Hunter S. Thompson is dead. Long live Hunter S. Thompson.
Seriously, this one bummed me out. (http://www.cnn.com/2005/SHOWBIZ/books/02/22/thompson.death.ap/index.html)
I truly hope that Thompson took his own life in an attempt to avoid physical pain (from his recent hip problems), as opposed to checking out simply because the world was getting him down. Suicide can be an attempt to end things on one's own terms, or it can be a self-centered attempt to escape the shitty side of life. I hope Thompson was escaping incurable physical pain, because otherwise I feel like he turned his back on a lot of people who thought of him as a four star general in the war against the intolerance of the squares.
In other news, my weekend was pretty good. I saw Constantine, which was much better than I expected, and I saw Anacondas 2, which was not better than I expected. The lawn got its first spring mow (well the front yard, anyway), and Cassidy got lots of play time, some of it with Hobbs. I hung out at the Broken Spoke on Friday with Jeff, Gary, "Nervous" Eddie, and the always effervescent Jackie. Conversation topics included The Letdowns, body hair, Jewishness, and drugs. Mono E had a good practice on Sunday, and Crack sans Rusty had a good practice on Friday. I also bought some new vinyl, which is always fun.
Well, it's past my work hour, so I'm going home. I love all of you beautiful people. By the way, congrats to the Thweatts on kid #3, John Edward (aka, Juan Eduardo)! Those Thweatts love to make babies.
Thanks to those of you who helped Rosa with couchquest '05. Peace, out.