The Sandspur

Issue date: 3/25/05 Section: Opinions

Media Credit: Issac Stolzenbach

Media Credit: Issac Stolzenbach

Media Credit: Issac Stolzenbach

Media Credit: Issac Stolzenbach

For lack of heavy narcotics, I imbibed deeply in vodka and tonic while nursing my newest collection of motorcycle-wreck-wounds; we blasted down I-95 with a head full of 'Tussin and Absolute, in search of Ernest Hemingway.

Life has been weird since Hunter S. Thompson blew his head off last month. I find myself jumping (well, hobbling now) at any new adventure that might get me in front of the Great White Bull-a blank page-with something worth writing about. The newest adventure came by way of a pact over a pool table: Hemingway's Home or Bust.

I came across a few interesting bits of information while researching for my Hunter article (The Sandspur, Issue 2/25/05). Both authors took their own lives in the same manner, with gun blasts to the head, but what I found fascinating was the fact that Hunter retyped all of Ernest Hemingway's classics in order to refine his literary voice. In aspiration of gaining insight as to why my literary hero idolized Hemingway, I swore in a smoke-filled room that I would not be cheated out of experiencing Key West, like last month when I was cheated out of a graduation road-trip to Woody Creek, Colorado by the swift and deadly blow of a .45 caliber bullet to Hunter's head . . . but I digress, bah.

On the way home to pack, my motorcycle and I got into a confrontation with a BMW . . . again, the larger vehicle won, but I left my mark on this one. The damage to my person was nowhere near what I had experienced back in October, so I went home to scrub out the gravel and called my "attorney" to confirm plans to pull out for Key West.

We arrived in downtown Key West at 3:30 in the morning; we were golden . . . last call is at 4am there; I strolled into the Bourbon Street Pub in my pajamas, taking note of the field of sheen muscle T-shirts, I quickly discovered this was not where I was supposed to be and made my exit, but not before being offered a beer by a near seven-foot dude in drag. Take note: There are two bars in downtown Key West with the name "Bourbon" in their titles . . . one has a row of rainbow flags above the entrance, and one does not. I am impartial as to what one's sexual inclinations are, if someone is lucky enough to have the kind of connection with another human being that brings them happiness-who cares who it's with-but I'll stick to chicks, thank you.

The next morning the fog of war and the pains of road rash were kept at bay by substituting my morning coffee with a rum and coke. Experiencing Spring Break in Key West, I thought it best to live like the rest-in an alcoholic-haze for the duration. We made it to Hemingway's home; I could have collapsed, but there was something in the air compelling me to put pen to paper.

The tour guide was proud to declare Key West as the home to over 100 published authors . . . 27 of those Pulitzer Prize winners. This was a stark contrast to my prior beliefs. I thought that authors would be more productive if they lived in some dismal and dreary locale like England or Northern Europe, not a paradise such as the Keys. I am now a believer because there was definitely something a hell of a lot more magical there in the Keys than I ever felt at Disney World.

I discovered the similarities between Hemingway and Hunter's lives and deaths, but have yet to discover the connection in the literary influence. They were sociological commentators, journalists, larger-than-life, manic depressive, self-medicating, hedonistic, hard-living, alcoholic writers. I found brief solace by staring into a picture of Hemingway on the dining room wall that revealed a scar on the left side of his forehead, which he had received from tugging on a chandelier chain, rather than the chain to flush the toilet while drunk in Paris. I rubbed my own scar and hoped that minor damaged to the left hemisphere of the brain led to a production of more precise prose.

I bet, if you made it this far, you are wondering: What is this article about? I don't know. Seems like a column version of Seinfeld (something about nothing) to me, but I think there is a point in here. Much personal insight can be gained by examining what made an impact on those that you admire; in the midst of the madness you may find yourself staring back at you. Now wish me luck while I go and dry out for a bit.

~Tschüß

Page 1 of 1

Article Tools