« May 2010 | Main | July 2010 »

June 30, 2010

Listen To Gary Hart

Hello there. Thank you all for sending your news sources. I can’t post them all — soon, soon, we will have a comments section. soon come…below are some emails (click on the bottom link): But before that, let’s review an interview with Senator Hart regarding his take on the press — especially after he warned us of terrorist attacks eight months before 9/11. And subscribe to his blog "Matters of Principle."

Also, one important news source that I failed to mention yesterday:  The Economist.  yes, i was stupid to omit it. But my smartest friends reminded me! Jim Caruso texted me immediately (it’s the ONLY mag he reads cover to cover -kindle or otherwise) and Gary Hart, (also an Economist reader) after The New York Times (along with the Bush administration) ignored a third and final report in January of 2001 that terrorists would attack. Nobody listened, including the New York Times. Below is an excerpt of an interview Gary Hart granted the Woody Creeker in 2008:

 All of the people involved with Gary Hart’s warnings that "Terrorist are coming. They are going to attack us on American soil, possibly in large numbers."  delivered that report to the Bush administration Jan 31, 2001 — eight months before 9/11. Eight Months.

Anita Thompson: (Woody Creeker Magazine asking the Senator’s reaction to the press ignoring his warning) … Why do you think that nobody listened? Would they listen to you now?

Gary Hart: All of us involved in that were very popular after 9/11 and by and large and by journalists and others saying "Why didn’t we listen to you?" I’ve never been able to answer why people do what they do , and journalists particularly.

You answer that question, "Why didn’t you listen? "Well, first of all, the administration re-delivered our report after two and a half years. …But then we had a whole lot of other recommendations. We said, "Terrorist are coming. They are going to attack us on American soil, possibly in large numbers."  delivered that report to the Bush administration Jan 31, 2001 — eight months before 9/11. Eight Months. We talked to Colin Powell, we talked to Donal Rumsfeld, we talked to Condi Rice. Bush wouldn’t see us. Cheney wouldn’t see us.

They had blinders on about Iraq long before 9/11 — long before the War on Terrorism. They were going to get rid of Saddam Hussein. 

As for the press, the press has gotten frivolous. The news of the day, if you go back and read what they were reporting on in August, the summer of ’01: Elian Gonalez, the little Cuban boy, shark attacks on the Eastern Seaboard, and some scandal in Hollywood. So you could not even get The New York Times to focus on fourteen Americans who had lot of experience at this, saying terrorists are coming. So the press wasn’t doing its job and the administration wouldn’t listen to what we were saying.

AT: So that’s when the New York Times went down in their credibility for you?

GARY HART: When we issued our third and final report, 152 pages, we had a press conference in the United States Senate and there were like eight cameras there. Journalists were there. The guy from The New York Times Washington bureau was there, Steven Lee Myers. He sat there and got up halfway through the conference and left. We ha one of our advisers at the door, who teaches at Northwestern University say "Steve, why are you leaving?" 

Myers said, "Because none of this is going to happen."

he didn’t file a story. Now this is the most comprehensive review of US national security since 1947 and The New York Times, the next day, did not print one word because their reporter didn’t file a story.

AT: What papers do you read today? (joking) Obviously the New York Times.

Gary Hart: Well, with a pound of salt. I skim the internet, Huffington Post, The Economist, I read the Economist.


It’s late. I’m going to bed. I’ll post what advice Senator Hart had for young journalists tomorrow.

your friend in Woody Creek,

Anita Thompson

In the meantime, Here is what he wrote in The NYTimes about Senator Byrd: 

Robert Byrd was not happy with me during my first Senate campaign in 1974. He was touring the country campaigning for Democrats, presumably building up favors for a future campaign for majority leader, and he wanted to organize an event in Colorado that would feature him playing his fiddle. But my campaign, based on “new politics” and “new ideas,” did not seem compatible with his traditional hill-country fiddling. Looking back, I was wrong to turn him down. He would have been very well received.

Following his predecessor as majority leader, Mike Mansfield, Robert Byrd sought to help the progress of younger senators. In my case, he did so by naming me one of the new congressional observers to the Strategic Arms Limitations Talks in Geneva, which proved vital to my gaining an understanding of the intricacies of arms control negotiations.

Senator Byrd turned himself into not only a constitutional scholar but also an internationalist and something of a statesman. Though unable to depart from his often fierce protection of West Virginia’s economy, he even made efforts to adapt to the environmental age. Greater senators have undoubtedly gone before and will come after. But few will have demonstrated the up-by-the-boot-straps personal transformation shown by the extraordinary life of Robert Byrd.

— GARY HART, Democrat of Colorado, who served in the Senate from 1975 to 1987




Senator Hart’s blog, "Matters of Principle" has this text on the home page: The words of a thoughtful statesman indeed:

All people of good will and thoughtful disposition are welcome here.

Within the confines of time and normal human commitments, an effort will be made to respond to at least a few comments and questions. But those same confines will prevent extended dialogues or even short exchanges with more than a few. I apologize for these realities.

It is my hope to keep most of my observations to somewhere between 100 and 300 words, though the philosophical, perhaps ponderous, nature of topics selected will make this difficult. Therefore, responses that begin “I notice you didn’t mention….” will be duly noted but already precluded. Let’s all agree that every comment by me or others will necessarily leave a few things out.

The blog world has become accustomed to the participation of those for whom anonymity provides courage, that is those who find the blog an instrument of vituperation, anger, and bitter ad hominem revenge on the world. No one has yet devised a proper method of shunting anger into a more productive project. For those who are bitter, we must have sympathy but no respect.

–Gary Hart

Dear Anita,

You definitely seem to have a liberal lean to your chosen news sources. I like Antiwar.com, Infowars.com, and Prisonplanet.com. They are insightful, thought provoking and amusing. The New American I like as well as USA Today, and Fox News. Then again, I think my favorite TV news caster is Wolf Blitzer. Do you read the Drudge Report for laughs?


Christopher Riley

Hello Anita,

You have to include the CBC on your list of news sources. A pretty good reflection of Canadian views.





thank you, Ronald Liburdi for emailing this poem…

Farewell Jimmy
The songs of the Hills
are quieting down
its voice reverberates an echoing sound
the drums are still drumming
and the guitars are unplugged
farewell, Jimmy
The Rivers run dry
and you had to go.
There is no need for crying
and no need for tears
you set out to be "you" without any fear
Rowdy in our hearts you will always remain
a big soul can use a little rest
in that old empty chair
beside the River’s edge
Farewell Jimmy
the sky was on fire
and you had to go
From old Liverpool out to Oregon
you’ve been across the land, man.
You lit the fuse
with that chicken dance that you do
were all with you now
and still running wild
See you later, Jimmy
see you in awhile.
Ol Bluesman singing
up on the stage
showing your heart
in all that you play
as we dance it, and hunch it
and try to sing along
So long, Jimmy
it’s been a good dance, man
and you had to run along.
There is a Dixie Wind
in the Oregon Trees
where a stairway lay
beneath a lantern
hanging from the old mans hand
Farewell Jimmy
those stars are all yours
like they always been
The Harpmen are roaring
as the River people cry
but not as soon
as we collect the memories
of plenty you gave us.
You’re one of a kind
can never be replaced
Farewell Jimmy
Harpmen don’t die
they just play another song

All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 28, 2010

Objective and Subjective

Hello. Yes, it’s a Big News Day:  Supreme Court Gun Ruling, Kagan confirmation hearings…Feds Charge 11 With Acting as Agents for Russia.
James Carville suggests that General McChrystal should be considered as man to lead the Oil Spill Clean-up…
Sen. Robert Byrd of West Virginia dies at 92…

BP Oil spill goes on with industry loopholes…

of course all this is reported through various lenses of the press, so I thought I’d post one of Hunter’s passages from “Better Than Sex.”

