Daddy.... i will say it again... >>>> YOU LOVE EVERYONE!! Bless! lol

Years ago I was recording in this sudio. I was in Studio A and Wutang was in Studio B. So I spent about a week with these guys...

I was being sarcastic.

I still fancy Method and Red.... (I bet Lex would shag Red too!!!).... Me and Messy Rhonda could tag team the wu tang any day... just say the word...
*oink*

haha anna...
i just got a whole new
image in my head for
"let me clear my throat!"

O.D.B. made Snoop Dog look like a born again Christian. Kalief said it in the Times today, unlike Rockers, living off the edge and getting into trouble with the law for Rappers is not a sign of having a great time. I'm not a WU T fan, but it seems to me the vast majority of rappers are total poseurs, and O.D.B. was not one of THEM. So maybe if nothing else he deserves some props for being real. I always have sympathy for those who are too much of a misfit for even the misfits to put up with.

my mate Kersh just sent me this.. his report from the John Peel funeral which I thougth I would share with you...
On our pew alone sat Joe Boyd, Mark Ellen, Our Elizabeth, Billy Bragg,Robert Plant and half of the Undertones.

John Peel's funeral at the cathedral in Bury St Edmunds was, it has to be said,fabulous. And the turnout gave ample indication of the affection with which the great democrat of the airwaves was regarded by much of the nation.
Fittingly, it was a public service - and one at which spotty youths wept alongside the
elderly on sticks. To anyone who listened to him - on Radio 1 or Home Truths - John was a personal friend, even to those who had never met him. That was the measure of his broadcasting genius. Tony Blair broke into his busy schedule of bringing chaos to Iraq to catch,shamelessly, some of the reflected national affection for John.. Perhaps you saw his onion-from-pocket tribute on television on the day of John's death. In fact, many of you will have seen and heard it before. It was his People's Princess speech at Northolt airfield in 1997. Only the name had been changed. Granted, he didn't quite call Peel the People's DJ but all those phoney pauses were in there as, to suggest sincerity and emotion, he pretends to be fumbling for the right words. Peel loathed Blair. He admitted to me that he'd been seduced initially by the New Labour rebranding but, especially since Iraq, later felt betrayed and recognised Phoney
Tony as a wrong ˜un. In contrast, Paul Gambacini made the most moving, elegant tribute, speaking at the funeral without notes for twenty minutes and addressing not the congregation but Peel himself in the coffin. Paul began by reminding us that Peel had always
expected this task would fall to our old producer John Walters. "But Walters got out
of that job three years ago..." At this point few of us would have been surprised if we had
heard a familiar voice blustering in, down the aisle, from the back of the cathedral to
correct Gambo on one or two details of Peel's life and career.

Paul then mused on the possibility that, if there is an afterlife, Walters and Peel are
already sitting up there, making an absolute tip of heaven whilst discussing the Archers. And, worringly, as I remarked to Paul in the pub later, if they have established a celestial Room 318, there must already await me a celestial upturned litter bin for me to sit on, just like the one they allocated to me in that chaotic Radio 1 office back in 1985.

I am no believer but I sincerely hope the old pals are somehow reunited. John's wife, Sheila, told me that in the bar in Peru (˜Scuse me, Peru? Peel? He never went anywhere. The prospect of a family motoring holiday around northern France would give him anxiety attacks weeks before departure...) just half an hour
before he had his heart attack, he put down his glass and sighed, "I do miss Walters."

Alas, the reality is much more likely to be a scenario often predicted by Peel when in his deeper Eeyore moods. Reincarnation was a subject he brought up frequently and he was fond of speculating on how he might return. As a barnacle was one possibility. Or "as a section of the East Lancs Road" was another favourite. John's kids, in an intimate and often hilarious address, read out at the funeral by a neighbour, recalled his prediction that he might return "as the year 1847. Or as a tailback on the M6."

