I hate hippies. I love the 60's, love the music, the colors and the air of revolution and optimism... well, I like the music anyway, but I just can't stand hippies.
More than a few years back, the band I was in, Sons of Buford, were booked at a hippie festival somewhere outside of York, Pennsylvania. We drove into the woods because hippie DNA comes from ferns and that's where they like to congregate, and there we truly discovered the meaning of the phrase, "the unwashed masses." We met people with names like (and I'm taking a few liberties here, it was a long time ago) Grapetree and Hucklemoss who looked like they wouldn't be bothered much if they accidentally pooped their pants. One fellow greeted each of us (there were 6 members of our band) with the words, "peace, man." This doesn't seem unsusual on paper until you understand that each time he said it, it took him about 90 seconds. His soiled cutoff jeans and a bandana that looked like it had taken a few dips into some animal food troughs were the only garments he chose to sport that day and although I don't think he was actively smoking anything at the time, it did appear that pot smoke was pouring out of his dreadlocks. His half-forced laughs at nothing were indicitive of years of chronic marijuana abuse and there were many more like him strewn about in the woods, trying to plant themselves in the mud.
We decided that we might try to enforce some rules for while we were playing, such as "no twirling," and "no hackey sacks within 100 feet of the stage," but we were on their turf and didn't want to appear ungrateful.
Speaking of grateful, they did give us some really good beer. One thing I have to hand to hippies is their taste in beer. Sam Smiths, Hop Devil, Troegs... they drink the good stuff. I worked at a liquor store near Merriweather Post Pavillion and everytime Phish came to town we'd run out of our high end beer. I was always a little confused by this because I've never known hippies to actually have money. Oh sure, the ones that become hippies because they don't like their CEO fathers and drive around in Mercedes Benz's have money, but the real hippies always seem to just be scraping by. But when it comes to beer they'll shell out big bucks. However, I digress.
We played our set and sold some CD's and listened to a couple other bands jam on two chords for 17 minutes at a clip and then it was time for dinner, or"supper" as they called it.
I'm not sure why I was surprised that all hippie food is vegetarian, but I was. I've never been a big fan of vegetarianism (or vegetarians, for that matter) and the reason is that I'm convinced that vegetarians become vegetarians because it has become a socially acceptable way to be picky and obnoxious. "No, I don't eat that" is not something you're supposed to say to someone who has just offered you a meal, but vegetarians can get away with it and it makes them feel superior, those snooty little bastards. And they do it all in the name of sunshine and happiness, but really they've just found a loophole to being allowed to act like turd. They feel higher and mightier in their "cause" than we meat-eaters, but as Maddox once wrote, "For every animal you don't eat, I'm going to eat three." (see end note)
Even more surprising than the menu was the method of acquiring said vittles. Some girl named Rainbowmoonbeamshine or some such nonsense told us that since we were guests we could go in line first. But before we did, we had to obtain Bliss Bowls. It was at this point in my life when I began to despise hippies because this instruction begged the age old question, "what the shit is a Bliss Bowl?" They are literally inferring that the container which will hold the stew of roots, lentils, ash and mud will bring me Bliss. When was the last time you poured yourself a bowl of Captain Crunch and became elated that you didn't have to pour the cereal and milk into your hand? THIS is what brings HAPPINESS to these people? What planet are they on? How high do you have to be to think that a bowl, plate, cup, pot, pan or tupperware makes you JOYFUL? I wanted to punch a kitten right in front of her.
When asked to explain what a Bliss Bowl was, Miss Starmuffinlovedust replied, (and I swear this is an exact quote) "You don't know what a Bliss Bowl is? It's a rainbow thing."
Well that cleared everything right up. I couldn't believe that I was actually having this conversation. I was trying to obtain information related to the proper protocol for eating dinner with hippies and was given a mathematical equation that only makes sense if you've been huffing spray paint for a solid hour. Bowl = Happiness = Rainbow. And with logic like that, who could argue? So I picked up an old dirty pot, had them pour some slop into my Bliss Bowl and ate my supper perplexed. I suppose it was better than them pouring the slop into my lap, but the fact that I even had to consider this scenario was maddening.
They're always looking on the bright side, aren't they? Penniless, covered in grime, reeking of body odor, patchouli and marijuana, and dating a girl who has more hair in her armpits than Jimi Hendrix had on his head, a hippie will likely tell you that "it could be worse." Yes, I suppose you could be actively on fire, but what about looking to the future a little bit? Maybe things could be BETTER? He then would probably make a joke about making pot legal and give his classic stoner laugh while you die a little inside.
Sigh. Well... My lips to yours.