Tag Archives: hippies

i’ve gone to look for america.

If I ever leave everything behind and drive across the country just to explore, it’s because of this song.

PS- How emo is Art Garfunkel?  Turtleneck sweater, crazy hair, sappy serious look on his face?  Rawr.

[Posted by Kathleen]

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blogging from the dnc, day 3.

Yesterday was day 3 of the girl power hippie lovefest. And oh girl, it was a good one. I’m going to try and keep it quasi-brief. Brevity really isn’t my thing though.

I went to a tea hosted by Nancy Pelosi to honor to women in Congress. I was fairly dressed up, but some of the women looked absolutely absurd. It was like 2 p.m. and they had gotten their hair did. Whatev. The first speaking guest is introduced. The woman standing right next to me steps up onto the stage. I had been standing next to Annette Bening the entire time and didn’t even know it. Whoops. She was wearing glasses, okay?! Harder to recognize her… I don’t know. Next up to speak was Nancy. The word I always use to describe her is ‘lovely’. Really, she’s quite classy. And during her speech, she announced that Rosario Dawson and Eva Longoria Parker were there. Excuse me? Rosario is hot. Eva is pretty. Enough said about that. As if things couldn’t get any better, Idina Menzel comes out and sings an acoustic “Defying Gravity” from Wicked and a song that she had written. While she was singing, I was busy looking around for her smokin hot hubby, TAYE DIGGS. AHHH. No dice. Didn’t matter– she was amazing.

We were herded like cattle to the Pepsi Center for the delegate vote. Instead of just giving the numbers from the vote, every state made a long speech bragging about how beautiful they were. And I swear, at least three states claimed to be the first state the sun touches each morning. Somebody was lying. I bet it was Maine. I kid. Barack is getting the majority of votes, with some Hillary supporters sticking to their guns. Some states, like California and Illinois had passed. Weird. New Hampshire, New Jersey…everyone is waiting for New York…New Mexico. New Mexico yields to Illinois, Illinois yields to New York. And our girl Hilllllllz steps out to clean up the mess. How dramatic (and symbolic)! She asked that B be announced the winner. She shoots, she scores. Euphoria ensues. People are awkwardly dancing.

All the speeches were good, but some were better than others. My dad and I were discussing how DNC speeches made by unknowns are really just screen tests. I mean, Barack passed his in 2004, didn’t he? So look out for Rep. Patrick Murphy from PA. He did great.

Melissa Etheridge played, more awkward dancing occurred. You could tell people were gearing up for the Democratic savior and the Republican satan, Bill Clinton. He came out swinging for B. And it was genuine. Billy’s still got it. He focused a lot on world diplomacy during his speech. Seriously people treated him like he was Jesus.

John Kerry spoke. Some other people. And then Beau Biden came out. Beau, Joe’s son, is a complete dreamboat. Seriously foxy. RAWR. I was weeping when he talked about his mother and sister being killed in the car accident, and how Joe Biden never left their side. Of course I cried when Sen. Biden came out and hugged his son. I have cried more times in the past couple of days than in the past couple of years. By now we know Biden’s story, but every time I hear it I am convinced more and more that he will be great. And he’s really living up to his role as an attack dog. Slap old Mac around. His wife, Jill, came out at the end and said she had a surprise. Who could it be?! Joe Jonas? Ben Affleck? GEORGE CLOONEY?! And then Barack stepped out. AHHHHHH. People were having political strokes. I wish I could really convey the electricity of the convention last night.

Oh! I saw Mohammed Ali last night! Just walking around the convention with his posse. Pretty cool.

After the convention, I ended up hanging out with people Mallory went to high school with. I still miss you Mal. And now I totally get all of her Denver stories about burritos and bicycles.

The big speech is tonight. Still looking for George Clooney.

[Posted by Kathleen]

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dammit, world, let me love adam!

Our bloggy friend Caroline over at Drunkinarowboat has posted a few times about how irritating it is when people get mad at you for liking mainstream music. In her articles, she talks about how much she loves Coldplay and John Mayer, and how, you know, we’re not supposed to like them because everybody likes them.

I’ve been thinking about this today for a couple of reasons. First, this quote was in Quotes of the Day today (yes, I know, I’m obsessed):

The remarkable thing about Shakespeare is that he really is very good, in spite of all the people who say he is very good. [Robert Graves]

I hear ya, Robert! I mean, who’s to say John Mayer isn’t to music what Shakespeare is to writing? (That could be just ever so slightly a stretch, but you see what I mean.)

Second, this morning over breakfast, I read a Coldplay-bashing article in the NYT magazine. In it, Virginia Heffernan spends an agonizing 15 paragraphs dissecting Coldplay’s MySpace page. No Virginia, not okay. She draws this impressive conclusion at the end:

Because it lacks the conviction of a real, florid MySpace page, [Coldplay’s MySpace page] is obscurely embarrassing. Yet, in a straightforward way, it underscores the embarrassment of Coldplay’s music — the mawkishness, suppressed arrogance, halfheartedness and squeamishness about rock stardom. When illustrated by the graphics here, embarrassment seems like an entirely worthy theme for very hard soft rock.

