As much as I like turtles, I like history even more. So, in honor of tomorrow’s celebration of Guy Fawkes’ Night, where apparently a large demonstration is being planned on the steps of Parliament, I thought I’d post a little historical note on the beloved terrorist.

In 1604 Fawkes became involved with a small group of English Catholics, led by Robert Catesby, who planned to assassinate the Protestant King James and replace him with his daughter, third in the line of succession, Princess Elizabeth.[15][16] Fawkes was described by the Jesuit priest and former school friend Oswald Tesimond as “pleasant of approach and cheerful of manner, opposed to quarrels and strife … loyal to his friends”. Tesimond also claimed Fawkes was “a man highly skilled in matters of war”, and that it was this mixture of piety and professionalism which endeared him to his fellow conspirators.[3] The author Antonia Fraser describes Fawkes as “a tall, powerfully built man, with thick reddish-brown hair, a flowing moustache in the tradition of the time, and a bushy reddish-brown beard”, and that he was “a man of action … capable of intelligent argument as well as physical endurance, somewhat to the surprise of his enemies.”[5]
The first meeting of the five central conspirators took place on Sunday 20 May 1604, at an inn called the Duck and Drake, in the fashionable Strand district of London.[nb 5] Catesby had already proposed at an earlier meeting with Thomas Wintour and John Wright to kill the King and his government by blowing up “the Parliament House with gunpowder”. Wintour, who at first objected to the plan, was convinced by Catesby to travel to the continent to seek help. Wintour met with the Constable of Castile, the exiled Welsh spy Hugh Owen,[18] and Sir William Stanley, who said that Catesby would receive no support from Spain. Owen did, however, introduce Wintour to Fawkes, who had by then been away from England for many years, and thus was largely unknown in the country. Wintour and Fawkes were contemporaries; each was militant, and had first-hand experience of the unwillingness of the Spaniards to help. Wintour told Fawkes of their plan to “doe some whatt in Ingland if the pece with Spaine healped us nott”,[3] and thus in April 1604 the two men returned to England.[17] Wintour’s news did not surprise Catesby; despite positive noises from the Spanish authorities, he feared that “the deeds would nott answere”.[nb 6]
One of the conspirators, Thomas Percy was promoted in June 1604, gaining access to a house in London which belonged to John Whynniard, Keeper of the King’s Wardrobe. Fawkes was installed as a caretaker and began using the pseudonym John Johnson, servant to Percy.[20] The contemporaneous account of the prosecution (taken from Thomas Wintour’s confession)[21] claimed that the conspirators attempted to dig a tunnel from beneath Whynniard’s house to Parliament, although this story may have been a government fabrication; no evidence for the existence of a tunnel was presented by the prosecution, and no trace of one has ever been found. Fawkes did not admit the existence of such a scheme until his fifth interrogation, but even then he could not locate the tunnel.[22] If the story is true, however, by December 1604 the conspirators were busy tunnelling from their rented house to the House of Lords. They ceased their efforts when, during tunnelling, they heard a noise from above. Fawkes was sent out to investigate, and returned with the news that the tenant’s widow was clearing out a nearby undercroft, directly beneath the House of Lords.[3][23]
The plotters purchased the lease to the room, which also belonged to John Whynniard. Unused and filthy, it was considered an ideal hiding place for the gunpowder the plotters planned to store there.[24] According to Fawkes, 20 barrels of gunpowder were brought in at first, followed by 16 more on 20 July.[25] On 28 July however, the ever-present threat of the plague delayed the opening of Parliament until Tuesday, 5 November.[26]

So here’s to it then, the gunpowder, treason and plot. And here’s to everyone out on the streets protesting or drinking or laughing or building or somehow making shit happen.

Here’s to Alan Moore, one of the more effective wizards words have put to print.

And here’s to those grand spells that get spun, especially the one’s that take a bit longer to ferment.

It’s been a while, I know. I’ve been living a life. Or burning one down. Or stumbling on the head of those two opposing excuses, really.

This is the 4th year I won’t be going to Burning Man. It’s crazy, I’ve been not going almost half as many years as I attended. And what’s crazier, I still couldn’t give an origamist’s paper shit about going back. Who knows, maybe someday, but right now I much prefer scrambling my mental effects in the comfort of my own back yard, with my own tasteful music. And air conditioning about 3 body-lengths from any fire I may start. Oh yes, and the no hippie rule we have at the house really pays dividends.

