The First -- and Still Best -- Sign of Cluelessness
I just read one of the best comments to a post ever, one referencing both the passing of Hunter S. Thompson and the Jim-Jeff affair, over at The Poor Man's place. Here it is, in its entirety:
One could spend countless bottles of ink recounting Mr. Guckert's sins, but chief among them is his latest: Naming a piece "Fear and Loathing in XXX."
This tired device has always been the first refuge of the pathetic and deluded--sad third-rate hacks and ignorant college wanabes ("Fear and Loathing at the Sig Eps Mixer last Friday") who fail to understand that in composing variations on a theme of Mozart, one only invites a comparison that will fail to flatter one's own work.
Like moths to flame, sailors to sirens, drunks to strippers, principled conservatives to modern Republicans, like anyone lured to their ruin by a mirage, by the illusion of the big score, so bad writers to the magic of Thompson. His talent was shocking, terrible, and alien. (God dammit it hurts to write about him in the past fucking tense. God Damn It.) Dark and uplifting, seemingly cynical and bottomlessly human. So unnaturally superhuman that one is led to look for "the trick," and to a no-talent klutz who lacks the wit to feel the shackles of his own mediocrity, "the trick" looks simple indeed: Pop a few amyls, lick a spot or two, and maybe a hit of whatever was in the salt shaker--or in your case you half-assed gutless monkey, another half-glass of that shitty white zin your mom left in the cupboard, and now you're ready to write you some Gonzo. Fear and Loathing in my Parents Basement.
What is it about writing that does this to people? Nobody thought they could just get drunk and play chess like Alekhine. Who reaches for immortality as a composer by wolfing down crate after crate of Viennese rotgut? Somehow, though, everyone thinks they're a writer.
But I digress.
Prior to Black Sunday, the surest sign of bad writing to follow were the words "Fear" and "Loathing" above someone else's byline. Obviously, after that day nobody would dare to use such a form. Even the purveyors of boy-band slash fiction would be able to summon that much professional pride.
But not Guckert. He slams out that headline without a trace of irony, without a hint of self-awareness, without a shred of shame, and looks up at we the audience with a child's look of innocent satisfaction and a smug ain't-I-cute grin, and we're reminded of where we've seen that look before, and we know precisely whose creature he is.
These filth deserve one another.
- Laertes
Read the post that inspired it here. We tip our Generik hat to the very perceptive Laertes for his insight. We'd also like to acknowledge The Poor Man himself for the hilarious brilliance of this: God made Jeff Gannon a cock-headed man-whore in order to make a point; Satan made the details of the affair clownish, and made sure that all of his hilariously embarrassing come-on photos were still available on the web, in order to distract you from that point.
(Note to my pal Lanz and other right-wingers who think the above is a prime example of "liberal hate speech" -- there's a big difference between calling someone a "cock-headed man-whore" and advocating that all cock-headed man-whores be rounded up and shot. Try to keep up.)
One could spend countless bottles of ink recounting Mr. Guckert's sins, but chief among them is his latest: Naming a piece "Fear and Loathing in XXX."
This tired device has always been the first refuge of the pathetic and deluded--sad third-rate hacks and ignorant college wanabes ("Fear and Loathing at the Sig Eps Mixer last Friday") who fail to understand that in composing variations on a theme of Mozart, one only invites a comparison that will fail to flatter one's own work.
Like moths to flame, sailors to sirens, drunks to strippers, principled conservatives to modern Republicans, like anyone lured to their ruin by a mirage, by the illusion of the big score, so bad writers to the magic of Thompson. His talent was shocking, terrible, and alien. (God dammit it hurts to write about him in the past fucking tense. God Damn It.) Dark and uplifting, seemingly cynical and bottomlessly human. So unnaturally superhuman that one is led to look for "the trick," and to a no-talent klutz who lacks the wit to feel the shackles of his own mediocrity, "the trick" looks simple indeed: Pop a few amyls, lick a spot or two, and maybe a hit of whatever was in the salt shaker--or in your case you half-assed gutless monkey, another half-glass of that shitty white zin your mom left in the cupboard, and now you're ready to write you some Gonzo. Fear and Loathing in my Parents Basement.
What is it about writing that does this to people? Nobody thought they could just get drunk and play chess like Alekhine. Who reaches for immortality as a composer by wolfing down crate after crate of Viennese rotgut? Somehow, though, everyone thinks they're a writer.
But I digress.
Prior to Black Sunday, the surest sign of bad writing to follow were the words "Fear" and "Loathing" above someone else's byline. Obviously, after that day nobody would dare to use such a form. Even the purveyors of boy-band slash fiction would be able to summon that much professional pride.
But not Guckert. He slams out that headline without a trace of irony, without a hint of self-awareness, without a shred of shame, and looks up at we the audience with a child's look of innocent satisfaction and a smug ain't-I-cute grin, and we're reminded of where we've seen that look before, and we know precisely whose creature he is.
These filth deserve one another.
- Laertes
Read the post that inspired it here. We tip our Generik hat to the very perceptive Laertes for his insight. We'd also like to acknowledge The Poor Man himself for the hilarious brilliance of this: God made Jeff Gannon a cock-headed man-whore in order to make a point; Satan made the details of the affair clownish, and made sure that all of his hilariously embarrassing come-on photos were still available on the web, in order to distract you from that point.
(Note to my pal Lanz and other right-wingers who think the above is a prime example of "liberal hate speech" -- there's a big difference between calling someone a "cock-headed man-whore" and advocating that all cock-headed man-whores be rounded up and shot. Try to keep up.)
posted by Generik at 10:48 PM
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