"There's nothing like a man in the throes of an ether binge." - H.S. Thompson (R.I.P.)

As that Elvis Costello song puts it, "Welcome to the the Working Week.' I had a fitful sleep, woke at 3:00 a.m. then 5:00 a.m. finally got up at 6:00 a.m. eventhough my wake up call was set for 6:30 a.m. Pouring rain again today, and the same forecast for tomorrow. It's almost as if the vision of L.A. depicted in "Blade Runner," has been realized; the weather pattern has changed drastically, and the City of Angels is always dark and rainy. There was about an hour of sunshine yesterday, and I strapped on my trusty 'trail runners,' and ran through the lonely streets of this pre-fabricated, futuristic, technology cube city called Irvine. This place has no past, no history, no character, it looks like a fake movie set let over from Woody Allen's "Sleeper.' I ran these perfect sidewalks (has anyone ever walked or run down these streets?) until the sidewalks ended. I kept going until I was surrounded by fields of strawberries. It was definitely the one moment of bliss for the day.

In the afternoon, my business colleague and I did a coastal tour, encapsulated in the warmth and safety of our little white rental car: Laguna Beach, Long Beach, Marina Del Mar, Venice Beach. We saw the industrial side of the oceanside: oil derricks, oil tankers, huge outlandish cranes, loading docks, massive and endless numbers of containers, plus the Queen Mary cruise ship (now a tourist attraction: a hotel with multiple restuarants). We listened to music on the radio, ("all eighties, all the time"), and talked about everything 'under the sun,' or in this case, 'under the weeping black clouds.'

This morning, I log onto the internet and the first news that hits me: Hunter S. Thompson has killed himself (a gun blast to the head). I must say I'm not really suprised, I always figured he'd go out with a bang. This man has been of one my writing heroes since high school. He wrote like a man possessed by demons (internal and external), and what came out of him, was honest, hard-nosed, brilliant, crazy, funny, outrageous. His political writing was extreme and over the top. It turns out his dark vision of Richard Nixon, who was truly his doppleganger, was perfectly dead on target. 'Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail," and "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," are two absolute masterpieces of a certain time and place. I was there too. It was a dark and extreme time in our country and Dr. Hunter S. Thompson (Gonzo Master, Doctor of Theology) plugged in and wrote it down in streams of brilliant, ranting, gibberish, and cold, hard, beauty.