An old woman was walking down the road when she saw a gang of thugs beating a poisonous snake. She screamed at the thugs and rescued the snake, taking it back to her home where she nursed it back to health. The two became friends and lived together for many years.
One day on their way into town, the woman picked up the snake and he bit her repeatedly. “Oh God,” she screamed, “I am dying. I am dying!” She turned to the snake and looked it in the eyes. “I saved your life. I was your friend. I trusted you. Why did you bite me?”
The snake turned to face her as she drew he final breath and hissed,
“Look bitch, you knew I was a Snake.”
* * *
It’s dark and cold and I am tired. But this has to be done, and in some strange sort of way I feel that writing the epitaph to this grim and brutal saga after 48 hours of emotional turmoil, drug induced psychosis and physical exhaustion is the salute this bugger with the justice it deserves.
After too much grim, looming thought and having explored all possible avenues with (un)due consideration, I have decided that this will be the final entry in the longwinded and heinously self indulgent web log known as The Adventures of the 14 Day Thesis.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a fucking blast, but the Tone and Language of this ugly beast is taking it’s toll on my physical and emotional well being. What started as a cure and preventative measure against the pitfalls of the dreaded Writer’s Bloc has subsequently evolved like some parasitic worm and is now consuming more of my self than the original Thesis ever did. This is hyperrealism in action and the parasite is flourishing.
I no longer know which writing is more important a) The Thesis and It’s academic meaning or b) the blog which has taken host in my mind and now required a regular disposal onto the page in order to negate it’s toxic existence.
Normally I wouldn’t have a problem with this. I’m quite the fan of many different toxins and enjoy their responsible consumption regularly, but this blog has become something else. Since I realised people were actually reading this heinous craziness is has been a burdened on my consciousness and is slowly taking over.
I feel compelled to undertake crazy endeavours, just so I can report them here. The other day I was in Myers, slightly light-headed form a lack of sleep and my teeth died green from an over consumption Irish Moss when I was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming compulsion to strip bare ass naked sprint manically through kitchenware. If it had not been from the sobering restraint of my mate Simon I would still be down at Brisbane Metro Police Station, jabbering to the arresting officer about the true meaning of Christmas.
Jesus. All for you people. This is why it cannot go on. Writing this blog has become like removing a Guinea Worm from the soft tissue of my inner thigh; painful, unkind and utterly disgusting, but when it’s all over and the blood is washed away I’m gonna look down and feel a little lonely. We have become a culture accustomed to the embrace of parasitic life, that is why Single Uncles and Aunties cringe with glee when their Brother or Sister shows up for Christmas lunch with 5 or 6 hyperactive Nephews/Nieces who then proceed to ruin the carpet and draw on the walls. This is the cost of accommodating parasites, and also why Jim Beam comes in big $300 kegs at Christmas.
Selah.
* * *
Edit:
(In hindsight now I may update one last time after this. I just looked over my notes and wanted to talk about the impact/influence of what we’ve dubbed “Gonzo Academia:” it’s merits, it’s pitfalls and it’s place in the classroom. But company has just arrived, so it will have to wait until later…
Also thank you to those who nominated this madness for the Edublog awards. I think you’re all crazy! But fuck it, why not? If those other sullen bastards can mull around in cyberspace and enjoy the spoils of virtual success I don’t see why the “freak” contingent should have to miss out. You never know, we could just be the life of the party!)
-H-
From December ’71 to January ’73 - in airport bars, all night coffee chops and dreary hotel rooms all over the country - there is hardly a paragraph in this jangled saga that wasn’t produced in a last minute, teeth-grinding frenzy.
- Dr Hunter S. Thompson. Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72.
Screaming out from the underbelly of digital consciousness, not since the NWICO has one debate so vividly divided the Journalistic Community. The humble blog has been hailed as everything from “the socialist recapturing of the Journalistic headspace” to the “immanent destruction of Journalistic ideals.”
Like the American Porno industry in the early 1980’s, the availability of cheap, accessible means of publication and equipment has opened the floodgates of Journalism to a swelling tide of amateurs who threaten – through their growing popularity – “to undermine the essence of journalism and corrupt Democracy as we know it.”
But Blogging is nothing more than the old New Journalism, repainted and restored with a new, digital overcoat. The similarities between the who are immediately self evident (in the inclusion of 1st person narrative, a quest fort the Truth over fact, the reporting of news stories by those with no training etc…) yet bogging is being attacked far more perversely, and with more furious vigour, than the old New Journalism ever was.
I forward the hypothesis that this is because the established media have leant from their mistakes. To recognise the growing emergence and popularity of the Blog, or for that matter any other alternative, digital media is essentially to accept economic defeat. No News organisation wants to lose its readership o any alternative source. (Especial if that alternate source being run from someone’s basement - Ed.) Because a loss in readers means a loss in advertising and a loss in advertising means less money.
In understaning the treat to Blog Media posses, Andrew Sullivan, author of andrewsullivan.com, declared in an article from September ‘04 that the internet upstarts had become, along with cable-TV, the new “powerbrokers in American politics and culture,” primed to unseat “the traditional ‘old media’.”