But whatever, rote individualism aside, I met and made friends with some of the most hilarious, intelligent and amazing people in the world during my over-stayed tenure with the Man. And I’m happy to say I still keep in touch with almost all of them. So, in celebration of that, I’m heading out to the Worthington compound for the weekend to play with explosives and man-handle some seratonin. It’s been too long since I’ve chased mortality into that corner of the woods and far too long since I’ve indulged in the Quartermaster’s tutelage on zen debauchery. This will be fun indeed.

So, in honor of glories past – and most likely some kind of cirrhosis future – I’m going to make some Lengua Tacos to sustain ourselves on the night that we burn our black powder-stuffed effigy. I picked the veal tongue up at Gepperth’s a few weeks ago during their 50% off freezer sale and I’ve been itching for a reason to cook this yummy stuff.

And what better place to tongue kiss a baby cow then at the scene of so many other wonderful crimes against nature, eh?

Skoal!

Here’s an interesting article from the Atlantic Monthly on the history of gunpowder and liquor, both as a proofing agent and an adjunct.

The proof test may actually be part of a larger maritime tradition of mixing gunpowder and liquor. Robert Lee, a biographer of Edward “Blackbeard” Teach, reported that the notorious pirate once got the attention of his compatriots in a tavern by “mixing gunpowder in his rum, setting it on fire and guzzling the explosive mixture.” How this was accomplished by someone as famously bearded as Teach was not adequately explained, and I didn’t feel an immediate need to reenact this feat.

Then I heard about a talented bartender named Ben Simpson at Motel Bar in Wellington, New Zealand. Simpson is the creator of Man O’War Gunpowder Rum, which is made of blended rums infused with black gunpowder and other ingredients. Simpson had also read about Blackbeard’s explosive concoction, which got him to thinking: sailors used to add all sorts of things to their rum to make it more palatable … charcoal was sometimes used in casks aboard ships to keep the contents tasting fresh … gunpowder contains a lot of charcoal … and, well, why not? “A lot of it is my own hypothesis,” Simpson admits. In addition to gunpowder, Man O’War is infused with tobacco and chili peppers. “Mostly I’m making assumptions about sailors and how they drank crazy things.”

This is a little off-topic for us here, but who cares, it’s an exciting release and I designed the packaging for the project so I can talk about it here all I want.

Wayne Ewing has released a wonderful sequel to his 2003 work “Breakfast with Hunter”. “Animals, Whores & Dialogue: Breakfast with Hunter Volume 2″ uses a late night writing session in the younger part of this odd century as the core of the narrative. Wayne follows Hunter’s shotgun attention span through it’s circuitous tangents by way of parties, memorials, nights with friends and also some great footage of Hunter riding his Harley through the Roaring Fork Valley. Watching Hunter pass through a continuous sea-change of clearly familiar procrastination techniques before finally settling himself down to task is a treat no Thompson fan should deprive themselves of.

One of the things that really separates Wayne’s work with Hunter from other filmmakers is the very real understanding he managed of this literary titan and human conundrum, not to mention a certain zen-like tolerance for the searing, blue light of Thompson’s very special brand of psychosis. Where other filmmaker’s seem to get lost in the fuzzy, unfilmable morass of lazy admiration, Wayne manages to descend into the murkier depths, translating the complexities of his own relationship with the subject into a portrait this is both more exciting and more sweet and intimate than anything you’re going to find anywhere else about one of the great and true recluses of late 20th century letters.

Go to Wayne’s site now, catch up on his hilarious stories about Thompson on his video blog and pick up a copy of “Animals, Whores & Dialogue”, I promise that you will love it.

It’s 70* and sunny right now in Chicago which means, among other wonderful things, it is officially time to melt your face on some fires. Too bad some fucking scrapper hopped our fence and stole the copper bowl from our fire pit last summer. Thanks dick.

Fortunately though, Instructables has published a nice piece on building your own backyard fire pit. I suppose I should get busy on this thing ASAP as that late night conviviality, with all it entails, just isn’t the same with the proper light from an open, crackling fire.

That fella’s damn entertaining but he’s not the face of modern moonshine. It seems that making your own liquor, while illegal and quite dangerous, is gathering steam in some hipster circles. A new book called Chasing the White Dog: An Amateur Outlaw’s Adventures in Moonshine by a gentleman named Max Watman chronicles the recent rise in the popularity of moonshine.

