“I hate to advocate weird chemicals, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone… but they’ve always worked for me“.

I was a little sad when Hunter S. Thompson killed himself a week ago. Discovering his books and essays while in University was an eye-opening and welcome break from the conventions of my American lit classes. Thompson made it clear to me for the first time that when it comes to writing and journalism, there really are no rules. Narrative, wordplay – you can bastardize it all, find your own voice and still wind up with something both entertaining, unique and if it’s called for – informative. It also doesn’t hurt to scribble while under the influence. Which is a relief, as I currenly have my pants around my ankles and a Wild Turkey IV pumping into my right arm.

Thompson remains original, even in death. He often expressed his desire to have his ashes fired into the sky by a cannon, and to honor that wish his family has sent out a nationwide call they hope the rare breed which are cannon-owners will heed. Move the snow-blower out of the way and dust off your best Civil War replica boom sticks. Hunter needs you. And just what do you get if you agree to help fire Hunter out of your cannon? Why, the honor of firing Hunter out of your cannon, of course. Anyone who agrees to make the trip, cannon in tow, will be financing the trek themselves. I paid $8 in shipping for a miniscule phone battery last month. So best of luck to the fortunate volunteer. They also have to win an essay writing contest and entries must be exactly 100 words in length and sent via snail mail.

My apartment is full of all kinds of crap I’ve collected over the years. But alas, a cannon is not part of the clutter. So as my own personal tribute to Thompson, I fired open a bottle of Retsina and forced 2 of my friends who’d never seen it to watch Where The Buffalo Roam on Saturday night. Bill Murray’s hilariously accurate portrayal came to pass after he befriended Thompson in the late 70s and spent a lot of time with him at his Owl Ranch in Colarado. It’s said that it took Murray months to get out of character and he ‘continued to act Gonzo through the beginning of the next season of Saturday Night Live, to the consternation/annoyance of cast and crew members’. But at least he has never been Al Franken.

I love having a site like this – interactive, current, communal – but this stress exists to come up with good content each and every day. I know I’m not the only one who suffers from this fun new bloggy plague. If a site ceases to be ‘sticky’ people no longer show up every day to get stuck. Some days, I’ll post 3 or 4 different articles like it’s nothing. On others I could be channeling Steven King, who could write 16 pages about a popcorn kernel, and wouldn’t be able to think of a single word. It’s easy when you have a sports or political blog because there’s always fresh fodder for your typing fingers. But when your common thread of choice is simply humor – ’tis a whole ‘nother ball game. Still – Pye In The Face has been going strong for 9 months and 300 posts, so I’m still a ‘functioning’ ____ (insert my new medical condition’s name).

There’s also this other annoying distraction that keeps me from musing more during the work week. It’s called a job. Before I get back to it, however, I feel the need to coin a phrase coming on. What could one chisten ‘the stress induced by pressure to come up with blog content’? I await your suggestions.