(http://andrewsullivan.com/culture.php. Accessed 11/10/05)
In another piece he compared the New and Old thusly: “Critics of Blogs cite their lack of professionalism. Piffle. The dirty little secret of journalism is that it really isn’t a profession, it’s a craft. All you need is a telephone and a conscience and you’re all set.” (http://andrewsullivan.com/politics/php. Accessed 11/10/05)
The greatest threat New Media and Blogging possesses to the old, Established Media machine is just that - it’s new. The world of hyperrealism has given us an endless supply of clones and perverse honkey imitations. And the biggest threat posed from developing New Media sites (the next step up from Blogs) is that they themselves now mimic the online presentation and personality of traditional news services like CNN and MSNBC.
Look at The Drudge Report (http://drudgereport.com) or the alternative news website Crikey.com (http://crikey.com.au) and understand that in accordance with Moore’s Law, the growing Blogosphere could well become a network of truly independent, online news services, free from vested commercial interest, that could not only report with traditional blogging, but branch out into digital video and audio publication as well.
Imagine riding the bus on the way to work with your Wi-Fi Digital Media Device tucked firmly into the palm of your hand, downloading the latest update from insidethewhitrehouse.uniblogs.org as you tottle along. You put on your earphones and hit the button “Play.” An alternative view News Magazine starts playing, offering you a juxtapositioned viewpoint to the homogenized reporting of the traditional broadsheets. The Host cracks jokes and uses satire, much like Will Anderson from ABC’s The Glass House, but then the download cuts into a video report from Ishmael Kamuhl, an Iraqi native, reporting from the urban war zone that is his home right in the heart of Baghdad.
Armed with only a digital camera, a laptop and an internet connection, Ishmael edits together his piece that is boomed around the world via the Digital Liberation News Service website. You get off the bus with Ishmael’s tinny voice and images of death still fresh in your mind. Passing a news stand you see a full page article and glossy cover photo of your nation’s chubby political leaders arm in arm with their American allies. “Winning the war on terror” the boldface headline reads as you glance over it and shake your head sadly. You still can’t completely fathom Ishmael’s appalling quality of life and the headline just reaffirms your ignorance to the fact. “But at what cost?” You ask yourself as you shuffle off to work.
The technology necessary for the scenario above is all readily available and accessible now. The only question to hold your mind is “How long, o Lord, how long?” We currently live in a truly exciting digital age, where the possibility of production and evolution of Journalistic. Technological and even Sociological ideas are ready and waiting to be created and implemented. Seize the moment. Just do it! NOW! NOW! NOW! But alas, the sun is rising, and I have run out of time.
In looking back over this horrible ordeal I can see many ideas and explorations proposed for this Thesis that have ultimately found their home on the cutting room floor. There is more to this debate than I could manically type now, but the bell has tolled for the final time and despite my best biological efforts otherwise, my mind and body are beginning to unwind. I looking back over these pages of manic gibberish I do not consider this experiment in Gonzo Academia to be a gross and resounding success, but nor do I consider it to be a horrible or flat-out failure. If it has to be classified as anything, I believe The Thompson Piece is an experimentation in finding The Edge - I may have come as close (academically) as I ever will again but the only people to have truly experienced it are the ones who have gone over.
It’s been a week (but it seems like a lifetime) since I last cast my eyes over this horrible page dubbed “the adventures of the 14 day Thesis”. In those last hazy hours before I finally dragged the horrible, jabbering, shadow of my former self up that cold cement staircase that leads to the UQ School of Journalism complex, I had nothing but a scrapbook full of hand-scrawled notes and manic ramblings to recount for my madness…
I remember thinking something like, “Jesus. I’m a mess! Will they even let me in the front door? Or will the sight of some Ether Binging reclusive drunk stumbling like a reanimated zombie from some 1930’s Hollywood horror film finally push the mild mannered Office Administrator so far out over the edge that the only way back would be to obey her reptilian/gut intuition, pull out that .45 Winchester Magnum she keeps in her purse and blow me away into a combination of fine red mist and mince meat…”
Needles to say my head was a little adrift from its moorings, but my paranoia was justified because the threat of violence erupting from this woman and directed toward me was very, very real.
Every morning for the past 2 weeks I’d verbally abused and humiliated this quiet little woman with my very presence and lingering odours since we first butted heads in the “staff only” coffee room where she found both me and my Thesis Supervisor enjoying two tall glasses of Wild Turkey on ice along with a couple of fine Indonesian Clove Cigarettes.
She entered the room abruptly to catch me half way through reciting tales one of my heinous drug adventures from time spent in Far North Queensland. I was telling her about the time I had to bail a mate out of the local lockup with a head full of Acid and a pocket full of pills.
“Jesus, I was a sweaty, incoherent mess - a total nerve case – and when they finally brought my friend out of the lockup he laughed to find me assuring the Paroling Officer that, “No, I hadn’t been drinking. I always sweat like this. Yes, even at night officer. Hell Yeah! I’ll take a breathalyser to prove it!” (All the time trying to light a cigarette the wrong way around, and with pupils the size of small moons.)