Wait, what? Either way, I’ll still going to consider it totally enjoyable and acceptable to loudly duet “Viva la Vida” in the car with my sister.

The third reason I’ve been thinking about all the elitists who hate popular music is that I’m going to a festival this weekend that several of my hippie/emo/elitist friends have condemned as “too mainstream,” as if the crunchy folk and the angry teenagers had the market cornered on music festivals. I think the lineup is amazing: headlined by Dave Matthews Band, John Mayer, and TOM PETTY, with other acts like Stephen Kellogg, Jason Mraz, Citizen Cope, moe., O.A.R., Spoon, Michael Franti and Spearhead, Brett Dennen, Ingrid Michaelson, Flogging Molly, The Roots, and The Black Crowes. Plus some others that didn’t make my short list. And yes, I did just want to brag a little bit, because how kickass of a lineup is that?

Even though I’m thrilled about the above mainstream/hippie/jam band acts that I’ll be seeing this weekend, I’m still annoyed that people are so condescending about it. I was talking to this kid at a bar about the concert, for instance, and of course he said that he wasn’t attending because it was “too mainstream.” He then asked me what my favorite band was. Here’s the moment where I know I’m about to be judged by a person like him, because, goddamnit, I just happen to be hardcore in love with the Counting Crows.

Now, why on earth should I be embarrassed about that? Alternative Elitist Boy at the bar seems to think I should be, but it’s not like I’d be admitting to owning every S Club 7 album ever made (did they even have more than one album, by the way? And didn’t they have a movie?).

The point is, everyone should just calm down, pour themselves a tall Jack and Coke, and admit that songs like “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby” really are insanely good. (Incidentally, “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby” is the song I request every time I’m hammered and someone pulls out an acoustic guitar. The fact that NO ONE ever knows how to play this song has never stopped me from begging.) Anyhoo, let’s take a listen to a live version and I’ll stop ranting:

[Posted by Mallory]

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mal’s hippie quote of the day.

Peace love and hippies, man

As I’ve mentioned, I’m on vacation with my family up in the mountains. We’ve had a lot of time for lounging around on the gorgeous back porch, which overlooks the mountains, and while lounging I’ll read almost anything. That includes The Oprah Magazine. Yeah yeah, I know. But I’ve actually read a lot of interesting things that I want to share with you! The first is the following excerpt from a poem called “Sweet Darkness,” by David Whyte:

You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

Great, right? (Read the rest of the poem here, and please ignore the terrible Comic Sans font.)

[Posted by Mallory]

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white owl, won’t you be mine?

My little sister is an undergrad at the University of Kansas (rock chalk!), and we’re going to have to disown her because she didn’t get her hands on this guy first:

White Owl

Dear readers, meet White Owl (the Casanova on the left). White Owl is beloved by Jayhawk fans and many consider him to be Kansas’ number one fan. My sister even tells me that Coach Mangino, who led the Jayhawk football team to their best season ever, thinks that White Owl was their good luck charm. According to my sister, White Owl likes to hang out on the KU campus singing and dancing and showing the students what they might be like after 45+ years of recreational drug use. He’s especially loved for his antics at basketball games (please notice how frightened the girl next to him looks):

But hang onto your hearts, ladies, because he’s off the market. After a month-long courtship, White Owl got engaged to Julia Lee, a KU undergrad who is (are you sitting down?) 39 years his junior. The two knew it was love after only one week, according to Julia, and even though not everyone understands their relationship (Julia’s poor, poor mother, for instance), those who know them well are happy for them. I hate to quote nearly an entire article (from the Daily Kansan), but I think their how-we-met story is worth sharing in its entirety:

The two have only known each other a little more than a month but White Owl said he felt they were destined to be together. He first noticed Julia at the end of last semester when she was standing around Wescoe Beach. White Owl said he sensed she was missing something in her life.

“I saw an injured spirit and I am all about helping people and being a light,” White Owl said, “I prayed that night that she would be sent to me somehow.”

White Owl’s prayers were answered. The next day, White Owl was a guest speaker in Julia’s “American Studies” class. White Owl talked to the class about believing in themselves and loving one another. After class, Julia told White Owl how much his message meant to her.

And the rest is history. They were inseparable from that moment on, and even though he’s been married twice before (and has two sons), White Owl says that he has not “felt this love as a person since [his] mother babied [him].” Want to see some photos of the happy couple?

Love

More? I thought so…

If you can’t attend their wedding in at the end of the summer — to which everyone is invited — hopefully you can catch them at Wakarusa Festival in Lawrence, Kansas…White Owl says the couple hopes to form a band and perform next year.

[Posted by Mallory]

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boulder is a trippy place, man.