Laughter often rippled, unavoidably, through the congregation which helped many of us to hold it together. I lost it only right at the end when, after we'd heard a compliation of some his pithier musings, Teenage Kicks was played as the coffin was carried past us and everyone burst into spontaneous applause. At that point it hit me that he's not coming back.

Our little party then regrouped in a base camp established before the service: the Queen's Head in a narrow street behind the cathedral. There were characters and representatives from all stages in John's career - former hippy activists rubbing shoulders with rock legends and punks-turned-executives. Egos were checked
in at the door. Robert Plant kept me topped up with strong tea. Peel stories flew backwards and forwards. (I never tire of the one in which the young John Ravenscroft, as "a failed crop insurance salesman" in Texas in the early
60s, bought himself a car so powerful that, when he hit the accelerator, "it gave me an
erection.") It turned into quite a jolly afternoon, as Dr Excitement himself would
have wished.

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Ossie Davis.... bless ..... such a great dignified actor who really was a true humanitarian... an activist and just totally noble with his support of Civil rights movements and folks like Paul Robesons own personal challenges... Bless im!

At Malcolm X's funeral, I can remember that Ossie Davis got up an delivered the eulogy, throwing every white liberal in this country for a loop, and calling Malcolm, "My sweet Black prince..." It was an amazing and very apt choice of words at a time when many whites as well as Blacks had distanced themselves from Malcolm, whom they considered to be quite a "firebrand."
I have always had an enormous amount of respect for Davis for that. Bless him!

One of the local network teevee channels used to have a once a month 'black late movie' night hosted by him and his wife who would do a kind of down home Aliester MacClean intro and outroduction to whatever ripe film from black cinema was showing. They would be totally unrehearsed, slouching low on a couch in a mock lower middle class living room, and just adlib anecdotes about the movie stars, producers, etc. and tie it all in somehow offhand to a not strident Pan African or Black Nationalism take on it all. The only person who does that well now is Gil Noble on his Like It Is show. Years ago at a rehearsal for a show fronted by Max Roach at Aaron Davis Hall Ossie was cast to read some prose in a section of the production. Inbetween Max's playing and my former employer's African musical contribution. Davis was so commanding on stage all the other participants made comments about how the prose piece was "too long." They were all concerned beneath it all that he was upstaging them. And he wasn't trying to. He just had charisma that didn't need any pushing at all.

HUNTER THOMPSON HAS SHOT HIMSELF

Why why why!!!!
I feel betrayed,
My father said, "Well it's like him to just not give a shit!"
My reply, "If you don't give a shit, why bother killing yourself!?"

His wife said he wasn't aging well.
I hate to criticize, but Tallulah did say, "Getting old is not for sissies."


Food-fighting ...

http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2005/02/21/books/21THOM.slideshow_6.html

The Chicago Tribune Obit was better than the NY Times, with lots of quotes from Aspenites. I keep trying to look at www.aspentimes.com but it won't load...

FAREWELL DEAR CURMUDGEON!!!

Aspen Times article:

http://at.us.publicus.com/article/20050221/NEWS/102210014


Hunter Thompson dead

Seminal gonzo journalist kills himself

By Eben Harrell and Chad Abraham
February 21, 2005

Hunter S. Thompson, legendary author, political commentator and "gonzo" journalist, died Sunday night after shooting himself in the head with a handgun at his home in Woody Creek. He was 67.

Thompson's son, Juan, found his father's body in the kitchen around 6 p.m. By 6:30 p.m., Thompson's home at 1278 Woody Creek Road was sealed off by a sheriff's van.

Shortly thereafter, a grief counselor called in by the sheriff's department arrived at the residence, asking to see Thompson's 6-year-old grandson, William. Later, an unidentified man leaving the property said, "There are a lot of hurt family members up [at the house]."

