The semi-private memorial service for Dr. Hunter S. Thompson happened Saturday night in Aspen, when the 150-foot cannon mount, topped with the "Gonzo" fist, fired his ashes into the Colorado sky.
They keep saying there will be a public memorial service for him at a later date, but I don't know that it will carry the same weight. Thompson's big bang, from all accounts, was the proper send-off, and the only way to remember him now is to listen for the clink of ice cubes against a glass of whiskey.
With 'Six Feet Under' wrapping up this week, and Hunter's final repose on the Colorado countryside, I've been doing the maudlin business of wondering what form my memorial service would take. Past having all of my friends there, along with the few relatives I have remaining, I think I would want no black clothing around. None. Loud Hawaiian shirts would be nice, but definitely no black suits.
When we went to the Hollywood Forever cemetery in Los Angeles a couple of weeks ago, I saw a really cool way to do memorials -- a video tribute, with your favorite songs and pictures, and testimonials from friends and family. While there's no way I could afford to be buried there, the concept of the small glass case with my ashes and small knick-knacks is also quite appealing.
As long as I don't end up in a shallow, unmarked grave because I pissed someone off, I'll be fine.
I don't know if I'm on board with that whole 'celebration of life' thing.
I kind of want the whole wearing of sackcloth and wailing and gnashing of teeth. Hey, if people are still happy and having a good time, then I guess my death isn't affecting them much at all.
Bottom line- I'm not having a good time, why should anyone else?
Posted by: Mike G | August 21, 2005 at 11:14 PM