A jillion years ago I used to have a zine (maga-zine, a little handwritten comic-type phamplet I made & xeroxed & distributed myself) (called Oompf!) and my BFF Marcy wrote this little story about my madmad crush on Hunter S Thompson for it.
Its kinda small & hard to read: you might save & enlarge it, or, as I like to say, bigify.
This story is not 100% true, prob less than 50% tho trust me, my hindsight is NOT 20/20. Its cute tho, and poignant. We were frustrated little girls: we were able to envision a lifestyle much heartier & more vibrant than we were capable of having. Winter in Central PA is depressing all on its own, and the particular valley we lived in seemed to trap the clouds. I remember sitting in those box cars, so bored, and feeling Sylvia Plath-like -- not like we were sitting in a bell jar but that the entire town was under some dome. I imagined a lovely creamy china teacup up-turned -- delicate, dripping, & inescapable.
Hunter had been there, & Hunter had escaped. Its important to have models & mentors in life. You might not know how you'll do it but just knowing it CAN be done has the potential to drive even the most hopeless & least motivated onward. That was the gift Hunter S gave us that winter. I still love him for it.
Here's the story Hunter S wrote about Jersey Shore.
O if you're wondering why she called me Ramona: it was a nickname. There is a series of kids' books about a girl named Ramona, specifically Ramona the Pest. Don't look at me like that, it was a long time ago. You probably had a dumb nickname too. It was so goofy, it was actually Ramona Sue Einstein, because (back then) I was bright. I know, whatever.
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