Community Weblog - [ Arts - Humanities and Literature ]

• The independent documentary movement against the new Radio and TV National Law.
• Documentary, memory and social movements.
• Institutional programs that promote viusal anthropology.
  
• Visual anthropology and religion.
• Anthropological photography and photojournalism.
• From documentary to video-art and the philosophy of images.
• Screenings of mexican contemporary ethnographic documentaries  (including Q&A sesions with the directors and comments by anthropologists)
• Opening: "In the pit" by Juan Carlos Rulfo, comments by Nestor Garcia Canclini
• Perspectives: A photo exhibition by Jose Carlo Gonzalez
• La Revolucion imaginada: A traditional votive paintings exhibition by Alfredo Vilchis

I never have the chance to meet my literary heros. Late reflection. This is an omen - must attend Rushdie later this month.

I discovered him when I was 16, and voraciously read every word and relished every one. Campaign Trail '72 was one of the best pieces of political writing - god, he was clear and honest and you just really got a sense of how terrible Humphrey was, and his descriptions of Nixon make me think Bush isn't that bad because we've seen worse and I loved Generation of Swine as a more personal look at his life, arguing with his editor over his expense account and deadlines. His writing, you could tell, was usually done from a perspective of an observor, so he retained the journalist role, but he was also a full participant in every story - the detached storytelling style really seemed to get at the nitty gritty, and he always got his message through, to me at least. I know it's strange to be beat up by the death of someone you've never met, but thinking that I will never again be excited for the release of a book, or get to attend at least a book-signing, and that I won't see him age in photos anymore is depressing, and I feel a hole, or a loss of some kind.

At any rate, we all knew it would be either a freak accident or suicide, or both. I like to think of this as the perfect end - it seems bleak, empty and self-serving, but in reality, he was never one to fade in and out of our lives - - he blew in and scared the shit out of you when he was around, and vanished into thin air just as quickly as he left our hearts beating. I feel he could leave this earth satisfied, not with the work he had done, or the way American is acting these days, but satisfied that his work was finished, take it or leave it. Perhaps he was ill? No one will ever be sure. On the radio today, a colleague noted that Hunter felt he was the conscience of his generation, and carried the guilt and shame of standing by and only being able to comment on the downfall of the integrity of the US government. The drug haze was not BECAUSE of the horrific events of late 1950s through today - the drug haze was FOR it, because only a man out of his mind could understand what was happening to the great society.

He made us want to stay up all night and chronicle our generation. He gave us cruel, timeless and hilariously true jokes about politicians, police officers, drug lords, publishers, editors, athletes - hell, he poked light fun at the Hell's Angels (with a fair amount of respect) and didn't get his ass beat. Who else could ALMOST win a mayoral race on the premise that he would ban cars from the downtown and decriminalize drugs? In Colorado? I don't have much more to say, just that I'm going to miss the manic/maniacal writing, now that I'm sure no more will be coming.