Some People will say that words like scum and rotten are wrong for Objective Journalism – which is true, but they miss the point. It was the built-in blind spots of the Objective rules and dogma that allowed Nixon to slither into the White House in the first place. He looked so good on paper that you could almost vote for him sight unseen.  He seemed so all-American, so much like Horatio Alger, that he was able to slip through the cracks of Objective Journalism. You had to get Subjective to see Nixon clearly, and the shock of recognition was often painful.”
–Hunter S. Thompson, “Better Than Sex.”
Yes, It goes both ways. Of course McChrystal and his staff should have known better  Of course I’m not saying anything deeply profound here. nonetheless, maybe James Carville is on to something.


 it’s the Recovery That Matters, as Hunter always said.
Okay, goodnight…

Hunter started the tradition here in the kitchen at Owl Farm, to start his morning news with nytimes, Denver PostAspen Daily NewsWashington Post, Aspen Times, now, i’ve including my favorites news and blogs: talkleft.com. yes, the onionhttp://www.bbc.co.uk/,  associated press,   Huffingtonpost.com, , democracynow.org/blog http://firedoglake.com/ , npr, cnn EVEN drudgereport.com/! so many more (i don’t remember reading them all in one day, but it’s late… please email your most trusted news sources and even criticims of the list… thanks.

All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 24, 2010

The Long Gray Line

General Douglas MacArthur’s Farewell Speech: the long gray line was one of Hunter’s favorite speeches. If you have the time (it’s a long one) please read! Tomorrow will be Walter Cronkite’s remarks on the press’ behavior in the Afghanistan war. For obvious reason’s I’ll go ahead and post this: comes from National Center for Public Policy (yes, a conservative "think" tank)

 | May 12, 1962 | General Douglas MacArthur
Posted on January 31, 2004 8:22:33 AM EST by risk

General Douglas MacArthur’s Farewell Speech

Given to the Corps of Cadets at West Point

May 12, 1962

General Westmoreland, General Groves, distinguished guests, and gentlemen of the Corps. As I was leaving the hotel this morning, a doorman asked me, "Where are you bound for, General?" and when I replied, "West Point," he remarked, "Beautiful place, have you ever been there before?"

No human being could fail to be deeply moved by such a tribute as this, coming from a profession I have served so long and a people I have loved so well. It fills me with an emotion I cannot express. But this award is not intended primarily for a personality, but to symbolize a great moral code – the code of conduct and chivalry of those who guard this beloved land of culture and ancient descent. That is the meaning of this medallion. For all eyes and for all time, it is an expression of the ethics of the American soldier. That I should be integrated in this way with so noble an ideal arouses a sense of pride and yet of humility which will be with me always.

"Duty," "Honor," "Country" – those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you want to be, what you can be, what you will be. They are your rallying point to build courage when courage seems to fail, to regain faith when there seems to be little cause for faith, to create hope when hope becomes forlorn. Unhappily, I possess neither that eloquence of diction, that poetry of imagination, nor that brilliance of metaphor to tell you all that they mean.

The unbelievers will say they are but words, but a slogan, but a flamboyant phrase. Every pedant, every demagogue, every cynic, every hypocrite, every troublemaker, and, I am sorry to say, some others of an entirely different character, will try to downgrade them even to the extent of mockery and ridicule.

But these are some of the things they do. They build your basic character. They mold you for your future roles as the custodians of the nation’s defense. They make you strong enough to know when you are weak, and brave enough to face yourself when you are afraid.

They teach you to be proud and unbending in honest failure, but humble and gentle in success; not to substitute words for action; not to seek the path of comfort, but to face the stress and spur of difficulty and challenge; to learn to stand up in the storm, but to have compassion on those who fall; to master yourself before you seek to master others; to have a heart that is clean, a goal that is high; to learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; to reach into the future, yet never neglect the past; to be serious, yet never take yourself too seriously; to be modest so that you will remember the simplicity of true greatness; the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength.

They give you a temperate will, a quality of imagination, a vigor of the emotions, a freshness of the deep springs of life, a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, an appetite for adventure over love of ease. They create in your heart the sense of wonder, the unfailing hope of what next, and the joy and inspiration of life. They teach you in this way to be an officer and a gentleman.

And what sort of soldiers are those you are to lead? Are they reliable? Are they brave? Are they capable of victory?

Their story is known to all of you. It is the story of the American man at arms. My estimate of him was formed on the battlefields many, many years ago, and has never changed. I regarded him then, as I regard him now, as one of the world’s noblest figures; not only as one of the finest military characters, but also as one of the most stainless.

His name and fame are the birthright of every American citizen. In his youth and strength, his love and loyalty, he gave all that mortality can give. He needs no eulogy from me, or from any other man. He has written his own history and written it in red on his enemy’s breast.

But when I think of his patience under adversity, of his courage under fire, and of his modesty in victory, I am filled with an emotion of admiration I cannot put into words. He belongs to history as furnishing one of the greatest examples of successful patriotism. He belongs to posterity as the instructor of future generations in the principles of liberty and freedom. He belongs to the present, to us, by his virtues and by his achievements.

In twenty campaigns, on a hundred battlefields, around a thousand campfires, I have witnessed that enduring fortitude, that patriotic self-abnegation, and that invincible determination which have carved his statue in the hearts of his people.

From one end of the world to the other, he has drained deep the chalice of courage. As I listened to those songs of the glee club, in memory’s eye I could see those staggering columns of the First World War, bending under soggy packs on many a weary march, from dripping dusk to drizzling dawn, slogging ankle deep through mire of shell-pocked roads; to form grimly for the attack, blue-lipped, covered with sludge and mud, chilled by the wind and rain, driving home to their objective, and for many, to the judgment seat of God.

your friend in Woody creek,

Anita Thompson.

If you’d like to read the best and the rest, click below. 

I do not know the dignity of their birth, but I do know the glory of their death. They died unquestioning, uncomplaining, with faith in their hearts, and on their lips the hope that we would go on to victory. Always for them: Duty, Honor, Country. Always their blood, and sweat, and tears, as they saw the way and the light.

And twenty years after, on the other side of the globe, against the filth of dirty foxholes, the stench of ghostly trenches, the slime of dripping dugouts, those boiling suns of the relentless heat, those torrential rains of devastating storms, the loneliness and utter desolation of jungle trails, the bitterness of long separation of those they loved and cherished, the deadly pestilence of tropic disease, the horror of stricken areas of war.

Their resolute and determined defense, their swift and sure attack, their indomitable purpose, their complete and decisive victory – always victory, always through the bloody haze of their last reverberating shot, the vision of gaunt, ghastly men, reverently following your password of Duty, Honor, Country.