Heavy snow fell on the property all evening as four or five sheriff's department vehicles quietly guarded the driveway. The silence was broken by a woman's shriek from within the house: "Why are there so many people here? I just can't deal with this. No. No. No."

Hunter Stockton Thompson was an icon of the 1960s counter-culture and was best known for his savage, first-person style of journalism in books such as "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" and "Hell's Angels." His style came to influence an entire generation of writers and reporters.

Thompson had been a resident of Pitkin County since the late 1960s. In a 1970 Rolling Stone article titled "Freak Power in the Rockies" (also later published in the Thompson collection "The Great Shark Hunt"), he documented the rise of a new political generation of hippy activists in Aspen. In 1970, Thompson himself ran unsuccessfully for Pitkin County sheriff.

Thompson's political legacy in Aspen and the surrounding area is far-reaching, even though his involvement dropped off in recent years. His bid for the sheriff's post was a direct attack on the traditional, conservative style of policing in place at the time, and set the stage for the more tolerant, community-minded law enforcement that took root in the 1970s under Sheriff Dick Kienast.

Thompson's activism also extended into the nuts and bolts of county government, and he helped pioneer the anti-development streak in local politics that survives to this day. He backed strict land-use controls and the candidates who were willing to impose them. Many of the land-use regulations still in place in Aspen and Pitkin County can be traced back to Thompson's work as a growth-control activist.

"The guy used to call me at 3 a.m. and talk about land use," said Pitkin County Commissioner Mick Ireland.

He had many friends in his neighborhood of Woody Creek and was for years a regular at the Woody Creek Tavern, the local restaurant and watering hole. At 9 p.m. last night, however, the tavern was packed with tourists and late eaters unaware of the death.

Thompson's compound in Woody Creek was almost as legendary as the author. He prized peacocks and weapons; in 2000, he accidentally shot and slightly wounded his assistant, Deborah Fuller, trying to chase a bear off his property.

News of his death hit Aspen's community hard. Many of Thompson's friends in the sheriff's department, including Sheriff Bob Braudis, were at a Sunday afternoon memorial service for Ross Griffin, a jailer who died unexpectedly this winter, when they heard the news.

"I was totally floored," Braudis said.

"I was at the memorial and Bob was there. He called me aside and said that he just heard Hunter shot himself," friend and Aspen-based artist Thomas Benton said.

In tears, Benton, who designed campaign posters for Thompson's 1970 campaign, said that Thompson "was an old friend for a long time."

Thompson had been in poor health in the last few years, suffering from several injuries and ailments, including a broken femur and recurring back problems. His physical therapist, BJ Williams, said Thompson had recovered well, however.

"Hunter had a lot of things thrown at him physically. He had a fractured leg and back surgery but he took it all in stride and fought back. He never gave up. I am just shocked by this," Williams said.

Fellow leftist journalist Paul Krassner, who once edited Thompson, told The Associated Press that the gonzo journalist was always unpredictable as a writer and a person.

"It was hard to say sometimes whether he was being provocative for its own sake or if he was just being drunk and stoned and irresponsible," Krassner said. "We were willing to risk all of his irresponsible behavior in order to share his talent with readers."

Re: Hunter Thompson

As often happens, Cintra Wilson put it beautifully in today's Salon

quote:

I think it is improper and disrespectful to whine about this suicide. Thompson was in the game for a very, very long time, and I think it is a safe bet that he was never comfortable. This was a profoundly tortured guy, the smoke from whose ears always made a whole lot of exciting colors that we all enjoyed. It was a great brain to watch but you wouldn't want to live in it, I'd aver. He was a butch motherfucker and I'd bet cash he stuck it out significantly longer than he really wanted to. Let's face it, HST was not one for the nursing home -- he'd have just stolen everyone else's barbiturates and hurt people trying to arm-wrestle.