He laughed so hard that he had been arrested for a trumped up charge like Public Drunkenness while a true born, natural lunatic like me was able to wander the street in glistening sweat and avoiding all trouble by just flashing everyone a gnarled, toothy grin.”
The Office Administrator was shocked by this she was about to call Campus Security when Chris, thinking quickly, leapt to my defence and proclaimed the whole story as a short film idea we were planning on writing. “The A.F.C s big on Drug Tales at the moment,” he said. “Just look at Little Fish and High Five…”
There was moment of confused silence before he let out a loud, bellowing howl of laughter and the tension in the room was eased. The Office woman smiled, obviously not understanding, and slipped out the door in silence. It took a couple of minutes for me to join Chris in his festivities, the confrontation had left me a little rattled and completely sober. “Man I though we were totally fucked,” I muttered to no one in particular. “I’ve already been in front of the Dean once this semester for smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey in the Library computer labs last week, one more strike like that and I’m out outta here.”
“Don’t worry,” gibed Chris, “she’s totally harmless.”
He finished his Wild Turkey in one long gulp and stood up, ready to leave. “You just about done? I’ve gotta get to class, so you ok to show yourself out?
“Yeah man. It’s cool.” I thrust my right hand into the air, mimicking a Black Panther statuette. “Death To the Weird.” I hollered as he marched off along the beige corridors of institutionalised learning.
This is how a true Gonzo Academic interacts and indulges with their students – level-to-level, eye-to-eye. It’s the sort of behaviour you won’t find outside of Queensland, except for maybe in the hallowed corridors of Charles Darwin University in the NT or the Gonzo Academic’s homeland up at Joseph Banks University located somewhere near Cairns - where the actual campus is hidden like a lost Civilisation behind the overgrown combination of Tropical Rainforest and Sugar Cane and is populated by two distinct classes of Weirdo - The Alternative Crowd and the Army Suckers.
The Army has alleviated the indulgence of Liquid Lunches for it’s senior staff by enforcing a tightened regiment of drug testing and more arduous fitness requirements on it’s aging soldier population - and have consequently seen a savage diminishing of their ranks and numbers.
The point is that in order to stay relevant to the new generation of pill popping, drink swilling “work hard, play harder” student caucus born in the Decade of Depravity (1981 – 1991), the only way to grasp their respect and the millisecond of attention they’re willing to spend on YOU AND YOUR LECTURE is take up arms with the aesthetics of Gonzo Academia and butcher the traditional pedagogy of Higher Education like the sacred cow that it is!
“But why should I change the way that I teach just to cater to their drug dependant lifestyle?”
The argument that the Student is the one at fault for not paying attention because they’re the ones coughing up the debt to afford HECS (or Fee-Help) is further evidence of the generational divide that is plaguing higher education.
“But if they’re paying all this money in HECS why would they not show up to class/ show up to class but not pay attention?”
Those born in the Decade of Depravity now face what Thompson called The Grim Slide. Here are a couple of examples:
*This is the first generation of children to grow up with a lower standard of living than their parents.
*A Generation who have been completely turned off Politics because they’ve known no Heroes, only Villains such as Regan, Bush and Howard.
*A Generation who wake up everyday with the looming threat of Debt and financial ruin because they fought with HECS, struggled to get an education and now find themselves unable to afford a Home Loan because of it.
*A Generation whose parents are better off telling them to be Blue Collar Workers rather that White Collar Professionals because there is no longer a stable middle-class and all the jobs (above the gutter/street sweeper) are taken.
Face it, this is a Generation of brain-damaged geeks who will never co-operate and manifest the throws of revolution because we have become a Generation of Strangers. There is no unity, there is no community. The only way to rise above your “brethren” in this generation is to manipulate and exploit their weakness and hope by offering them some insight into themselves, because their ideas of self-confidence and self worth have become more corrupt and disintegrated than the corpse of Richard Nixon.
Consequently I will be holding a $500 dollar a head seminar on the topic of Gonzo Academia, the Decade of Depravity and the future of Higher Education. All are welcome. Please RSVP to –
Gonzo Academic Inc.
PO Box – 198222.
Port Moresby, PNG.
It’s an offshore account because I don’t want to be around when the bow finally breaks but alas, we are off topic.
Back to the Thesis and I have to say it was a resounding success. I finished the bugger of the Friday, handed it in and fled to the Gold Coast for some sun, silence and sanctuary, where my only care in the world was writing a little advertising copy for a friend of mine on the Porno business.
He owns a Condo down on Broadbeach where he accommodates 4 gorgeous young models who are photographed daily with the photographs then sent out to horny young men with 3G mobile phones who pay $5 for the privilege. Not a bad scheme by anyone’s means when you consider the total subscription fee from one year costs a cool $1825 a year just to ooogle over soft-core pornography. Hell I was there for just over 5 days and the girls definitely gave me more than my money’s worth - Death to the Weird!