The code which those words perpetuate embraces the highest moral laws and will stand the test of any ethics or philosophies ever promulgated for the uplift of mankind. Its requirements are for the things that are right, and its restraints are from the things that are wrong. The soldier, above all other men, is required to practice the greatest act of religious training – sacrifice. In battle and in the face of danger and death, he discloses those divine attributes which his Maker gave when he created man in his own image. No physical courage and no brute instinct can take the place of the Divine help which alone can sustain him. However horrible the incidents of war may be, the soldier who is called upon to offer and to give his life for his country, is the noblest development of mankind.

You now face a new world, a world of change. The thrust into outer space of the satellite, spheres and missiles marked the beginning of another epoch in the long story of mankind – the chapter of the space age. In the five or more billions of years the scientists tell us it has taken to form the earth, in the three or more billion years of development of the human race, there has never been a greater, a more abrupt or staggering evolution. We deal now not with things of this world alone, but with the illimitable distances and as yet unfathomed mysteries of the universe. We are reaching out for a new and boundless frontier. We speak in strange terms: of harnessing the cosmic energy; of making winds and tides work for us; of creating unheard synthetic materials to supplement or even replace our old standard basics; of purifying sea water for our drink; of mining ocean floors for new fields of wealth and food; of disease preventatives to expand life into the hundred of years; of controlling the weather for a more equitable distribution of heat and cold, of rain and shine; of space ships to the moon; of the primary target in war, no longer limited to the armed forces of an enemy, but instead to include his civil populations; of ultimate conflict between a united human race and the sinister forces of some other planetary galaxy; of such dreams and fantasies as to make life the most exciting of all time.

And through all this welter of change and development your mission remains fixed, determined, inviolable. It is to win our wars. Everything else in your professional career is but corollary to this vital dedication. All other public purpose, all other public projects, all other public needs, great or small, will find others for their accomplishments; but you are the ones who are trained to fight.

Yours is the profession of arms, the will to win, the sure knowledge that in war there is no substitute for victory, that if you lose, the Nation will be destroyed, that the very obsession of your public service must be Duty, Honor, Country.

Others will debate the controversial issues, national and international, which divide men’s minds. But serene, calm, aloof, you stand as the Nation’s war guardians, as its lifeguards from the raging tides of international conflict, as its gladiators in the arena of battle. For a century and a half you have defended, guarded and protected its hallowed traditions of liberty and freedom, of right and justice.

Let civilian voices argue the merits or demerits of our processes of government. Whether our strength is being sapped by deficit financing indulged in too long, by federal paternalism grown too mighty, by power groups grown too arrogant, by politics grown too corrupt, by crime grown too rampant, by morals grown too low, by taxes grown too high, by extremists grown too violent; whether our personal liberties are as firm and complete as they should be.

These great national problems are not for your professional participation or military solution. Your guidepost stands out like a tenfold beacon in the night: Duty, Honor, Country.

You are the leaven which binds together the entire fabric of our national system of defense. From your ranks come the great captains who hold the Nation’s destiny in their hands the moment the war tocsin sounds.

The long gray line has never failed us. Were you to do so, a million ghosts in olive drab, in brown khaki, in blue and gray, would rise from their white crosses, thundering those magic words: Duty, Honor, Country.

This does not mean that you are warmongers. On the contrary, the soldier above all other people prays for peace, for he must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war. But always in our ears ring the ominous words of Plato, that wisest of all philosophers: "Only the dead have seen the end of war."

The shadows are lengthening for me. The twilight is here. My days of old have vanished – tone and tints. They have gone glimmering through the dreams of things that were. Their memory is one of wondrous beauty, watered by tears and coaxed and caressed by the smiles of yesterday. I listen then, but with thirsty ear, for the witching melody of faint bugles blowing reveille, of far drums beating the long roll.

In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield. But in the evening of my memory I come back to West Point. Always there echoes and re-echoes: Duty, Honor, Country.

Today marks my final roll call with you. But I want you to know that when I cross the river, my last conscious thoughts will be of the Corps, and the Corps, and the Corps.

I bid you farewell.

All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 21, 2010

Smell a Rat, Then Sponsor One

 Hello there. Last week I forgot to mention a great column by Nicholas Kristof that is a must read… I was reminded of it after spending my day today travelling from various offices in the local government, tracking down the necessary permit applications and stopping to spend some time with our beloved Sheriff Bob Braudis and soon to be successor Joe Disalvo, I realized how important good community is.

Every office I went to, including the pitkin  county library, where Jennifer and Steve laughed and chatted with me over a Shel Silverstein poem and gin tonics. All was well and happy until I stopped in the parking violations office (since I was in the government ‘hood). It was the only place where I was met with an odious and depressing reception. No smiles, no interest in being helpful, no bother that I was about to help pay their salaries and ability to give me more parking tickets. Just pay for my sins and get the hell out.  Perhaps it’s as simple as the fact that people who work in professions that are designed to try to make lives of their comrades easier, they know how to smile. I didn’t leave the parking office so angry as I did with pity  — for these are loathsome folks whether you pay for your parking sins or not. bummer.

Why am i rambling about this? Don’t know. Just wanted to keep you posted on the goings on here, I guess. As always, more to come, but please read Kristof’s piece below, if you haven’t already… Thanks Mr. Kristof!

[H]ow about sponsoring a rat? Specifically, an African giant pouched rat, about 30 inches long including tail. These are he-man rats, the kind that send cats fleeing. What’s more, we’re not talking about just any giant rat, but an educated one with the rodent equivalent of a Ph.D.

A Dutch company, Apopo, has trained these giant rats, which have poor sight but excellent noses, to detect landmines in Africa. The rats are too light to set off the mines, but they can explore a suspected minefield and point with their noses to buried mines. After many months of training, a rat can clear as much land in 20 minutes as a human can in two days.

In addition to earning their stripes as mine detectors, the giant rats are also trained in health work: detecting cases of tuberculosis. Possible TB sufferers provide samples of sputum, which are then handed over to the rats to sniff out. This detection process turns out to be much faster than your typical microscope examination. A technician with a microscope in Tanzania can screen about 40 samples a day, while one giant rat can screen the same amount in seven minutes.

What man wouldn’t pass up a necktie for the chance to be associated with an educated, supermacho giant rat? For just $36, you can buy a year’s supply of bananas to feed one of these rats. Or, for a gift more on the risqué side, $100 will buy a “love nest” for a breeding pair of rats.

– Nicholas Kristof, NYTimes.com

your friend in Woody Creek,

Anita Thompson


p.s. Yes, I need an editor to correct my typos and grammaticos. that too, soon come (smile).  

All comments are subject to review before being published.

Gonzo, Yankees… We is the Most important Word in….

Hello.  I’m back home at Owl Farm after a productive week on the East Coast.

After the last post, Jim Caruso and I were graciously invited by my nephew Zack’s Little League Coach George Girardi and his brother Joe Girardi for a fantastic Yankees v. Mets game at the new Yankee stadium with the players and parents who had spent the previous week in Cooperstown Little League tournament. What a sight to see! My first live baseball game surrounded by friends and dedicated players was a thrill.  These two brothers – George and Joe Girardi — have the all American sport covered from the kids to the Pros. It was a pleasure to say the least. The score didn’t end up the way we wanted, but it didn’t tamper with the high spirits of the kids. Selah.


