Here's Mr. Lee with a shiny piece of gold he no doubt stole.
Wikipedia summarizes the film's plot thusly:
"The film, based upon the book of the same name, follows the true life story of a closeted gay man hiding his orientation from his family, through the Stonewall Riots in New York City, which is seen by many as having started the modern Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender movement, through one of the defining counter-culture events of the generation. Aspiring Greenwich Village interior designer, Elliot Tiber's parents owned a small motel in Upstate New York and in 1969, Tiber held the only musical festival permit in the entire town of Bethel, New York, both of which Tiber offered to the Woodstock Festival's organizers."
BO-RING!
If I want to see/smell hippies I'll go to see a Ratdog cover band at Nectar's. But this brings us to an interesting point. There are, in fact, several kinds of hippies. Through a process similar to that proposed by Darwin in his theory of natural selection, all modern forms of hippies descended from one common ancestor, who almost certainly smelled terrible. Scientists have reconstructed this crude rendition of what the original hippie may have looked like:
"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven ... A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace, bro." (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 8) He forgot the "turn, turn, turn" part.
This hippie of old has been replaced by several new, less tolerable forms.
This hippie's name is Trey, and he is a weemo.
Trey used to be in a band called Phish. They spelled it with a "ph" because the pH scale is used to test acidity, and they love acid. I just made that up, but it totally sounds believable, doesn't it?. They actually spelled it that way because, uhhh, who even cares. Phish is a terrible band and their phans are phucking inphuriating.
Another insufferable breed of hippie is this kind, the one that cares about important things.
These hippies try to change the world by protesting, but what they fail to realize is that by vocally appealing to the powers that be in an attempt to prompt change, they are in fact reaffirming the very power structures that they aim to dismantle and casting themselves as powerless. ZING!
These are the Weathermen. They enjoy wearing sunglasses and blowing themselves up.
There are not very many of them left.
So, now that Phish has broken up, protestors have been classified as terrorists, and the Weathermen have exploded their own brains, who is left to carry the hippie torch?
THIS GUY!
Sweet bush, Devendra. Natalie, I'd recommend getting checked for craberoos.
3 comments:
Trey might be a bit of a weemo, for sure, but you certainly didn't mind Phish, their phans, or the party they were phrowing (is that going too far?) when you were clinging for dear life to the back of a convertible whizzing down a Vermont back road or traipsing your way up and down a mile and a half of tarmac three times a day to hear them play.
Can you really say you didn't have a good time at It?
In the words of Jeff Tweedy (spoken to Matt Colvard on a stage in the middle of Yale):
"Do you have a music degree? No? Well we all do so you have to listen to us."
Well I have a music degree and I think Phish are the greatest band of recent decades. So, you Wilco-listening hipster, you have to listen to me.
What Phish, and their associated breed of hippies, are, is uncool. That I will readily admit. They had about a year or two of coolness back in the early Nineties, but after about 1993, jambands were decidedly not cool. But to say they are the worst band ever, or that their music is lacking, is, especially when written by someone with dubious musical ability himself, rather like self-righteous, uneducated trailer trash bashing "The God Delusion". Yeah, it's really easy to take shots at Dawkins (he's another uncool hippie nerd) just as it is at Trey, Jerry, Phish, or the Dead, but it's SOOOO unoriginal and boring. Thousands have done it before you, thousands will afterwards, and do you really think you're saying anything that hasn't already been said?
Doing is the hardest, useful criticism is a bit easier, useless criticism is even easier, and unoriginal useless criticism is just a waste of everyone's time.
When one's judgment of art becomes one's judgment of the ability of that art to get you laid or make yourself popular, one's creditability as a reliable critic is shot. When art and thought and ideas take a backseat to coolness and image and screwability, you will inevitably end up with something shallow, hollow, and uninteresting.
With a mix of nostalgia, defensiveness, sarcasm, desire for dialogue, and serious concern over the personality 413some has adopted in the last few years, I bid you adieu.
Real Jake, hippie sympathizer
Hi Jake!
What, i get no love?
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