 

My apologies for my lack of postings this weekend. I’d like to say that I was just pretending this was a real job and taking the weekend off, but really, for the entirety of this weekend I was too drunk or too hungover or too asleep or my fingers were too covered in Smartfood to write anything. And this morning, I went through my usual routine of setting my alarm for a reasonable time, like 8:00, picking up my phone and bringing it into bed with me when the alarm went off, reading my emails in bed (because I’m so important that I have a Blackberry solely for the purpose of reading my emails in bed), tucking my phone under me, and falling back asleep for three more hours. Looks like all that rest left me with the energy to write run-on sentences that would make my AP English teacher weep.
 
Anyway. On Friday Kelsey and I took our out-of-town visitor, Sarah, to Boulder and met up with my friend Anne. We had dinner at this great little tavern which served my new reason to believe in God, goat cheese macaroni. I’d like to shake the hand of the person who invented that. I could bathe in the stuff. Once we were energized by the goat cheese, we ventured out onto Pearl Street Mall. Pearl Street is one of my favorite areas in Boulder. It’s a pedestrian mall that stretches for four blocks and is lined with trees, used bookstores, stores like Banana Republic and Volcom, bars, and street performers. The street performers are the best part. While we were at dinner, Anne (a CU grad) was telling us about this “Zip Code Guy” who performs on Pearl Street every so often. Apparently, she has always wanted to see him and never got the chance.
 
As it turned out, God smiled down on us on this particular evening, and we ran into Zip Code Guy, who was just beginning his performance. A crowd had formed around him, and he was asking for people from out of town to tell him their zip codes. Once he knew the zip code, he told the crowd exactly where that person was from. It was absolutely amazing. He could even get zip codes from random countries like Moldova. As he spoke, he was making a map of the US on the ground with a yellow chain.
 
After this warmup, he began to place people on the map according to their zip codes. I was placed on in 23173 (Richmond, Virginia, where I went to school), Kelsey was placed nearby in Williamsburg, and Sarah was placed up in Basking Ridge, New Jersey. (Anne made the mistake of staying in Colorado her whole life, so she didn’t have any obscure zip codes to throw out.) Zip Code Guy placed about 30 people on this map, from Maine to Wayne, Indiana, to Arizona. Once everyone was placed in their respective towns, he went through and recited every single person’s zip code, pausing to juggle five balls at once when he needed a little extra time to think. It was honestly one of the most impressive random talents I have ever seen. When we ran into Zip Code Guy after the show, he told us that it took him a few years and some driving around the country to finally memorize everything. Nutso.
 
It seemed that Zip Code Guy would have talked to us forever had we not ended the conversation, which made us feel bad for him (as in, he probably has nowhere else to go), and we were depressed until we stumbled upon some drummers. The drummers were a group of five or six guys just jamming out on a variety of bongos and other drums whose names I obviously don’t know. They also had these random girls who would come into the center of the circle and dance like maniacs every so often. These dancers were eventually joined by some brave crowd members: children; some drunk 30-something couples; a girl wearing a hat, a scarf, and mittens even though it was 70 degrees; and a man who could be your father (or maybe your weird single uncle), dancing to the beat even though he had his own Walkman on. Here, take a look:

 
This all was great fun. We spent an hour or two just wandering around and watching people before realizing that it was almost midnight and maybe we should go, you know, drink. (We also got a bit disillusioned by the whole street performer thing when we found a five-year-old girl whose parents had very obviously trained her to sing and play the guitar for money. We agreed with some random boy who muttered “That’s great parenting,” and then Anne told us that that very boy had gotten arrested his freshman year for beating his girlfriend. Sweet.) We met up with some friends at a bar a little farther down Pearl, and when we stepped in, it actually felt like a different world. “Sexy Can I” and “Please Don’t Stop the Music” were playing in the background, girls were wearing “labia skimmers,” or dresses that should have been shirts (a crime which I was accidentally guilty of on Saturday), and everything was all dark and trendy. The contrast between these people and the strung-out hippies selling lanyards that appeared to be made of their own dreadlocks was striking.
 
Like I said, Boulder’s a weird place. If you’ve never been, go. Tell Zip Code Guy I said hello.

 

[Posted by Mallory]

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posh would never wear these things.

Now I’m aware that the fashion gods decided that platform shoes are in again. I also must acknowledge that I tend to love Free People, as it is a brand that enables my not-so-secret desire to be a hippie. (A fake, well-dressed hippie, of course.) But those shoes! Look at those things! I don’t think the Spice Girls would have even worn them back in the ’90s. And according to their description, they have a terrifying four-and-a-half inch heel. As a 5’11” girl with a general dislike for heels, height like that is enough to make me woozy. (The image that just popped into my brain as I pictured myself wearing the monstrosities: a just-born foal with its wobbly little legs, stumbling all over the place.) So uh, anyway, these shoes are hideous, happy Friday, and will someone please bring me a breakfast sandwich?

[Posted by Mallory]

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