Now back at Owl Farm, we are focusing on the launch of the Gonzo Foundation…. Finally! As you may already know, The Gonzo Foundation promotes Journalism, Literature and Political activism through the legacy of our Hunter S. Thompson. Ralph Steadman and his beautiful bride Anna, will be here to make the home run as we launch the summer schedule and the concept that Ralph started with Hunter one night here in the kitchen. I stil remember that night so clearly. Joe Petro, Hunter and I listened to Ralph as he explained why Hunter must start the process of the foundation. He explained what the benefits are, if run properly, would do for the next and current generation of gonzo artists. OH yes! you don’t need to remind me that Ralph and Hunter brought the best out of each other as a team.

So here we are, a few years later, doing just that. As Hunter said We is the Most important word in Politics."

Indeed. Stay tuned for more details. I just wanted to check in before light’s out.  And Happy Father’s day to the Dads. We love you.

Speaking of We, Joey Disalvo’s campaign for Sheriff is in full swing. I look forward to seeing Hunter’s dear friend Joe carry on the policy of peace, strength and fairness that is the saving grace of Pitkin County Law Enforcement. We need Joe Disalvo.

Cheers, Anita Thompson



All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 17, 2010

Gonzo Foundation, Boston Celtics, Seth Godin, My Nephew and even the Yankees

Hello from Boston! The morning started at 9 am sharp in a Seth Godin seminar and ended with summing up the day’s events while glued to the bar hotel HD Flat screen as police in riot gear blanketed the city. 

Today at the Burns and Levinson building where Jim Caruso and I had a nice lunch with former trustee George Tobia and a visit with current Gonzo Trustees Evelyn Haralampu and Howard Medwed — the vibe around the city seemed as if the Celtics could ONLY win.

We were in town, in part, to plan the launching Gonzo Event (around Hunter’s birthday in July) that will take place in Woody Creek where we will announce the Gonzo Writing Competition: the winners will be puclished in the Woody Creeker along with a major Magazine and a book contract with People’s Press, and our brother Ralph Steadman will be at Owl Farm to help launch the first programs. it’s a beautiful, although strenuous summer ahead of us. I couldn’t be more proud to have this team.

One of George’s colleagues, who had just returned from LA from the last game between the Lakers and Celtics, was passing through the marble elevators as we were all being introduced. The only advice I had for him was what Hunter always taught me: "oh, that’s right," I said. "Don’t bet with your heart, bet with your head." It’s doubtful he took my bold advice, but it just sort of came out, as Hunter’s advice has saved my skin on oh so many occasions.

Seeing the look on all the locals faces as the score was finalized was in a word, BRUTAL. Safe up in our hotel rooms in downtown Boston, Jim Caruso and I didn’t hear about any riots, but we certainly saw the 30 or so motorcylces lined up along

Faneuil Hall

There were police in riot gear and beating sticks, jacks, helmets and paddy waggons all around.

Apparently they were preparing for a win OR loss. But how could the celtics have lost?? As ESPN reported By Chris Sheridan It was slow-paced, it was physical, it was defensively-oriented. And most importantly, when it was a test of poise under pressure during the first three quarters, it was the Celtics who were clearly looking like superior championship material.


Championship material is different from being an actual champion, I guess. And spending time my extended gozno Family: George, Evelyn, Wayne (I told you I did see Wayne’s new movie which is wonderfu) and my time with Jim has made me remember what a champion Hunter was, and how we have a responsibiltiy to continue the best we can. We have a 5 star team. 

 Speaking of Champions, we are headed back to NYC tommorrow again, where my nephew Zack will be battting with the NY Yankees on the field after a week of strenuous World Series Little League. You go boys!

Look forward to catching up after, especially since my last post was full of kettle one martinis. it’s just right to take it easy these last few nights playing gin… as in cards!


Anita Thompson


All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 15, 2010

Back n the City

hello: Im in NYC at the Gramercy hotel in an awesome suite thanks to Gonzo Board of director Jim Caruso. the music, billiards, art, food city. so good to be back. my nephew Zack won in the little league tournament today. Yay Zack. We love you.


this blog was written under the influence of  city spirit and a few cosmos. all my love, Anita Thompson

don’t worry, i’ll be sober in the morning  xoxox Anita

All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 13, 2010


Hello. This weekend turned out to be a lot of fun and good vibes all around, as always when NORML comes to town. You may have read about it via Rick Cusick of High Times  that former Owl Farm intern, Liz Yount told me about.

Also, our good friend Jerri Merritt and her son Nick stayed at Owl Farm   The weather has been extremly dry, not a drop —  but it decided to pour down the day of the Owl Farm cookout. But everybody seemed to have a good time under the tents and bbq (backdoor catering) and DANCED to the Redtones. Some of the best times were had in the living room. I’m missing Hunter more than ever, and it was the perfect time to have frequent readings by Hunter. Gerry Goldstein’s lovely son, Matthew read a great letter that Hunter wrote to Keith Stroup and his other five star lawyers in 1990.

you can read it here.

Along with a top gun legal seminar, NORML also celebrated at Chris and Gerry Goldstein’s house fundraiser which is always a pleasure. Famed Chef Chris Lanter of Cache Cache cooked up a storm and some sort of dessert that caused everone to fall deeply in love with eachother that is probably still in full swing. Chris’s friend and caretaker Kris were at Owl Farm relaxing as well.

It was a lovely day, and the cleanup is still underway. Pamela Hart, the founder of Plant trees 4 life was with me since early am to help get everything ready. She also presented a certificate for a tree, which I dedicate to Hunter.

 Darling Jim Caruso of Flying Dog Beer   was in town and we got to catch up and plan the Big Gonzo Foundation kick off event for July. All is well in the Gonzo world. Hunter was missed more than ever, but his spirit was strong and very moving.

I was very emotional after the event, and will never be able to thank Hunter enough for introducting me to a world and such a solid community.  As I said before, with a family intact, anything is possible.

Now, I’m unwinding and getting ready to travel to see my nephew Zack play in his little league tournament in NYC. Will check in soon. And Thank You Morgan Sanders!

 lots of love from Owl Farm,

Anita Thompson

All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 11, 2010

Amor Vincit Omnia

In a world where, According to enrichment journal on the divorce rate in America:
The divorce rate in America for first marriage is 41%
The divorce rate in America for second marriage is 60%
The divorce rate in America for third marriage is 73%

There are a few blessed friends who are raised by a stable, thinking, loving family. I have a friend named Cameron Leonard, who has three amazing siblings who were raised in an elegant family on the Pacific Coast, where the sound of the waves intermingled with family dinners and normal family squabbles. But whatever the environment, the end result was a solid dream-of-America Family.

Cameron and his brother and sisters will be saying, in public, their final public goodbye and thank you to their parents on the same day that I will be hosting the annual NORML legal seminar celebration at Owl Farm. Where both dreams of the American experience – where every family can have a loving mom and dad, and that something like 830,000 people won’t go to jail/prison for smoking pot.

   My friend’s name is Cameron Michael Leonard. He is the son of Diane Adel Leonard and James Richard Leonard. All his life, he has been the apple of his mama’s eye and at the same time his father’s worst fears realized!

