room necessary for the desired activity. However, the main difference is that the kidnapper van must have some sort of system preventing the victim from leaving the van. Removal of side and rear door handles is the most effective measure; another favorite is electric tape over the windows to prevent nosy bystanders from seeing "the package" as you lop off her ear to add "sauce" to the ransom note. Sound baffling (usually polypropylene foam) can be a wise option. Additional important measures would include a grate separating the cab from the cargo area and some sort of soft restraint system. The creative kidnapper will try to paint the exterior of the van white with signage from a local business to facilitate acquiring personnel unawares. On the other hand, Burnt Sienna with Taupe trim is the exterior design for most "rapist"

On an unrelated note, I'd like to point out how much Aden looks like the gentleman on the Tapatio Hot Sauce bottle. Those icy blue eyes, that rich brown moustache . . . I hope other people might post something explaining what kind of game they're playing with me

Bader Meinhof or the RAF

I am without a doubt awed by the company I keep, despite the obvious spatial separation. Cory, that was perhaps the most comprehensive geospatial overview of not only the 200 series Mercedes, but the multitude of other vehicles used by various radical/violent terrorist organizations around the world. As the title of this missive suggests, I was going to throw the Bader Meinhof gang on the table but taking into account the Germanic lineage of this organization's development I think I can answer my own question.
Kudos to you Null for you have ushered in a ray of sunshine into all of our lives with your spectacular multimedia presentation. Moreover, I think you've just submitted the rough outline of my masters thesis and for that I am eternally grateful. I was also wondering if I could get a similarly detailed outline highlighting the differences between the "raping van" and "kidnapper van"?
-Aden "The Seventh pillar of Islam" Acklin

Mercedes 230's, the Tri-Border Region, and the Rise of the Van Age...

Aden, I must take issue with your designation of the 230 series as the soup du jour of terrorist automobiles. Rather, if you'll take a gander at this model you'll agree that it is actually the Mercedes 200 series that epitomizes the terrorist abduction/C4-stuffed movable explosive car popularized in the Middle East in the 1970's. The 230, if you'll notice is actually a coupe, and would thusly not be conducive to kidnapping, say, the the children of Anwar al-Sadat, but rather, a singular, important figure, like King Hussein of Jordan.

Which brings me to my second point...Mercedes really are the flagship for European and Middle Eastern dignitaries and terrorists alike (who can tell the difference anymore, really). But other continents don't rely as heavily on Mercedes and instead go for more local forms of transport.

South America: I'm no geopolitical scientist, but I'll briefly break this down into three major regions of terrorism within South America: the Tri-border region of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay, Colombia, and Peru. In the tri-border region, we have all the usual cronies of Al-Qaeda and Hamas working, so it would reason that, because of the ties to the Middle East, as well as the availability of a multitude of Mercedes models (with Brazil having several major Mercedes production plants), that this region would also favor the use of the Mercedes, just because its tried and true and they know how to wire/handle it. As for Colombia, I'm gonna go ahead and say that I have no idea what the terrorist car choice would be, as I've had trouble finding out the make and model of a FARC car bomb that went off in 2003, killing 32 people when it leveled an 11-story parking garage. And as for Shining Path and Peru, they're communists, so its probably some sort of Skoda or other Russian junker, or perhaps a Yugo?

I'm assuming Africans use some sort of Land Rover or Land Cruiser or other Lorrie to abduct people, as the roads there are treacherous and prone to being washed out during the heavy rains. I mean seriously, what kind of car do you think an Angolan mercenary drives? I bet it sure as hell ain't a Mercedes - those are normally reserved for African Dictators like Laurent Kabila, Paul Kagame, Edi Amin, hell, I bet Mugabe drives one of those Mercedes 500's as well...

And man, who knows how people get abducted in Asia, but I'll say this, in the Straits of Malacca, you're more prone to being abducted by Filipino pirates on a heroin-running ship than you are by a Mercedes...

And to my final point. Here in North America, where we do terrorism right, our standard vehicle for shady activities is and always will be an unmarked, windowless van. I don't care if it's a new van or an old Chevy junker, vans are by far the most versatile tool of terrorist threats in this country. McVeigh loaded his van up with pounds upon pounds of fertilizer, popular Latina singer Selena was abducted in a van, and shit, even Trent Steele was taken in a van. I put it to you, Company, to put the Van in its place among the annals of terrorist vehicles!

From a dude who loves Vans (and African dictators),

Null

"Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun"

It is with great joy that I announce my official ascendancy to the throne of "Pool Viking" as evidenced by the arrival of my many thousand cards illuminating my new found stature. Rest assured, many handfuls of the otherwise useless cards and stationary will be dispatched to must of you so that you might souse yourself in my greatness.

For many decades, perhaps centuries, occupational sociologists will mark today, the 1st of February ought Five, as the day a man so nimble of mind, gentle in demeanor, and stately in appearance transcended the traditional rungs of organizational hierarchy to leave behind the moniker of "coffee bitch" and achieve "Pool Viking".

Aside from the momentous nature of this occasion, I must say that I agree with Molly in theory (assuming that was Molly's shout entitled "The End is Nigh") but cast my doubts over the timetable. I see this happening much later in our lives and, like Sol, relish the day when we can play the role of spectator to global affairs scene and no longer quibble over the "right" or "wrong" international policy decisions. Instead, the barometer dictating the relative prudence of our international policy will manifest itself in the form of a heavy handed slap about the jowl from the likes of China or India. Selah.

In other news, I've got a point of inquiry that I need some feedback on. A real web of ideas ranging from the academic (looking at you kids in H-Town...especially Null) to the militaristic (Nik) and encompassing everything in-between. The question is this: Has the old 230 Diesel Mercedes fallen out of favor with contemporary terrorist organizations? Obviously I can't speak for the rest of the group, but the brand of terrorism I was brought up on definitely featured the 230 Diesel Benz and maybe the occasional VW Minibus. If you were going to kidnap some embassy employees, blindfold a western journalist for a high speed circuitous route to a clandestine interview, or just pack a car with plain old C4 the early model 230 Diesel Benz was your vehicle of choice. The cat's pajamas. Your mark to the rest of the world that, as a terrorist organization, you'd made it. Naturally this leads to the question, if they have indeed fallen out of favor, what's the vehicle of choice today? I think Company has a responsibility to thoughtfully and humorously comment on this more thoroughly.

That's about all I can contribute to the discussion tonight. So with that, I bid you adieu with love...particularly to one C. Ramey.
-Aden