Of all the misguided people I’ve met in my life, hippies are the most self-righteous, self-absorbed, misinformed, opportunistic, greedy jerks I’ve ever met.
Did you hear that? I just turned old. If you’re really quiet, you can hear the death rattle of my youth.
Here’s how else I know I’m old: I don’t understand music videos anymore. Matthew and I were watching Fuse music network, and a video (gasp!) actually came on. Four guys who all looked under the age of 21—much closer to the tender age of 18, I’d guess—were wailing away about how some jerk wad feels like a real man because he hits his girlfriend and they hate him for it. What did I say in response? Was it a, “Wow, it’s really amazing to watch videos for a change since MTV is all Real World/Road Rules/Jackass Challenge these days,” b, “I’m not into this band, but I feel where they’re coming from; violence against women is wrong,” or, did I shout c, “Oh my god! They’re like 18 years old! They don’t know anything about domestic violence!” Yes, it was c. I turned to Matthew and said, “Oh no, I just turned old, didn’t I”
He laughed and asked, “How does it feel?”
“I don’t know yet,” I answered.
And I was stunned. I just turned 31. It felt like a big birthday, because it was a birthday that said, “OK, this is it. This is your life; you’re really an adult now. This is really what’s happening now.” There was no, “tomorrow you skip out on life and go back to grad school!” No, “It’s OK, Mommie and Daddie still cook your meals!” Just, “You look forward to paying bills on time.” It was a pretty un-glamorous birthday, obviously.
So, back to hippies. My neighbor and friend has a sweet but misplaced nurturing streak. She’s letting someone she barely knew before they arrived sleep at her house indefinitely. This person is proud to have been homeless in the past. This person now has a two-year-old son. This person is named Precious. This person is named Precious, brags about being a stay-at-home-mom, and swears like a sailor in front of her gift, the joy of her life, her toddler son. Honey, you’re just unemployed hippie trash. She congratulated me for being “real.” She told me: “It’s great to have someone so real to have a conversation with.” Well, I may have seemed real, but really I was just being polite, and I let her do all the talking or else I was gonna cuss her like a sailor in front of her undeserving two-year-old boy.
Here’s the strange thing about hippies like Precious: all they can talk about is making money. You think hippies are all into free love and stopping the war, but all the people I know who really think they’re “true” hippies only care about finding the next buck. Every time I opened my mouth, Precious turned it into some sort of statement about, “You can make money doing that.” And I’d even respect her need to support herself and her child, but every time she speaks she has another scheme to make a buck: “I could make and sell jewelry at the head shop.” “I could make hula hoops.” “I can be a housekeeper and make $200 a day.” “I can make soap.” She’s so busy with these stream of conscious money scheme updates, that even if I wanted to I couldn’t have an actual conversation with her. So far, the only skill she sticks with is running her mouth.
And there, now I’m old. I don’t understand rock music and hippies make me angry. I’ve turned a corner in life, a crotchety, smaller-minded corner, but I’m not resisting. I feel that although I’m losing touch with so many things that used to motivate me, I’m only getting better with age. I’ve always felt that, every birthday, another year of wisdom and experience gained. It’s just that right now my experience isn’t very precious.
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4 comments:
Aha! Check you out, pulling that all together with "precious." Lovely choice, Miss Writer!
I'm all with you. My friend, Jennifer, has a mom who refuses to work doing anything except psychic or astrological readings. But, she abandoned Jen when she was younger than 10, and abandoned much personal responsibility that most people accept just as a matter of being an adult.
And, as far as the "you could make money doing that," I wonder if these hippies would be better off just getting a job, then maybe they wouldn't be so subconsciously worried about how they're getting their next buck. They resist on principle, ("don't give your time to The Man") but don't acknowledge what needs they might have that aren't getting taken care of.
And as far as the rock videos, I am SO with you. I hate that crap. It's so funny how in the 80's, I was all into everything that was on MTV, and now I just can't stand the hip-hop, the teen rock, and anything that's top40 (Do they even call it that anymore?)
Thank god for Napster, or I wouldn't be listening to music much at all--Tegan and Sara! Feist! Regina Spektor! And good old Tori Amos!
When I was in college, I had a summer job where I worked with a guy about 20 years older than I was. His name was Jim. He was an artist and was from New York and was super cool. One day a friend of mine asked him if he like Jane's Addiction, and he said, "If I wanted to listen to Led Zeppelin, I would just listen to Led Zeppelin." At that moment, I thought with disgust, "Jim is old."
And now, here I am, 11 years later, and I am all the time going on about how such and such band sounds like such and such band from the 70s, 80s, or 90s. This, more than the fact that I am a married lawyer with 2 children, signals to me that I am, in fact, old.
The best part of the story (to me) that I accidentally left out was something else Precious said about making money. Quoth Precious: "I want to get really good at the hula hoop, because, you know, sometimes the circus comes to town and maybe they need performers." I hade some spare irrigation tubbing, so I made Precious a hula hoop. She picked it up and said, "Oh, I don't really know how to do this." I tried to show her how, but she wouldn't even look at me. The hoop has since been hanging on a nail in my neighbor's back yard, untouched. Yeah, nice follow-through. Way to commit to a project, Precious.
THE CIRCUS? Where did she come from--the 40's? Weird! I guess if you're homeless,hoopin' with the carnies might be a step up! At least you live in a trailer.
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