The process itself is interesting, especially having messed around with brewing these past few months. The renegade spirit also appeals to me but I think it’s going to be a while before I give it a shot. If not done properly not only can you blow your face off but you could end up blind or poisoned to death. That may have been worth it to old blues men but I’m not ready to take the leap just yet. If your interested in reading more here’s the article that turned me on.

This is how we did it before they had a name for it.

Wayne Ewing was friend, Road Manager, and biographer to the late Hunter S. Thompson and is, in my opinion, the only documentarian to ever successfully pierce the thick, well-considered wall that Thompson kept between himself and the rest of the world. If you haven’t yet seen it, stop what you are doing right now and buy “Breakfast with Hunter” it’s a must-see for any Thompson fan.

Wayne took time out from editing “Breakfast with Hunter 2: The Kitchen Tapes” to put together a piece about his old friend specially for us here at Outsider’s Almanac. You can read other great memories of Hunter by Wayne on his bi-weeklyish vodcast at HunterThompsonFilms.com. We know you’ll enjoy this.

The Aspen Times has a picture of a bobcat on the front page this snowy January day after “Blue Monday” – the third Monday in January, considered the most depressing Monday of the year by the media. The bobcat in today’s news was crouching in the snow in a field not far from my unfortified compound somewhere near Carbondale and he appeared quite cuddly, unlike the evil-looking example below.

Bobcats remind me of another Blue Monday. The evil version above is like the one I met more than a decade ago, back in the nineties at Owl Farm with my friend Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. And that memory suddenly answered the question that I have been pondering about Hunter for more than a month.

“What did Hunter like to do outside?” asked another comrade, Brian Buckman – the force behind great web sites like the Outsiders Almanac and my own HunterThompsonFilms.com.

Since Hunter spent most of the last twenty years of his life glued to a high chair between the stove and counter in his kitchen, I did not have a ready answer. But today it came to me after seeing the bobcat.

Hunter loved to go outside and shoot, especially to kill something that he felt threatened him.

“People, they know that I will shoot,” the Beast would declare late at night with pride. And it was certainly true, as I knew from having to deal with an innocent victim of his trigger finger. (see my vlog “Never Call 911”).

The bobcat was certainly a victim, but whether innocent or not you will have to judge.

Outside on the porch of Owl Farm that January Blue Monday it was cold, so cold even a starving, yet still cagey bobcat might be forced to take a chance.

My brother Andrew and I were at Owl Farm that night, along with Deborah Fuller – Hunter’s secretary since the early eighties – and a journalist and photographer from London. The Brits were there to talk about the release in England of Hunter’s long lost novel The Rum Diary, now finally to be released as a film starring Johnny Depp in 2010.

Hunter was quite crafty about having his picture taken. From the beginning, he had an instinctual sense that branding himself properly was a key to success and fame. Thus, the Gonzo symbol, the cigarette holder, the Tillie Hat, etc. were all elements of his well known image that had to be arranged properly before any photograph could be taken. Deborah and I were charged with making sure he looked just right, and he constantly threatened terrible retribution if we failed.

“If my glasses are crooked, I’m going to hurt you,“ he would always promise.

Thus, I took the presence of a professional photographer with three cameras hanging from his neck as essentially a threat that night in the Owl Farm kitchen. If the picture in the London Observer or the The Sun wasn’t just right, I would pay.

Suddenly, there was a loud commotion on the front porch where the peacocks were huddled in their walk-in cage under a heat lamp. A huge THUMP was followed by the peacocks screeching wildly. I figured that a slab of snow must have slid off the roof and startled the birds. Deborah immediately went to investigate, and I was close behind.

On the front porch, the peacocks were going crazy inside their cage. The door to the cage was open, as usual so they could come and go, but there was something else inside with them now. A mangy bobcat was leaping from the floor of the cage, trying to grab one of the screaming peacocks whirling on their perches above.

“You asshole! Get the fuck out of here,” screamed Deborah as she charged at the bobcat.

You could see how this fearless woman could protect Hunter all those years, and even take a bullet for or from him (see once again my story “Never Call 911”). But, the bobcat seemed to have no fear whatsoever. Instead of running away, the cat charged Deborah, coming after her quickly and driving us both back into the living room. The Cat was either rabid or simply crazed by hunger and the cold.

