Most Days I Can't Stand Him, Some Days I Adore Him -- And There's The Hitch

Christopher Hitchens is dying.  He's recently been diagnosed with esophageal cancer...and I'm pissed off about it.  I'm pretty sure he is too. 

If you've never heard of the author/polemicist/modern-day-gadfly, you've undoubtedly saved yourself a tremendous amount of ire and frustration.  On the other hand, you've also missed out on some of the most discerning and insightful social commentary of our time...whether you're inclined to agree with him or not. 

Hitchens has been a regular contributor to publications such as Vanity Fair, The Atlantic, Slate, and The Nation, in addition to being a best selling author of titles that include, god (lower case "g" intentional) Is Not Great, his anti-theist war cry, The Missionary Position, an unabashed attempt to defrock the legacy of Mother Teresa, and his most recent, Hitch-22, an autobiography in which he delves into the obligatory  homo-erotic-English-boarding-school dalliances and daddy-was-an-emotionally-distant-boozer cliches.

So what's the fascination with a guy that some people would write off as a divisive, arrogant blow-hard in love with the sound of his own voice?  Why the genuine melancholy over someone who is at once charming, condescending, snide, and aloof?  He's brilliant.  I'll miss him because he's brilliant.  I save the word brilliant for a select few that roam about on this intimate little planet of ours, but I'm not reluctant to bestow the usage on Hitchens, if for no other reason than the man has literally read every book known to man.  Twice.  And has retained so much information he's able to effortlessly recite everything from ancient Hindu Sanskrit passages to the Oslo Accords as if they were nursery rhymes.

Most of the time after reading one of his essays on the poison that is religion or hearing him go on (yet again) about the unconscionable sins of Bill Clinton, I want to punch him squarely in his smug, puffy face...but that's the point, isn't it?  And trust me...he's in on the joke.  Hitchens is that guy.  The man who divides a room.  The gent who draws a line in the sand with the plastic sword from his martini.  The one who angers you in such a visceral fashion that he forces you to rethink your current position and form an even stronger argument for why you believe it...if you still do by the time he's finished with you.

Not that he doesn't have some chinks in the armor.  I've found (especially regarding "god Is Not Great", a subject I happen to have a certain amount of expertise in) that chunks of his research are sloppy and unsupported by the majority of biblical scholars.  Basically, Hitchens' grand scheme is to have you become so irate and vexed over a sweeping blanket generalization, that you completely forgo any rational defense of his observations in favor of piss and vinegar.  Or to enthrall the already swooning sycophant beyond the point of messianic delirium and thereby closer to the center of Hitchens' sardonic web.

But there's something to be said about a man who is unapologetic about his convictions and yet, considerate and insightful enough to continually question those convictions and yes, even change them.  Hitchens is a man truly adhered to the theory of evolution, most certainly when it applies to intellect and reason.  I love that about him.  I love the way his mind works.  I love the way he's demanded that my mind work.  And the intellectual community will be far too quiet without him barreling about.  Get healthy, Hitch.  There are too many fine cigars left untouched for you to check out just yet.