Alas I now find myself back here in Brisbane, well rested and thoroughly recuperated for my next ominous assignment. At 8am tomorrow morning I will get up, take a shower, eat a pound of bacon and drink two pots of coffee, for I will need all the strength I can muster as I attempt to infiltrate the BIG BROTHER AUDITIONS HELD AT UQ.
The pond scum always rises when the water gets to hot, and the weather forecast for tomorrow is supposed to be a scorcher.
May you live in interesting times eh? May you live in interesting times.
-H-
The clock is really ticking and the final bell has well and truly begun to ring.
Tomorrow afternoon, for good or ill, I have to submit the expectation of a semester’s worth of work that I have forced out in under two weeks.
So here we are, the final 24 hours, where even the slightest distraction can mean the ultimate difference between resounding success or abysmal failure. There is no time for TV and no time for friends. Ignore the distractions is the other room. Gonzo Academia is a cruel and unrelenting mistress, but she has me by the balls, so now my heart and mind must follow.
I’m still down by about 2000 words, derailed in the second act where I should be analysing Thomson’s life and work. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is staring me in the face and I’ve got no time to contemplate the invention of Post-Modernity and it’s impact on the American West. No space in my mind for ideals such Hype realistic representations Authorship and the effect on colonial narratives. These terms and phrases may as well mean, “coo coo cachoo” from here on out. Besides we never really liked them anyway. There is no room for nonsense in Gonzo Academia.
Staring at that term I feel should flesh out it’s meaning a little bit here, for fear that it become misconstrued and misrepresented like the gobbledy-gook above. Gonzo Journalism was about finding the Truth through your own eyes and experiences. About gnawing straight to the bone in the hope of discovery. It meant that in order to write about something, you had to experience it first, then try to replicate the EXACT same feeling into journalistic text so the reader could experience it too. Gonzo Academia is not much different, maintaining the same mentality,
In Gonzo Academia there is no room for format. No space for formula. No writing to any guidelines. You basically have to consume whatever information you need as fast as you can before stuffing yourself into a pressure cooker and hoping some form of genius to percolate onto the page.
There is no safety net for this sort of Study. You either understand you topic or (academically) die trying. There is no room for wreckage out here in the fast lane, and Gonzo Academia is about as fast as it gets.
But why risk immanent failure with such a low chance of reward? Because some of us are Pressure Junkies and it’s the only way we can get our kicks. Any fool with a decent command over their native language can, given enough time and some level of motivation, construct and research an academic argument to passable satisfaction. But only the wild eyed and sweaty can mash keys through five days of teeth gritting terror and emerge at the otherside with a Gonzo manuscript in hand, victorious.
Wether or not I make it is still yet to be decided. But by 2pm tomorrow the answer shall be known. My supervisor expects me at 1:30 but I’ll make the bugger wait. My plan. At this point, is to hand in my piece, lay down in the grass and take off my pants with reckless abandon.
Anyone near the University of Queensland Great Court is welcome to join me, I’ll be the pants less one lying in the sun. A smile on my face because I’ve achieved what I’ve done.
-H-
There are only two adjectives that writers care about anymore, “brilliant” and “outrageous” …and Hunter Thompson has a freehold on them both. -Tom Wolf
Background information on the life of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson has become a highly sought after commodity since the bastard committed suicide on the 22 of February, 2005. With news of his death, every available source who could offer insight into the life and times of Dr Thompson shut up faster than a giant Pu’ Va clam: The bivalve mollusc found natively off the coast of New Guinea whose snap-jaw reflex when closing it’s shell has deprived many a curious scuba diver of the use of their flippers.
In the next 2 years the market will be showered with “unauthorised” biographies claiming Thompson to be everything from a drug fuelled Demogorgon to the Prince of Peace – yet most will be unfounded, any many will contain heinous lies and exaggerations. In attempting to comprehend the life, times and mind of Hunter Thompson, there are only 2 real sources of information one can turn to. The first is his life’s body of work; the second is people who knew him.
In accordance to the Pu’ Va theory (and despite running up a massive international phone bill on the “complementary” landline located within the Journalism School’s Postgraduate research room) my conversation and dialogue with the family and friends of Hunter Stockton Thompson did not offer a deep enough insight into his character. Maybe it was the time difference and the fact that when I finally got a line through to the Pitkin County Sheriff’s Office and asked to speak with Deputy ______ ______, a long-time friend spokesperson for the Thomson Family, it was 4:30 am Mountain Standard Time and the voice of some crackly Australian muttering about drug use and firearms over an international phone line was just a little disconcerting. But Godamit, i’m working off a deadline here and trying to get information out of people more than half a world away by jangling their nerves with weird and ominous calls in the middle of the night is not exactly an exact science. But if you just never explain yourself and keep demanding answers, deliberately calling the brutes, but hanging up mid sentence, eventually they’ll become so rattled they can’t take it any more and just spill the beans. The following is a transcript from my conversation with Deputy _______ ______. (*Name deleted for legal reasons)
“Yes im a Masters Student calling from Australia.”