“It’s a bobcat,” screamed Deborah to Hunter. “Get the shotgun!”

I slipped back onto the porch, thinking I could drive the bobcat off before Hunter got the gun and ended up pictured on the front page of London newspapers turning a cat into pink mist and alienating every animal lover in the United Kingdom. The peacocks were still screaming, but the bobcat wasn’t in their cage or on the porch. Then I saw him peeking around the side of the woodpile just off the front of the porch.

At that moment, I heard the unnerving sound of the pump action on the 12 gauge Marine Defender behind me as Hunter came out the front door screaming, “Where is he? Where is the son-of-a-bitch?”

Unfortunately, I hesitated just long enough for him to know I was lying when I replied lamely, “I don’t know.”

His voice took on a tone of threat I had never heard before as he swung the chrome plated barrel in my direction and screamed, “Tell me where he is, or I’LL SHOOT YOU!”

“He’s right there. Behind the wood pile,” I shouted, instantly, giving up the bobcat whose head disappeared behind the woodpile just as it exploded in a torrent of wood chips from the double O shot of the Marine Defender. That was one quick cat. He ducked the shot and simply disappeared.

Hunter was livid.

“Protecting a ‘poor pussycat.’ You sentimental fool. It was a bobcat that killed my beloved Screwjack,” he declared with angst. Giving me a look of disgust, he pumped the Marine Defender once to clear the weapon and went inside.

Screwjack was both the name of his black house cat, and a satirical short story about his love affair (literally) with a black cat (Here’s a supplement from my “Breakfast with Hunter” DVD in which the writer P.J. O’Rourke and the actor Don Johnson take turns reading Screwjack).

He was a gorgeous cat as you can see from this post card picture that Deborah took and then sent to a few friends on his death. The theory of his demise was that vermin from bobcats with whom he tangled infected him with a deadly disease.

Unfortunately, Screwjack was pretty elusive, and in all my years of filming Hunter I took few, if any shots of his black cat. However, Screwjack does have a cameo appearance in “Breakfast with Hunter.” You can hear him distinctly whining in the background as Alex Cox and Todd Davies flee the kitchen after their infamous Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas script conference that led to Terry Gilliam directing the movie.

Back on the porch, I thought about the error of my ways and figured perhaps I could redeem myself by shooting the bobcat. Taking another shot gun from the arsenal, I stalked the property in the cold, hoping to see the varmit and blast him away. After an hour or so, feeling like a bad imitation of Bill Murray in Caddyshack , I quit for the night. At least I didn’t blow up the 500 gallon propane tank with an errant shot.

The next afternoon I got a call from Deborah.

“He shot the bobcat,” she proudly declared.

“How did he do it?”

“I was walking over to the main house and saw the bobcat sitting in the bushes above the firing range,” she said. “ So I went into Hunter’s bedroom. He’d only been down for a few hours. But still I whispered in his ear: ‘If you get up now you can shoot the bobcat.’ And, Damn if he didn’t pop right out of bed, grab a rifle, and kill that bobcat with one shot from the front porch. Then he went right back to bed and fell asleep.”

Usually, it took Hunter hours to get going in the morning – an ugly ritual documented by more than one observer. But, given a score to settle with a bobcat, anything was possible, including getting Hunter into the great outside.

Copyright 2010 by Wayne Ewing
Screwjack’s picture courtesy of Deborah Fuller

Don’t lose hope dear internetting ones, we still have every intention of launching the full Outsider’s Almanac website in the near future, it just won’t be quite as soon as we had hoped. We’re pretty insanely busy these days, between writing projects, client needs, body/mind/spirit rehabbing and the pursuit of winter in it’s many splendered and distracting forms, but you should expect to see the site live by around April 1st, 2010.

We’ve got our sites on making Outsider’s Almanac the most exhaustive and user friendly site for all Outsider activities by combining tutorials with expert articles, videos, web based and mobile communication apps, up-to-the-minute live and critical information on sites and conditions, gear reviews, site reviews, events, and so much more.

Like you, we love the Outside, it’s beautiful out here, and boy is it easy to get distracted. We wouldn’t want it any other way.