   Tomorrow he will attend a celebration of his parent’s lives. – who died three months apart after decades of marriage. Never has there been a man so proud of sharing their parents name as he.

   His father was huge man not only in physical stature but also of heart, never struck him in his entire life, and his mother has never (and I mean never) said an unkind word to him.

   Although he misses them terribly, he has nothing but joy in his heart. Attending tomorrow will be the greatest honor one man can have.  He will stand as tall as his father and be as kind to his siblings as his mother was to him. For these two gifts he will be forever in their debt. They taught him that true love is still alive and well, and available to all that have the desire to search it out.

  Goodbye mama, goodbye to you too old man,

  With undying love I thank you.

   Your son, Cameron

Tomorrow, Hunter’s chef, Cameron, and go-to guy for other fine cuisine etc., will be on the Pacific Ocean saying thank you and farewell to his parents, while we celebrate the strides NORML has made over the last 40 + years with Keith Stroup at the helm, and now our beloved Allen St. Pierre carries the torch. We’re not there yet guys, but soon come.

With Family Intact, Anything is Possible,

Anita Thompson

All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 09, 2010

Cake Time Gentlemen!

Guess What? More Birthdays this week! This is indeed time to celebrate our beloved Woody Creek Gaylord Gueinin and Flying Dog Swain Jim Caruso day to eat cake!



Birthday, Birthday, Ba-Da-Bing……,
Ba-Da-Bing Birthday, Ba-Da-Bing……,
Everyone’s happy……,
Let’s all sing……,
Birthday, Birthday, Ba-Da-Bing……! ! !

It’s your special day…….,
So have a fling……,
Ba-Da-Bing Birthday, Ba-Da-Bing……,
Your friends are here……,
The bells will ring……,
Birthday, Birthday, Ba-Da-Bing……! ! !

You’ve cut the cake……,
Queen or king……,
Celebrate the joy……,
Your day will bring……,
Birthday, Birthday, Ba-Da-Bing……,
Ba-Da-Bing Birthday, Ba-Da-Bing……,
Birthday, Birthday, Ba-Da-Bing……,
Birthday, Birthday, Ba-Da-Bing……! ! !

……Trade Martin, 2009.


your friend in Woody Creek,

Anita Thompson

All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 08, 2010


Hello: two great posts today to link to on this election day:

Cut The Leash from Jim Caruso

Big Tent Democrat on jerri Merritt’s blog


And here’s a great  story that my friend Joe Fredericks today (photos tk):


After losing his parents, this 3 year old orangutan was so depressed he wouldn’t eat and didn’t respond to any medical treatments. The veterinarians thought he would surely die from sadness.

The zoo keepers found an old sick dog on the grounds in the park at the zoo where the orangutan lived and took the dog to the animal treatment center. The dog arrived at the same time the orangutan was there being treated.

The 2 lost souls met and have been inseparable ever since. The orangutan found a new reason to live and each always tries his best to be a good companion to his new found friend. They are together 24 hours a day in all their activities. They live in Northern California where swimming is their favorite past time, although Roscoe (the orangutan) is a little afraid of the water and needs his friend’s help to swim.

Together they have discovered the joy and laughter in life and the value of friendship. They have found more than a friendly shoulder to lean on. Long Live Friendship!!!!!!!

I don’t know……some say life is too short, others say it is too long, but I know that nothing that we do makes sense if we don’t touch the hearts of others…….while it lasts!

 Cheers, Anita Thompson

All comments are subject to review before being published.

Helen Thomas

Jim Caruso posted a lovely blog today about Hunter’s work and The Gonzo Way, a book I wrote about the valuable lessons I learned from Hunter. But today, it doesn’t help me deal with the shocking news of Helen Thomas –  Her seat is now empty. I do know how much Hunter respected her work and would shush the room when she was asking  a question in a televised press conference. But I don’t know exactly what he would have written today after her appalling remarks that went viral via a guy who asked her opinion and got a shocking answer on camera.  She has apologized and said it is not what she believes in her heart. But… she said it. Did she mean it? I’m not qualified to assess her entire career via her sidewalk statement. But it’s a shock from any angle.  The only thing that comes to mind is a passage from a book you probably know:

"Never mind," I said. "It’s your turn to drive." I hit the brakes and aimed the Great Red Shark toward the shoulder of the highway. No point mentioning those bats, I thought. The poor bastard will see them soon enough."

— Hunter S. Thompson, Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas

your disappointed friend,

Anita Thompson



 Thank you Rory for the following passage from Ralph Steadman’s The Joke’s Over.

Hi Anita,
I looked up Ralph’s book and opening a random page I came across this gem:
"I had been with him at night driving fast into Los Angeles when he had said: ‘Look at that moon, Ralph. Have you ever driven by moonlight with the top down, but with the lights out? The wind is fierce and strong. But by that light, Ralph, you can see the bats. You can see the stars but the police can’t see you, and they never see the bats. If they are lying in wait for dumb fucks followed by a fairground of lights they get caught. Don’t advertise. They only hear us and by then we have slipped past in the dark … and not only that, they would never believe that anyone would be so goddamn stupid as to drive at night without lights. It confounds reason. That’s Gonzo, Ralph … That is pure Gonzo!’"   
An appropriate passage on the 40th anniversary of Gonzo!
All the best,
Rory Feehan
thanks Rory! 
Anita Thompson


All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 06, 2010

Hunter S. Thompson Memorial — Memorials

Hello!  I’m so glad that many of you appreciated Jim Caruso’s post and Joseph Conrad’s words on ART. The remaining section of Conrad’s Preface is on the next page… (click on the link at bottom of my post).

also, click on this fun link that Ralph sent and asked, IS IT ART?  http://www.keithnewsteadautomata.com/node/132

today was a good day, watering the lawn, correspondence, packing up the rest of my home office (only the office furniture) to be moved to the Woody Creek Community Center. Feel good about  Owl Farm. I received an email from a  fellow gonzo friend  that asked a common question:


So maybe I’m just another ignorant fool, but I can’t seem to find any information on Hunter’s Gonzo memorial..
I’m taking a road trip out west this July and thought about going a little bit out of my way to see the memorial because I had heard so much about it and I’m such a huge Hunter fan.  But upon researching, I can’t seem to find anything.  I’m not expecting a visitor’s center, a gift shop, or any other highlights of a normal tourist attraction..that wouldn’t be right.  But is the monument open to visit? Or Owl Farm for that matter?  I would truly be blessed to be on Hunter’s old stomping grounds.  Please let me know one way or the other, and forgive me if I’ve missed something obvious.
Thanks and much respect, because I am such a big admirer,


Dear Daniel and everyone who would like to see the memorial,

The actual memorial is in a gigantic vault of some kind that Johnny Depp has  been taking care of until a final home for it is discovered. As you know, Hunter loved Johnny very much and respected his judgment. So, it’s in good hands, and when the time is right, we’ll all know.

Wayne Ewing, Hunter’s dear friend and biographer for several decades, did film the making of the memorial, When I Die which is available to view. its is personal, behind the scenes with the respect Wayne is famous for.

