Thursday, December 6, 2007

A Hunter Thompson Xmas

We've been on a mini-Hunter Thompson kick at my house. In the back of my mind, there's a faint amused bell of the time my old roommate and I were taking turns reading Lipstick Traces and England's Dreaming, and she said we had formed a Sex Pistols Study Group.

Anyway, I rounded up all my old paperbacks and have been flipping through them. On the inside cover of The Great Shark Hunt, I discovered a pencil notation in my loopy adolescent handwriting: "A wonderful Christmas present from Sandy and Camilla, 12/23/80." When I opened it up at random, my eye struck the word "pigfuckers." Knowing Sandy and Camilla, I think they'd have been surprised to know what they were getting me. (I've always had a Wish List going, long before Amazon came along, and hence the disparity between the nice, normal gift-givers and, well, me).

And then just the other night, in the half-a-second, between hitting the button on the remote that switches from the dvd back to the tv, and the button that shuts the tv off, I went, hey! That's Reverend Billy! There's a new documentary about Reverend Billy in limited release, produced by Morgan Spurlock, who was very articulate in the face of the smug nightly news woman. (Check out if I'm totally puzzling you).

So if you don't get a Christmas present from me again this year, it's all about the higher purposes. Not cheapness or laziness. Except sometimes...

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