Sunday Morning Coming Down

Apart from the depressing news of the missing non-white woman being found dead, and spending far, far too much time preparing the Carnival of the Cats for publication at Running Scared, I'm finding myself at a loss for topics this Sunday morning. I'm missing the normal talk shows because of a work related emergency that pulled me into my client's office for a few hours, and now I'm stalled waiting for some database operations to complete.

Checking the news, there's lot of bloviating going on, tons of speculation, and righteous indignation aplenty, but not much in the way of hard, breaking developments. That's when I turned to the BBC to find out the really important story of the day.

Hunter Thompson's Ashes Fired Into the Sky

The ashes of gonzo journalist Hunter S Thompson have been blown into the sky from a cannon in Aspen, Colorado.

Friends and admirers had gathered for the event at the writer's US home, six months after he shot himself there.

His ashes were fired from a 150ft tower topped by a red fist with two thumbs - the symbol of Thompson's free-wheeling, first-person gonzo journalism.

Johnny Depp even paid for the cannon. Since he played Thompson in a recent movie, it seems a fitting touch. Hunter's wife simply said that he "loved explosions", so I suppose sending him skyward in a fireworks display is probably how the old boy would have liked to go out. That's a real "send off" if I've ever seen one.

I loved Hunter's work. I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (and also ... On the Campaign Trial") very early in life. I won't say that the guy was some sort of visionary, at least no more so than Sam Kinnison was in the comedy world, but he was one hell of an entertainer.

We'll miss ya, Hunter. God Speed and good luck. If there's a press corps in the afterlife, I'm betting they've already all got ulcers.