For low these past 8 years now a group of degenerates near and dear to my heart have been hosting Chicago’s version of the SantaCon, the inimitable (and superbly intoxicated) SANTA KONG. Yes, it’s as intimidating as a 3 story gorilla and almost as virile, too. Yes, you will get drunk, very drunk. And, yes, I will once again be serving my patented weapons-grade egg nog from a gas can.

If your idea of a good time is to travel around America’s third largest city in school buses full of drunken Stana Clauses, reigning lovable havoc on unsuspecting, but typically appreciative bystanders and then sleeping off your holiday cheer for a day or two, well then Virginia, the SantaKong is just the thing for you.

Here is what Disco Dave has to say about the event:

BASICS:
Synchronicity’s 8th Annual SantaKong begins at 2:00 PM Saturday – December 12th, 2009 at Quencher’s bar. Quencher’s is located at 2401 N. Western Avenue, on the corner of Fullerton & Western. This year the Kong will be using cheaper school buses, as opposed to trolleys from years past. This enables everyone to get jolly for nearly twice as long, without breaking the bank. Everyone will spend the first hour at Quencher’s decorating and festi-fying the buses. (Oh and drinking.) Please bring Christmas decorations and other Holiday swag to make our school buses as obnoxiously cheer-tastic as possible.

To join us, just Paypal $26 to pocketbook@synchroni-city.org. https://www.paypal.com

If you do not have a Paypal account, see the FAQ’s below.

YOU MUST WEAR A SANTA OR OTHER HOLIDAY-THEMED OUTFIT. IF YOU DON’T DRESS UP FOR SANTAKONG – YOU ARE LAME!

As usual, your $26 payment covers a massive quantity of beer and whiskey, which will be festively available at any and all times we are on the buses. You are still welcome, of course, to bring your own alcohol. In fact it’s kind of a tradition.

The Bus departs from Quencher’s at 3:00, and will return to the Quencher’s neighborhood at approximately 11:00-11:30 P.M.
FAQ’s:

WHAT IF I CAN’T BE AT QUENCHERS BY 3:00?
No worries, you can also plan on meeting up with us at The Twisted Spoke (501 N Ogden Ave) for our 4:30 departure.

If that doesn’t work out for you, please look for us at the corner of Lincoln, Halsted and Fullerton for our 6:00 departure from there. If you miss us at there, you’ll have to give us a call.

HOW DOES THIS WHOLE THING WORK NOW, EXACTLY?
The buses provide you and your Santa friends with safe and sober transportation from bar to bar around the great city of Chicago. Intermittently you’ll be bringing your unique brand of cheerful revelry to public settings like Daley Plaza, Macy’s, the Billy Goat Tavern, Emmitt’s, and even an Ice Skating Rink!

DO I REALLY HAVE TO WEAR A COSTUME?
Yes.

I DON’T DO PAYPAL . . . . CAN I STILL KONG OUT?
Maybe.

We will be taking some cash payments on the day of the event. However, an RSVP is strongly suggested, and there is limited space on our buses. If you do not Paypal us in advance, Synchronicity cannot guarantee you a spot on our buses. We strongly recommend you Paypal us your $26 in advance to guarantee your spot. Setting up a Paypal account is easy and free. All you need is a bank account and an email address, and you can both send and RECEIVE money.

ANYTHING GOES ON THE BUSES, RIGHT?
No, no and no. You must obey all state and local laws while participating in SantaKong. That means you may NOT use illicit substances on the buses . . . not even weed. Without the humor and good graces of our friendly drivers – we have no SantaKong. Please do not put our driver’s jobs or the event’s future in jeopardy. Obey all state and local laws while you’re on the bus.

WHAT IF I’M TOO WASTED TO DRIVE HOME?
Luckily, Quenchers has the advantage of being located close to several cheap CTA options, such as the Western Bus the Fullerton Bus, and the Blue Line, all three of which run on a 24-hour schedule. Also, cabs are everywhere in that neighborhood. PLEASE DO NOT PLAN ON DRIVING HOME FROM SANTAKONG. Your friends may be sad that you got splattered all over the Dan Ryan, but they’ll also be pissed off that your stupidity ruined a perfectly good SantaKong.

I HAVE A QUESTION YOU HAVEN’T ADDRESSED:
No problem. Email me at dave_h@illmeasures.com

Downtown the Disco Elf
for
Synchronicity

http://www.Synchroni-City.org