Hunter S. Thompson, 1937-2005.

The legendary Gonzo journalist committed suicide yesterday at 67. There are probably already a lot of Thompson eulogies on the 'net, but rather than search for a particularly striking one I think I'll just direct you to David Carr's appreciation in the New York Times. The bio blurb on Better Than Sex, Thompson's postmortem of the '92 presidential campaign, said of the author: "He will be gone by 2000." And yet Thompson stuck around an extra five years - years in which he wrote Kingdom of Fear, did commentary on ESPN and - like many other pop icons - became more and more of a caricature of himself. I probably don't fit the expected profile of a Thompson fan, but I've enjoyed his books; my favorite remains the very first I picked up, Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72, which I still vividly remember reading in high school study hall on a series of dreary winter mornings nearly a decade ago. I can't think of Thompson without recalling that memory, and in that sense I suppose the journalist's death represents the cutting of yet another link to my youth. Goodbye, Dr. Thompson. If you pick up any new readers on account of this post, I suppose I'll have done my bit to keep your memory alive. AMDG.