“No i can’t call back next tuesday because i’ll be dead by then.”
(confusion on the line)
“What? What!”
(Hang-up)(Call Back)
“Sorry we seemed to be cut off now tell me about Thompson or i’ll eat your children!”
(Confusion on the line)
What? Huh!
(Hang Up)(Call Back)
“No there’s a problem with the connection. Dam privatisation of Telstra. What can you tell me about Hunter Stockton Thompson?”
Now this technique may not seem too effective to you, but dumping this bad craziness on a an unwitting Deputy around 4am in the morning, somewhere in Colorado, will result in the questions you want answered, fast. But beware - this behaviour classified as borderline Criminal Harrasment. So if it begins to get away from you and you can’t convince the victim it’s a joke - you may be facing extradition to the US to face a court of angry American Hillbillies.
Use with caution.
-H-
My legs are cramped, my ankles swollen. I feel like an overweight and pregnant Bovine Creature stuck herded up behind this iridescent screen all day.
My skin is pale and my nose bright red, itching and running from the constant irritation of pollens, dust and cheap perfume that is recycled by this air-conditioned in this climate controlled hell hole.
All around me people are in the throws of celebration as I type myself into a hunchbacked frenzy. The university is silent every night when I leave the library except for the feint sounds of celebration that echo somewhere beyond the horizon of my vision and mock me from the darkness.
2 more days and I’ll be done.
2 more days and I can lie in the sun.
Take this mantra and wash, rinse, repeat.
Soon.
-H-
Nightfall looms and the weasels are closing in. It’s been a week and I should be half way done. Any sane person with decent time management would be completing a first draft and rounding the final corner onto the home straight by now. Looming up on the finishing line with only an all night editing binge and the necessity to fight off the gleeful bliss of completion being the only obstacles still standing in their way. That would be the predicament of a sane person as we enter the final stretch, but a same person I am not.
Looking at my battle plan, and comparing it to my progress, I’m still about 5000 words deeply into the red so the time for invention and philosophising has long since past. This is Desperation time; where the tools of the trade become cheap back alley tactics and the encouragement of wanton plagiarism goes unpunished. It’s time to steal, and steal good. Since his death the subject of HST’s life, times and the analysis of his body of work have become hot topics in the era of digital publication and virtual identity. Hell all I need to do is indulge in a little idea assassination and claim some others data as my own. Sheeit, I could just publish all their works on my blog using different fonts and colours and claim it as an academic exercise in “Hyper-realistic authorship using Post Modern media for publication.” Why not, I’m running out of other ideas.
For me the time has come, the last bell tolled. This experiment in “Gonzo” academia is coming to a grinding halt and the fat is now so firmly in the fire I can hear the bastard crackle and spit. But why, where did I go wrong?
I get the sinking feeling I was doomed from the start, so afraid of failure I adapted procrastination and reading as an academic anaesthetic. If I was an actor I could pull it off. I have spent so much time consuming the character of Hunter Thompson even my speech pattern is beginning to adapt and change. I find elements of his lazy jawed, southern drawl slipping into my conversational speech, and I can mimic his answers from the UC question evening like the subconsciously rehearsed choruses of my favourite pop song. But there is so much to the man behind the methos and mystic that I’m only just starting to understand and come to grips with. But like a some washed up, backdoor porn star when I’ve finally got my shit together it turns out to be to no avail. Dammit, if I’d gotten onto this beast earlier I could have had it worked out and unravelled this mystery well and truly by now. But now the 11th hour bell is tolling in the background and it’s getting harder and harder to think about Thompson with all this noise.
As the sun sets on this fateful Monday evening and I look towards the sky and I’m reminded that I still have about 56 hours in which to finish this beast to some lever of academic satisfaction. I turn from the skyline to my Playbook and like a Convention Centre clearance sale everything’s gotta go. It’s Hack and Slash time now (on top of the already confessed Rape and Pillage). Pure Viking Academics, but can it be done?
I’ve got all the info I need on Blogging and the evolution of Digital Media. Combine that with the background about HST I’ve already written as a feature article in FHM Magazine. Add the remaining socio-political analysis and background on New Journalism that sits dauntingly within my Playbook and think that the only piece missing is a little direct, textual analysis… but that can be stolen right? If I get onto this right away, and work with the vigour of twelve bastards for the next 4 days, I might just be able to still pull this off!
Jesus what is this world coming to!
-H-
“This is bullshit. There is no fucking way you can write a passable master’s thesis and blog the experience in twelve days. What kind of nut-job do you have for a supervisor who would ok a project like this?”
This was the response I received from a fellow Master’s student while sharing a lunch of beer and chips at the Red Room bar on campus.
This was the response I received from a fellow Master’s student while sharing a lunch of beer and chips at the Red Room bar on campus.
“Jesus. If this is the fallout and impact from post-modernity, then academia in this country has really gone to shit.” I sat poised, just looking at him blankly, as I quietly smoked my cigarette. After the air around us had settled for a second, I offered him my take on the affair.