May the kindly trickster gods collect you, Hunter Thompson, and drive you to where the buffalo roam, where your mind can unspool itself forever and your spirit can go on groping unsuspecting tits and trashing hotel rooms. You have earned it, Golden and Immortal Son of Classic Letters. Rest in Whatever You Would Prefer to Peace. We, the filthy and leaderless children who cherish your legacy, salute you, and will honor you with every bullet fired out of our car windows toward the unmarked desert sky.

The Post had a bit today about how Hunter was ranting and raving about what kind of funeral he wanted, and then walked right into the kitchen and shot himself without missing a beat.

And why. Why? Possibly boredom. I have noticed as I get older how situations and certain realities repeat themselves, despite all effort to the contrary. You feel metaphysically bored. That even if something seems to be new or different, it's not. This is the dish you are dealt... nothing will ever change.

I think behind the whining is the feeling that Hunter was a "gonzo leader" for us all. He wasn't supposed to "give up". He was fighting the sytem, etc. But as the article in Salon says here we are, the 'filthy and leaderless' bohemians who now have to take it upon ourselves to stay crazy, and not look for any kind of leader.

And no suicide note. That would have been banal.

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I actually tip my glass to Hunter.... he couldn't have gone out any other way really.

Bless im!

The family and friends of cult US writer Hunter S Thompson plan to honour his wish for his ashes to be fired out of a cannon.
The author, who committed suicide on Sunday aged 67, said on several occasions that he would like an artillery send-off for his remains.

"If that's what he wanted, we'll see if we can pull it off," said friend and historian Douglas Brinkley.

Fantastic!

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Anna Nicole,

Mr. T was kind of the last link to Neil Cassady, who the Beats tried soooo hard to make their adopted cartheif/Adonis. Thompson's 'first person journalism' was, as someone said here above, the result of his pissed-offedness. There was always an underlying sarcasm to his fumes, and I am sure he understood the deep veins of sarcasm's power. It seems obvious he wanted out, and anger can be a very powerful portal to getting back out in to the Universe. As with Cassady, Thompson's voice was an American original. Part cowboy, intellectual prankster, space-age bohemian, conoisseur of intoxicants (pouring ether on the floor mat of his car and turning the heater on!!!), and all-round contrarian. He knew how to throw the world away. And he knew that even with notoriety, cult status, millions of admirers, peer respect and whatever accomplishments here in life, when it comes to pain, even with caring family, you are ultimately in the end all alone. I hope they do blow him as his own ashes out of a canon.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: seven,

This from BBC news
The widow of US writer Hunter S Thompson has said her husband killed himself while they were speaking to one another on the telephone.
Thompson - best-known for his 1972 account of a drug-addled Nevada trip, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - shot himself on Sunday at his Colorado home.

His widow, Anita Thompson, 32, told the Aspen Daily News she heard the "clicking of the gun".

She said: "I was on the phone with him, he set the receiver down and did it."

Jackie 60 Legend KATHY LEE MOVE aka KATY 1987 - 2005

quote:

From Richard Move:
Darling Katy has passed at nearly 18 years of age... She crossed over peacefully and will rest along the shore of the lake in Maine she came to love in her final years.

I loved that dog.
I'll never forget Monday nights setting up for Jackie 60 when all of a sudden the door would open and this tornado of love would jump on top of me and visciously attack me with frantic kisses. She was an angel. I'm so glad she got to spend her retirement at her country estate in Maine. She loved it there.
RIP VIP

Awww, I loved her too. She was the first Pit Bull that made me realize that aggressive behavior was not necessarily a normal trait of the breed. What a gentle sweetie she was! Except of course when it came to those rubber rats we used to hang. Kitty would always have to get a few extra for Katy to chew to shreds.

Oh my darling sweet Katy..I remember the first time I met her at Pat fields store and she was covered in red lipstick kisses from Connie and Gina and Codie and all the queens who loved her. She had her own water bowl at my house when her mother would come to have her rootage bleached. 18 years is a long time. May she be running on the lawn of the dog heavens she so deserves.