Tribute to....Hippies

2009 has been a year of resurgences. We’ve seen ninjas terrorize the south shore, bank robbers use faux bombs to get what’s theirs, and pirates take back the high seas.

And now I can confirm that, yes, hippies are still out there.

These scantly showered, heavily haired individuals flocked to the Fenway area to see a band that hadn’t toured in half a decade.

But it wasn’t just the novelty aspect of the Phish concert that had these tree-hugging pot smokers in a frenzy. Hippies love Phish, bro. It’s part of their DNA. Phish has plenty of songs, sure, but just how many of those songs have words in them is up for debate. In fact, the biggest cheer I heard emit from the Olde Ballyard was when they played their rendition of the Jurassic Park theme. But I guess it makes sense – what would you rather hear when you’re stoned out of your mind?

On Sunday, about 600 of these tie-dyed relics invaded the Baseball Tavern, where I made my return this weekend, and stayed until about 2 a.m. jamming out to a stoner-friendly bartender’s hippie playlist. Yes, 2 a.m. on a Sunday night. Hippies don’t have work on Monday. “Don’t listen to the suits, bro.” I felt like Cartman in that SouthPark episode – “Here’s an acoustic guitar, and some joints…”

I will say that they are amazingly easy to deal with, mostly because they are stoned out of their gills. And while their attire has changed over the years from tie-dye and peace sign garb, to sarcasm-laden graphic-tees (“Rock Out with Your Cock Out” and “I’m High on Life…and Glue”), their vernacular has remained mostly intact:

“Hey, you can’t smoke on the roofdeck.”

“Ohh, my bad, bro, I didn’t see the signs.
“Yeaa man, no problem.”

I did, however, see someone in a chicken suit. I know what you’re thinking and the answer is yes, he was doing the chicken dance all night.

The new hippie is extremely green. One made the point of opening his cig carton indoors so as to not liter the plastic en route to the park. Another I saw pick up a plastic cup that was about to blow off the roof. That’s just say that Sully from Somerville – the Tavern’s normal clientele – doesn’t abide by these same rules.

The weed smoking hasn’t changed. The scent of marijuana wafed from all corners of the bar on Sunday, as various free spirits snuck little one hitters and joint rips and quickly hid the evidence. This would have been a non-issue except it made the majority of the staff very, very jealous.

Still, the message is clear: “Don’t let corporate America rot your brain mannnn.” In other words, hippies are still out there. Like Cartman said, they’ll come from all corners of the Earth for a jamfest. Just know that they still exist. And for one day at least, it felt like 1970.

--Nick