Ken Ficara

Richard Thompson, the British virtuouso guitarist and songwriter, now lives in Los Angeles and coaches his kids’ soccer team. Also on the team is Arnold Schwarzenegger’s son. Now, one must take anything Richard says with a grain or two of salt, but he keeps a web journal, including notes on his frustrations in dealing with the Governor:

Soccer games are becoming a regular circus. At last Saturday’s match, the Governor turned up with no less that eight HumVs in tow. Such is the distraction level that a few opportunistic kids have realized that, if they time their run to fit with one of Arnie’s pomp-and-circumstance arrivals, they can dribble through an entire team and score with zero resistance. Sadly, the Governor seems unaware that his cavalcade is causing a problem, and strides around shaking hands, slapping backs and saying “Fantastic!”

Later, he proposes a solution:

I have decided the best way to neutralize the impact of the Governor at soccer games is to sign him up and give him a role; I have made him assistant coach, government duties permitting; and can now officially order him to take superfluous drills in obscure corners of the field.

Finally, his thoughts on Hummers:

I did drive a Hummer once, and was not impressed. As a road vehicle, it has no headroom, and is slow, uncomfortable, and cumbersome; its virtues, however, become apparent when one steers as the crow flies. Why bother with silly old roads, when you can just set a compass heading, or aim in a straight line for that distant church tower? Nothing will stand in your way, certainly not hedges or ditches, or fences or hills or rivers. On the other hand, a slightly used Sherman Tank will, in addition, negotiate its way through buildings, has a higher top speed, and rather better fuel consumption…it also has a gun.

Thompson has an excellent web site for a musician, with a lot of his personal involvement as well as “official bootlegs” of unreleased and live material for sale.

He may be a strung-out gun nut, but Hunter Thompson’s obituary of Richard M. Nixon is worth reading to counter the effects of the Reagan coverage. It’s a little like eating some hearty green vegetables after eating McDonald’s all week.

If the right people had been in charge of Nixon’s funeral, his casket would have been launched into one of those open-sewage canals that empty into the ocean just south of Los Angeles. He was a swine of a man and a jabbering dupe of a president. Nixon was so crooked that he needed servants to help him screw his pants on every morning. Even his funeral was illegal. He was queer in the deepest way. His body should have been burned in a trash bin.

Hunter, where are you when we need you?