Happy “REAL” President’s Day—GW’s BDay. My only sadness is the premature passing of Hunter Thompson. Don’t tell anybody, but Hunter S Thompson & John Cleese are my real modern heroes. Co-kings of “Thumb-Your-Nose-at-the-Establishment.”*** (*I guess I’m a little spooked, too, because HST was only 5 years older than I am—though he had ingested a bit more nasties than I have.) (**I feel as though I knew Hunter S Thompson—ever had such a feeling?)
Did I share this already? (And if so, what the hell.) Cervantes’ Don Quixote just had its 400-hundredth anniversary; it’s universally regarded as the Best Novel Ever. (I’m rereading it as we speak.) To cut to the chase, here’s DQ’s Epitaph, which works pretty damn well for Hunter Thompson (and which I’d love to co-opt):
Here lies the mighty gentleman
who rose to such heights of valor
that death itself did not triumph
over his life with his death.
He did not esteem the world;
he was the frightening threat
to the world, in this respect,
for it was his great good fortune
to live a madman, and die sane.
Epitaph, Don Quixote
Comments, my dears?