Although I have not yet opened Owl Farm to the public, as it is Hunter’s beloved home,  I’ve kept it as Hunter left it, and our family is at peace (unless the impatient drunken intruders have to be dealt with) is a memorial to his good taste in the Rockies: Owl Farm in a Xanadu like area of the valley. And the fact that the Woody Creek has avoided and survived the massive building spree of Aspen is also a memorial to Hunter and George Stranahan and all who live here.

The greatest memorial, which you already know, is in Hunter’s books. Never underestimate what opening one of his books and reading his words, with Ralph Steadman’s illustrations, will do for your confidence, good humor and ability to SEE… (I’m still working on the seeing part myself). Remember, this year is the 40th anniversary of the birth of Gonzo: When Hunter and Ralph worked together for the first time:

Around Derby Day (And hats off, that today is also the anniversay of THE D-day).

he wrote:My Dear Anita


Surely not 40 years since Hunter and  me met.  I was only 34 years old and totally innocent. Hunter was the same age but he wasn’t innocent- but I didn’t know that at the time.  GONZO was founded on pure trust and anyway, I thought Hunter was Howard Johnson!!  I had never heard of him- nor him, me!!


If you look on page 111 of hardcopy of Teh Great Shark Hunt, or Ralph’s America, you’ll see an interview w Hunter about Ralph:

E.D. You’ve worked with Ralph Steadman quite a bit, Dr. Thompson. Soem of the material in this book came out of strange assignments and trips you made together. How did you two hook up in the first place?

HST: Ah, let’s see…I ran into him at the Kentucky Derby i May of 1969. I had been looking around for an artist to go to the Derby with me. I called Warren Hinckle, the editor at Scanlans, and said, "We need somebody with a really peculiar sense of humor, because this is going to be a very twisted story. it’ll require somebody with a serious kink in brain.." 

… (then on the the general topic of their work in other books about America and Ralph’s earlier take on America]

ED:  Drunk?

HST: He’s constantly drunk, in public – 

… ED: Does he draw fast?.. so he’s very fast?

HST:  YEs, it’s shocking to work with him. Just about the time I’m starting to sit down and get to work, he’s finished. It’s depressing. It took me three weeks to write that Kentucky Derby story, but Steadman did his drawing in three days. He’s not a serious boozer, you know, but when when he comes over here and gets involved in these horrible scenes, it causes him to drink heavily….

America by Ralph Steadman, San Francisco, Straight Arrow Press, 1974 (continues on  to page 119)

 Sadly, I want to transcribe from one of the best memorials to Hunter, written by Ralph, titled The Joke’s Over. Damnit, after searching every library room at Owl Farm, i now remember that my copy is in my book storage in NYC. So, please open your copy and send me some of those wonderful stories he tells. My 2000 mile away book is marked up and is writing into the tall grass at its finest., but useless to me at the moment since I took it with me to NY. soon come.

Okay, bedtime for me but not before the promised Conrad Preface. Click below:

Your friend at Owl Farm,

Anita Thompon


  (continued from Joseph Conrad — Preface the the Nigger of the Narcissus)

Fiction — if it at all aspires to be art — appeals to temperament. And in truth it must be, like painting, like music, like all art, the appeal of one temperament to all the other innumerable temperaments whose subtle and resistless power endows passing events with their true meaning, and creates the moral, the emotional atmosphere of the place and time. Such an appeal, to be effective, must be an impression conveyed through the senses; and, in fact, it cannot be made in any other way, because temperament, whether individual or collective, is not amenable to persuasion. All art, therefore, appeals primarily to the senses, and the artistic aim when expressing itself in written words must also make its appeal through the senses, if its high desire is to reach the secret spring of responsive emotions. It must strenuously aspire to the plasticity of sculpture, to the colour of painting, and to the magic suggestiveness of music — which is the art of arts. And it is only through complete, unswerving devotion to the perfect blending of form and substance; it is only through an unremitting, never-discouraged care for the shape and ring of sentences that an approach can be made to plasticity, to colour; and the light of magic suggestiveness may be brought to play for an evanescent instant over the commonplace surface of words: of the old, old words, worn thin, defaced by ages of careless usage.

   The sincere endeavour to accomplish that creative task, to go as far on that road as his strength will carry him, to go undeterred by faltering, weariness or reproach, is the only valid justification for the worker in prose. And if his conscience is clear, his answer to those who, in the fulness of a wisdom which looks for immediate profit, demand specifically to be edified, consoled, amused; who demand to be promptly improved, or encouraged, or frightened, or shocked, or charmed, must run thus: — My task which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel — it is, before all, to make you see. That — and no more, and it is everything. If I succeed, you shall find there according to your deserts: encouragement, consolation, fear, charm — all you demand; and, perhaps, also that glimpse of truth for which you have forgotten to ask.

   To snatch in a moment of courage, from the remorseless rush of time, a sapping phase of life is only the beginning of the task. The task approached in tenderness and faith is to hold up unquestioningly, without choice and without fear, the rescued fragment before all eyes and in the light of a sincere mood. It is to show its vibration, its colour, its form; and through its movement, its form, and its colour, reveal the substance of its truth — disclose its inspiring secret: the stress and passion within the core of each convincing moment. In a single-minded attempt of that kind, if one be deserving and fortunate, one may perchance attain to such clearness of sincerity that at last the presented vision of regret or pity, of terror or mirth, shall awaken in the hearts of the beholders that feeling of unavoidable solidarity; of the solidarity in mysterious origin, in toil, in joy, in hope, in uncertain fate, which binds men to each other and all mankind to the visible world.

   It is evident that he who, rightly or wrongly, holds by the convictions expressed above cannot be faithful to any one of the temporary formulas of his craft. The enduring part of them — the truth which each only imperfectly veils — should abide with him as the most precious of his possessions, but they all: Realism, Romanticism, Naturalism, even the unofficial sentimentalism (which, like the poor, is exceedingly difficult to get rid of); all these gods must, after a short period of fellowship, abandon him — even on the very threshold of the temple — to the stammerings of his conscience and to the outspoken consciousness of the difficulties of his work. In that uneasy solitude the supreme cry of Art for Art, even, loses the exciting ring of its apparent immorality. It sounds far off. It has ceased to be a cry, and is heard only as a whisper, often incomprehensible, but at times, and faintly, encouraging.

   Sometimes, stretched at ease in the shade of a roadside tree, we watch the motions of a labourer in a distant field, and after a time, begin to wonder languidly as to what the fellow may be at. We watch the movements of his body, the waving of his arms, we see him bend down, stand up, hesitate, begin again. It may add to the charm of an idle hour to be told the purpose of his exertions. If we know he is trying to lift a stone, to dig a ditch, to uproot a stump, we look with a more real interest at his efforts; we are disposed to condone the jar of his agitation upon the restfulness of the landscape; and even, if in a brotherly frame of mind, we may bring ourselves to forgive his failure. We understood his object, and, after all, the fellow has tried, and perhaps he had not the strength, and perhaps he had not the knowledge. We forgive, go on our way — and forget.

   And so it is with the workman of art. Art is long and life is short, and success is very far off. And thus, doubtful of strength to travel so far, we talk a little about the aim — the aim of art, which, like life itself, is inspiring, difficult — obscured by mists. It is not in the clear logic of a triumphant conclusion; it is not in the unveiling of one of those heartless secrets which are called the Laws of Nature. It is not less great, but only more difficult.