“You’re just bitter Matty because you didn’t think of it first.”
“Bitter. Fuck you!” He exploded, spilling his beer on the bar. “I had to write my ass in order to finish mine. And do you even know how much referencing you have to write for a piece like this?” I shook my head, laughing.
“No, you don’t. But you think you can just pull this thing straight outta your ass and lay it on the line.” I nodded, still laughing.
“Fuck!” Matty screamed, quite noticeably perturbed. He did, after all, have a point.
While the subject of HST and the impact of New Journalism was stock fodder material for anyone looking to write about the evolution of journalism and media language (and even the comparison between New Journalism and Blogging now seems over done), the idea to manically blog the entire writing process in an attempt to capture and re-create the impending sense of desperation as the deadline approaches was truly novel idea. It came about, like so many other elements of NJ, because of pure desperation.
As stated before, the idea of writing a conventional thesis entirely in an 11 hour rush would require nerves of steel (to deal with the stress of immanent failure), impeccable grammatical accuracy (to avoid the need for re-writing) and enough methamphetamine to kill a small heard of elephants. So while the Nerves and the Speed were easily obtainable, my grammar and typing skills were sadly not up to the challenge.
In looking back to the beginning of this strange and terrible saga, there is evidence of my plan to blog the entire process even from the overture. But just so you can understand these weird and wonderful beginnings (and also for comparison when the final product fails so miserably to live up to it’s expectations) here is an actual record of all communication I had with my thesis supervisor from day one. They show, if nothing else, the strange and brutal relationship that formed between student and teacher and prove – that even in the digital age – with the right sort of language, and a good sense of humour, anything is possible.
My text is in plain. Supervisor in >italics.
Subject: Individual Reading Plea for Guidance
Dr Chris Lawe Davies.
I’m Hugh Whitehouse, the poor MJ suckerfish Rod Kirkpatric has slapped
in you direction, hoping you would supervise me in Individual
Reading.
I’m taking it out on a limb here, but I’m hoping that you would’ve
already caught wind of this arrangement? He mentioned in passing
he’d forwarded my original email to you… but if not it basically
outlined my intention to study the works of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson and maybe
throw in a little Tom Wolfe and 1970’s New Journalism for good
measure.
In terms of a hypothesis, I was thinking something along the lines
of Gonzo journalism and 1st Person Narrative Reporting vs. Info-media
Blogging, comparing the journalistic validity of the two in the
context of technology, thematics and their time… or something like that.
Basically at this point I’m looking for a confirmation that you’ll
adopt my case and oversee my mania. I promise I’ll be good and
respectful and not give into the atavistic desire to study Dr Thompson
the way he studied the world; rocking up to meetings, lunches and
conversations between us drunk of my nuts with a head full of
amphetamines. Unless, Chris, this is the sort of thing you want, in which case i know a great little place in the Valley in which we
could conduct all our meetings and consultations. Your call.
In any case, I’d like to get together later in the week if possible so
I can get this subject (and all the assignment type material it
encompasses) underway.
Cheers man, I hope to hear form you ASAP.
We are after all professionals.
Hugh Whitehouse
>Subject: RE: Individual Reading Plea for Guidance
> Hugh,
> That all sounds fine.
>
> Must confess I’m interested in bloggs, citizen reporting on new and
> portable media and was always a fan of Wolfe/Thompson et al when they
> were hot. Valley meeting would be great but as I’m a cyclist, too far
> from this bucolic clime of a campus, ok, rural retreat. Damn it,
> pensioners’ paradise.
>
> Project sounds fun. My main role would be to be a sounding board and
> adviser on approaches etc rather than as an expert on content. I’m
> interested but
> not an expert. So if that sounds doable take it further.
> Chris.
Subject: Re: RE: Individual Reading Plea for Guidance
Dr. Chris,
There is a saying I picked up in my travels through Far North
Queensland. It goes a little something like this… “No Dramas, Cane
Farmers” and I believe it fits our situation perfectly.
To get this bugger underway I’ll get into heavy reading/research/ plagiarism
etc. But would still like to meet up, say Friday sometime,
if you’re free. Somewhere around campus?? We could take the easy way
out and get coffee at Wordsmiths if the cliché doesn’t fill you with
repulsion. You give the OK and I’ll be there. I’ll even don my old
black and white striped shirt, black beret and smoke long, feminine
cigarettes through an outlandishly camp cigarette holder to complete
the image…
Either or, it’s your call.
Hugh.
>Subject: So when do we meet?
>Sounds like a new Tom Wolfe. I’ve got the white suit, have you? but I’ll
>leave mine at home.
>Chris.
Subject: The Thompson Piece
Chris,
Jesus, I completely forgot about today, I have bigger battles on my
mind.
At the moment I’m caught between a rock and Centerlink (which, to the
uninitiated, is a very, very hard place).
Like a loanshark who smells blood in the water, they claim I owe them a
whole fuck load of money because I’ve been receiving Newstart (the
dole) while classified as a “full time” student, despite the fact I
have less than 10 hours of contact per week. 10 hours a week I still
can’t manage to attend - hence this letter.
