Go See Gonzo

I was a little hesitant about going to Gonzo, the documentary about Hunter S. Thompson. He’s a writer whose work I’ve long admired, but everyone I’d known who had seen or met him in person made him sound like the world’s biggest asshole. Sometimes the fan was so enthralled with the idea (as opposed to the reality) of Hunter S. Thompson, he (these fans were always men) didn’t realize the impression he was creating. But I’m an anti-groupie. Generally when I meet someone whose work I love I will tell him, her or hir so, and then kind of run in the opposite direction. I never want to hang out. First, because I hate hanging out (I much prefer actual art or entertainment events as opposed to places filled with people where there may or may not be food, there may or may not be interesting conversation, but there’s always alcohol) and don’t have to do it to get laid anymore, but also because I don’t want someone being a dick to interfere with my enjoyment of his, her or hir work. The relationship I consider important is that of me to the work not between me and the artist-and his, her or hir neuroses, condescension, alcoholism, diva-tude, self-absorption, drug addiction, sexism, homophobia or racism. If you think I’m being unduly critical of artists, please note that I produced an artists’ showcase, and worked closely with those artists, for years.