   To arrest, for the space of a breath, the hands busy about the work of the earth, and compel men entranced by the sight of distant goals to glance for a moment at the surrounding vision of form and colour, of sunshine and shadows; to make them pause for a look, for a sigh, for a smile — such is the aim, difficult and evanescent, and reserved only for a very few to achieve. But sometimes, by the deserving and the fortunate, even that task is accomplished. And when it is accomplished — behold! — all the truth of life is there: a moment of vision, a sigh, a smile — and the return to an eternal rest.

All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 05, 2010

Art? Glorifcation of our precious aims? Joseph Conrad: NOT

Hello. The fruits of procrastination can be glorious. Yes, being on deadline, instead of sharpening pencils or organizing socks, I found myself dusting off the 1987 volumes of the living room collection of The Encyclopedia Britanica, feverishly researching the history of fossil fuels and the many risks (such as oil spills and explosions). But after a few hours, I realized that surfing the 28 volumes might lead to weeks of non-answers. So, being under the influence of ambien, logically, my mind instead, turned to the meaning of ART.

My friend and Gonzo Foundation Board member, Jim Caruso, posted a great blog entry about his early discovery of ART (and his continuing quest to understand it). Like me, not crystal clear on what ART is, but does love to look and wonder…

   I remember asking Ralph Steadman a similar question about ART, he told me what his beloved art teacher told him: "Don’t worry so much about the canvas – pay attention to what you SEE." Is that right, Ralph? IS Seeing the trick? David Halberstam, Edward Abbey and so many others have focused on the same thing. It seems easy, only on the days you can trust your own eyes. Jim writes in his blog on: Cuttheleashblog.com.

There had to be something to read that would teach us about life.  Hell’s Angels appeared just as our young minds were about to turn to jelly.  I’m pretty sure the book was banned at our school, or something like that.  Further confirmation that we were on to some truth we weren’t supposed to know.  For us, Hunter S. Thompson owned the written word just as Sinatra owned the space he performed in.  I was still in complete awe of Hunter S. Thompson 30 years later when I became part of the Flying Dog Brewery world.  I have all of Hunter’s books.  I can open any one of them to any page and be gripped HST’s writing.

The truth we weren’t supposed to know back then? …

…Sinatra and HST were our heroes not just because they were artistic geniuses, but also because they were anti-authoritarians to their core and possessed tremendous personal courage.  They were giants.

After Sinatra passed away, it was about 5 years before I could listen to his music again.

I was in Chicago when I got a call from Bill Husted from the Denver Post to let me know about HST’s death.  That was just over 5 years ago.  I started reading Hunter S. Thompson again a few months ago.  Since then I’ve read more than 1,500 pages of Hunter S. Thompson’s works and my summer reading will include a re-reading of all of HST’s books.

There’s a painful gaping void for a while.

But their art is here for eternity.

And the hell of it is, as extraordinarily powerful an influence as their art was originally, it’s even more transformative when it’s explored again and again and new layers of meaning are discovered.

That’s art.

Sharing something with the world that will make a difference.  Art changes people.  And great art changes people for generations.

Since I’m still not totally sure what Art really is, but appreciate it when it moves me, I had to go back to something that Hunter turned me on to about a decade ago.

— Jim Caruso. 

So, now that Jim has opened the door,  let me indulge now that I’m unlgued from the news about The Gulf Coast, Israel, N and S Korea… Here is one of Hunter’s favorite passages written by Joseph Conrad about the same subject Jim brought up. The funny thing is, after having read it so many times over the years, or because I’m sleepy, maybe i see why Hunter said that Joseph Conrad was one of the greatest humorists. The Preface (1897) to The Nigger of the Narcissus:

(Here are a few paragraphs, but PLEASE read the whole thing if you can, because I can’t do it justice…)

A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in every line. And art itself may be definded as a single-minded attempt to render the highest kind of justice to the visible universe, by bringing to light the truth, manifold and one, underlying its every aspect. It is an attempt to find in its forms, in its colours, in its light, in its shadows, in the aspects of matter and in the facts of life, what of each is fundamental, what is enduring and essential — their one illuminating and convincing quality — the very truth of their existence. The artist, then, like the thinker or the scientist, seeks the truth and makes his appeal. Impressed by the aspect of the world the thinker plunges into ideas, the scientist into facts — whence, presently, emerging they make their appeal to those qualities of our being that fit us best for the hazardous enterprise of living. They speak authoritatively to our common-sense, to our intelligence, to our desire of peace or to our desire of unrest; not seldom to our prejudices, sometimes to our fears, often to our egoism — but always to our credulity. And their words are heard with reverence, for their concern is with weighty matters: with the cultivation of our minds and the proper care of our bodies; with the attainment of our ambitions; with the perfection of the means and the glorification of our precious aims.

(if You’re still reading, I salute you. click to see why…)  

It is otherwise with the artist.


   Confronted by the same enigmatical spectacle the artist descends within himself, and in that lonely region of stress and strife, if he be deserving and fortunate, he finds the terms of his appeal. His appeal is made to our less obvious capacities: to that part of our nature which, because of the warlike conditions of existence, is necessarily kept out of sight within the more resisting and hard qualities — like the vulnerable body within the steel armour. His appeal is less loud, more profound, less distinct, more stirring — and sooner forgotten. Yet its effect endures for ever. The changing wisdom of successive generations discards ideas, questions facts, demolishes theories. But the artist appeals to that part of our being which is not dependent on wisdom: to that in us which is a gift and not an acquisition — and, therefore, more permanently enduring. He speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, to the sense of mystery surrounding our lives; to our sense of pity, and beauty, and pain; to the latent feeling of fellowship with all creation — and to the subtle but invincible, conviction of solidarity that knits together the loneliness of innumerable hearts: to the solidarity in dreams, in joy, in sorrow, in aspirations, in illusions, in hope, in fear, which binds men to each other, which binds together all humanity — the dead to the living and the living to the unborn.

   It is only some such train of thought, or rather of feeling, that can in a measure explain the aim of the attempt, made in the tale which follows, to present an unrestful episode in the obscure lives of a few individuals out of all the disregarded multitude of the bewildered, the simple and the voiceless. For, if there is any part of truth in the belief confessed above, it becomes evident that there is not a place of splendour or a dark corner of the earth that does not deserve, if only a passing glance of wonder and pity. The motive, then, may be held to justify the matter of the work; but this preface, which is simply an avowal of endeavour, cannot end here — for the avowal is not yet complete.


Anita Thompson

p.s.  actually, I’ll include this part, where Conrad does mention the Rub and that music is the art of arts…

Fiction — if it at all aspires to be art — appeals to temperament. And in truth it must be, like painting, like music, like all art, the appeal of one temperament to all the other innumerable temperaments whose subtle and resistless power endows passing events with their true meaning, and creates the moral, the emotional atmosphere of the place and time. Such an appeal, to be effective, must be an impression conveyed through the senses; and, in fact, it cannot be made in any other way, because temperament, whether individual or collective, is not amenable to persuasion. All art, therefore, appeals primarily to the senses, and the artistic aim when expressing itself in written words must also make its appeal through the senses, if its high desire is to reach the secret spring of responsive emotions. It must strenuously aspire to the plasticity of sculpture, to the colour of painting, and to the magic suggestiveness of music — which is the art of arts. And it is only through complete, unswerving devotion to the perfect blending of form and…

OKAy, To be continued… goodnight!