Anyway, since my “Wild Party” slush fund and “Watch Dr. Phill and sit
on my ass eating Doritos” money has suddenly been cut off, I find
myself with a whole lot of time free to devote to the university work
that caught me in this vice.
Consequently I’ll type out my new, revised V2.0 hypothesis and the
dregs of work that I have done on The Thompson Piece and send then
along to you shortly, just after my meeting with Legal Counsel at 2:30.
In any case it seems like I have a bit of work to do, but that fits my
schedule fine because my weekends just opened up.
Keep in contact. Once I get the outline to you lets throw digital
packets of information and ideas back and forth like an old version of
PONG. Email is the key.
We are after all Professionals.
Hugh
>Subject: RE: The Thompson Piece
>Okay let’s throw digital.
>Chris
Subject: The Playbook
Here’s the deal -
Attached is the 2nd draft of my proposed thesis which is coming along
nicely. It’s a backbone that’s only just starting to flesh itself out,
but at least it now exists in some form that can be edited/added to/re-
created outside of my own mind.
It’s shallow at the moment, but I’m building on that. And I figure if I chip away at it now then I should be able to avoid the worst of the 11th hour blues and come out a winner. So no dramas, cane farmers.
The only problem i have at the moment is with Blogging. Please send all
Blogging material you may have that you think is applicable (if any) to
me ASAP. I’m now well versed in HST’s writings, but to finish this
beast I’ll need to digest any info you have on Blogging quickly.
Feel free to add to the mess. All I ask is that you do so WITH
CAP LETTERS SO IT’S EASY TO TELL YOUR RAMBLINGS FROM MY OWN.
Cheers and I’ll see you Thursday. 1pm sharp.
Hugh
>Subject: RE: The Playbook
>Hugh,
>Good to hear from you. I’m on somebody else’s computer at the moment, so >don’t have access to my favourite blogg sites etc. Hopefully tomorrow. Worst >case - Thursday. See you at 1pm sharp, or something.
>Chris.
>Subject: Anybody out there??
>Hugh,
>It’s been a while… We’d better meet old son. I’ve got a copy of that book if you >want it. How’s tomorrow at 1pm?
>Chris.
Subject: RE: Anybody out there??
Ok Chris. Long time no see, but now I’m back and right into the game. Sorry
I fell off the face of the earth for about 2 months or so there but things got chaotic and I needed space from - well just about everything. So don’t fret, you didn’t get off easy, you still have to deal with me yet.
Heres the plan: Looking a the course prospectus it says my “mini- thesis” (I
picture a small, bald thesis that raises a pert little finger to it’s lips and smiles quizzically) was due about three days ago and to that I say, “Ha!”
In my mind I’ve been working off a battle plan that saw me submit my work to you near the end of exams, or at least in the second week of exams anyway.
If this were to be the case I can promise you a nicely written, well articulated theoretical doctrine scribed by yours truly that implements all of your suggestions about topic/content/argument in one big ol’ easy to read manuscript. Kinda like the sort of text you could sit down and read on the toilet. No dramas, no sweat, too easy. Nice.
Or… and there’s always the alternative… I could submit to you about 100 pages of foolscap ramblings and chicken scratching that summate the essential argument and overall theme of the well rounded toilet book. A large, chaotic assortment of loose-leaf pages, clippings and printouts bound together with strands of my own hair and completely indecipherable to anyone but Chinese Intelligence…
It’s your call.
But before you make your ultimate choice as tempting as it may be - here this.
To sweeten the deal (should you choose the first option) I will even show up at your office on Friday with between 2000 - 3000 words of magnificently constructed and heartily researched speech on the topic of HST.
Speech so go it can be lifted verbatim and included as part of my mini-thesis. Now if that doesn’t sound promising, I don’t know what does.
All that’s missing is a set of steak knives!
Since falling off the face of the earth I’ve found this nice little quiet spot from where I’ve been charging through the backlog of all the work I missed. It’s a quaint little place with lots of bright lights and no distractions that keeps me going like a busy little beaver. Once there I’m zoned in, working hard and have been producing about 2000 words (1500 good words) of type every day. This magical place is the SS&H Library and I wish I found it earlier in my academic career.
Anyway, I’m committed to this thing for good or bad but it’s up to you if you want to play along with me. So whaddya say Chris will you help me out, grant me leeway until Friday and I’ll show up with 1/3 of the finished type to prove my good intentions? Will you let me submit this beast during the second exam week so I can make it nice, clean and readable? Dammit man I may even buy you a bottle of wine! But first I gotta hear and Amen.
Do I hear an Amen?????
>Subject: RE: RE: Anybody out there??
>Hugh,
>Good to hear from you man. I’ll take the first option, but leave out the
>steak knives. Now we’re comfortably in the NJ 11th hour, my comments on your >piece may prove useful or out of date
>Chris.
Subject: Still The Thompson Piece
Attn: Colonel Sunshine, (a.k.a Chris Lawe Davies)
It’s all going to work out. I promise.
My analysis of Thompson is kicking along nicely and you may even get to see some copy this week. On the subject of primary vs. secondary sources, well I’ve been doing some thinking…
Since it’s going to be an 11th hour blitz to get this thing finished (as if I ever thought it wouldn’t), I though I would supplement my insanity by Blogging the entire process. Though it may not be used, the
idea of Blogging the writing of a thesis written about Blogging and HST’s New Journalism is a hilariously Gonzo idea. Trust me on this, I can make it work.
The reason for this insanity is drawn information I’ve received when interviewing Bloggers (oh yeah, something else I’ve been doing since I couldn’t find enough good info on Bloggers that fit my arguments). Basically Blogging the entire process allows me the freedom to toy with structure and language, meaning that I will never hit that black hole of writer’s bloc and should get the bastard finished before noon on November 18.
So far I’ve been interviewing some local Brisbane Bloggers about life, the universe and everything… but I’m hoping to hear a response from the fools down at crickey.com who have promised to respond to my badgering sometime this week.
So on the Blogging front, we’re almost sorted.
Concerning NJ and HST, well I’ve been ready to write that thesis since I first read Fear and Loathing on a public toilet in Townsville, the summer of ‘96. Besides, there’s more than a bucket load of information concerning every aspect of the NJ movement and its impact on nearly everything in the SS&H library that I have now made my home. I eat nothing but candy from the library snack machines and use my accumulated parking tickets as toilet paper. You can find me in the level 1 computer labs most days, near the wall. I’ve grown a long beard and look like desperate and deranged cross between Jim Morrison and the uni-bomber. Mahalo.
See, I told you it’s gonna be ok…… (Rolls eyes feverishly)
Anyway, attached is a little background info I’ve written about HST… it’s horrible and badly worded but I blame a lack of voice, something I’ve addressed since.
Besides, there’s some interesting info I will expand upon and contemplate with more depth in my thesis (i.e. - the 5 failed pregnancies).
Read it, comment and I’ll see you at 1pm Thursday.
(Respond to confirm or else I won’t leave the library)
Your partner in crime,
Deputy “Deep Shit” Duke
(a.k.a Hugh Whitehouse)
>Subject: Again.
>Be gonzo and incorporate all your emails as well.
>Chris.
November 10th, 2005 by insidethewhitehouse in Other · 2 Comments
Apart from jacking off in a handicapped toilet, there’s nothing like inciting a little madness amongst the easily whipped opinions of video gaming fan boys to clear the dreaded writer’s bloc.
In a fit of boredom/desperation - and because all handicapped toilets in the immediate are were occupied for legitimate use – I spent the afternoon posing conspiracy theories about the politics of the videogame industry’s marketing machine at the virtual heart of the gaming community; gamefaqs.com
You can follow the ongoing argument here:
http://boards.gamefaqs.com/gfaqs/genmessage.php?board=926492&topic=24478218&page=0
Jesus - two days in and i’m already behind. Any lame Shaman could predict the future for me now. Bypassing the obvious environmental issues (such as premature, stress induced baldness, lung cancer and an overactive adrenalin gland causing me to shake like Mohammed Ali) my future now is bound by many late nights and countless wired mornings.
On average I should be producing about 1000 solid words and refinement of my scribbled gibberish on the hour, every hour in order to reach completion. But a stake of horrible accidents and an addiction to Social Politics has left me sidetracked and wordless for the last 48 hours.
The university, today, is unduly crowded with cars. Sweat, stress and cigarette smoke fill the air on this steamy summer Thursday. Its exam time baby and you better be ready.
For the next two weeks every park bench, public space and private sanctuary will be covered with cringers, cronies and crammers - desperately humping every last element of education in an attempt to prepare for the last play of the game.
Nervous conversation fills the air with minds preoccupied by the stress of success. Friendships are broken as people strive, conceal and cheat themselves into position to stay ahead of the bell curve. This is win at all costs academia - Lone Wolf sorta stuff. For the next two weeks the entire university caucus will be gripped by the upheaval of social terror. It’s time to prove to your friends, family and even yourself that after a semester of hard drinking, drugging and unprotected sex you are still able to scale the mountain of academic achievement as you push memories of Sisyphus far back into the depths of your mind.
Indeed, Sisyphus is good example of how there’s no room for wreckage in the fast lane. That poor bugger learned the hard way that some boulders are just too heavy to move. But while the rest of the student body is sweating it out in the sunshine, I find myself relegated to the gloom of some backwater computer lab like a rabid Mole, hidden from the daylight.
I can type and type until my hands turn into gnarled claws but it’s fast dawning on me that I need a Plan B. Like a Quarterback sacked by an aggressive Pass Rush defence, as we enter the 3rd quarter it’s time to hedge all bets and rely on the Running Game.
I’ve been ready to write this piece since I was fourteen years old. So let’s put the foot into the fire and get this mother rollin’. By the end of today i’ll post my progress so far - so if you see a blank document with the title “Footbal Season is Over” you know its going well.
-H-