All comments are subject to review before being published.

Some Links…

Hello guys, Here are a few links that are a bit more informative than what I came up with yesterday. Thanks guys.  Also, here are some headlines that are not being covered by CNN that you might like to click on if you haven’t already:

(Reuters) – The United States said on Saturday it is weighing new options beyond the United Nations to punish North Korea, which the South blames for the sinking of a warship that has escalated tensions on the peninsula.


from Democracy Now:
As Obama Refuses to Condemn Flotilla Assault, Survivors Recount Shootings, Beatings Aboard Mavi Marmara


Hi Anita-
When I read your blog today, I guessed that ESRI- a GIS (geographic information systems) company- might have a good map of the spill online; they do:
Maybe ‘good’ is not the word; ‘effective’ might be better.
Looking at the Estimated Spill Areas on the map; like the thumb print of all the greedheads in world, pressed down on the Gulf.
I heard the CEO of BP make a comment about not having more equipment onsite in case of disaster; something like they were "trying different ways of managing risk in high risk/low output wells…"
I can try a different method of risk management by not putting on my seat belt, too.  Not hazardous, just different.  Sigh.    

Woodstock, Illinois 

THanks John…

From Mike:



 thanks to you too Mike…

 Thanks to everyone who sent links!  I’m running out of time and must wrap this up more TK — We mus fix the Owl Farm irrigation system in the am so I’ve got to get some precious ZZZZs…

goodnight! sweet dreams.

Anita Thompson

All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 04, 2010



We see constant images of the underwater gushing, robotic arms maneuvering on the TV screen. We see the heart wrenching images of the birds covered in rotten scum. The Wall Street Journal had an article on the possible global impact of this disaster. But for some reason, I finally decided to actually look at a MAP of where the oil spill happened and where the Oil is heading. I’ve found a few sites, but will post this one for now, until morning when better links are emailed to me. trying to get an actual image of the magnitude in a form of a satellite, or even school-book maps doesn’t seem to be the priority of BP, or even google. who knows. Here are a few links, which you may have already looked at, but consider the source. Please do send better map links if you can find them. many thanks!



Goodnight, Anita

All comments are subject to review before being published.

June 02, 2010


To be really enjoyed, sleep, health and wealth must be interrupted.

Jean Paul Richter

Good morning. No, I mean good evening: Thanks guys for sending the snoozing advice Below are some responses. Sorry that I can’t post them all.  I can’t wait until we get the comments section up. Peter will have it up soon, hopefully. But who knows, every time I call him, he’s sleeping.  (Just kidding.)  (zzzzzz. -Peter)


Dear Anita,
Read your blog about sleep, or lack there of. Been there tried it all, the only thing that seems to work for me is keeping busy until I literally pass out. Manual labor always works. If nothing else, smoking and drinking has always worked for me. Meditation has been useful at times but my mind is usually racing and is not conducive to relaxation. Here’s hoping we both find something that works.  

Dear Ashley,

Thanks for your email… yes, I guess tossing and turning doesn’t really count as manual labor, eh? Working in the garden doesn’t do the trick anymore either.
"Man is the only animal that goes to sleep when he’s not sleepy. and gets up when he is."



for insomnia, chamomile tea works wonders. I didn’t believe it could until my wife convinced me of trying a cup on the advice of her mother.
I sort of laughed it off when she handed me the cup, "I need something stronger like pain relievers or sleeping pills, this stuff…(sip)…I mean it might of worked in Old Mexico….(sip)…and God bless your mom for trying….(sip)…but….(sip)…..[the sipping becomes more frequent as the tea starts to cool, you see]….welcome to the 20th….zzzz…..zzzzz….zzzzz."
Never mess with Mexican folk wisdom, that’s the lesson I guess lol.
Hope the suggestion helps,

Dear Hector,

Thanks! will give it a try. I mean Chamomile, not messing with Mexican folk wisdom!

cheers, Anita


    Hello fellow insomniac,

    You’ll probably get lots of mail from people who can relate to insomnia. As a contractor l get it whenever work picks up. Taking a Xanax or sleeping pill, or both, seems to help but then l wake up early anyhow and in a haze. l’ve come to think insomnia isn’t always a bad thing when you’re focused on a task but it is a nuisance when you aren’t. Working till l’m tired and turning off the tv also help. When l traveled l had to use earplugs to block out noise. And then l cut out caffeine, alcohol and smoking. As they say, "l may not live any longer but it sure will feel like it."

    Good luck. lt’s a beast that can be tamed.


Dear Fellow (former) insomniac,
Thanks so much for your email. Yes! i think that you are right — about both the reasons for insomnia and the recipe to cure it. Sounds like it requires something like discipline, hmmm. In any case, "Of all things that are better late than never, going to bed ranks first."

Your friend, now filled up with Melatonin and sugarplums doing warm ups in my head,

Anita Thompson

All comments are subject to review before being published.

Insomnia, Nah!

Here’s a quote:by the way, thank you peter for fixing my layout problem!

MAn is the only animal that goes to sleep when he is not sleepy, and gets up when he is – anon.  (from Evan Espar’s "20,000 Quips and Quotes." (which kept me awake perhaps)

According to the United States Department of Health and Human Services in the year 2007, approximately 64 million Americans regularly suffer from insomnia each year. I know it well, and i became my my spontaneous "friend" since grade school. Since Hunter died, I’ve tried all sort of breathing exercises, ambien, books on tape, melatonin, warm milk, and alcohol, eye patches, ear plugs and even resignation that sleep will be for the following afternoon. The funny thing is that insomnia it comes in waves.

Perhaps the same for you? it hits me when I’m on the verge of something interesting. The last few weeks have certainly been that. We move into our Gonzo Office this week and thing are rolling. I might as well admit that I’m terrified these new projects for fear of failure. But, let’s not get into therapy session now. All is well.

But tossing and turning, emailing my patient  brother back and forth until he finally had to abandon me (he ha a wife and kids). I remembered what  a good M.D. told me about insomnia while i was at Columbia. He said that no matter what, never make your bed a place of agony. If you really can’t sleep and you’re not sleepy, (tambourine man has already been told there is no place Im going to)… GET UP and do SOMETHING: homework, dust the closet, watch "Casablanca" or whatever. I think he’s right.

Especially after contstant jolts snapping me out of relaxation asking myself if I did turn the sprinkler off, is the so and so is unplugged downstairs., alarm system in high alert mode etc….. even reading the rest of "chronicles" wasn’t helping , and neither was the awesome mattress. so I thought I’d just shuffle in my slippers and robe to my friends on the blog and tell you about my poor poor pitiful self. No ,jsut kidding. I’m Lucky to be living here in the Rockies wth clean air, clean water, my friends are also my neighbors. They’re all sleeping, and so are you, probably. unless your east coast and getting ready for work. I do sincerely hope you got some shut eye.

anyway, now a nice sleepy feeling is relaxing my shoulders and eyes and it’s time to say goodnight. sweet dreams. I"ll be up in a few hours, but I feel the good sleep coming on. 

night night, 

Anita Thompson



All comments are subject to review before being published.

Hosting by Yahoo!