“Dealing with the Hippie is generally straightforward. His childlike nature will usually respond positively to drugs, sex, and/or rock and roll, although in which order these are to be deployed must depend on conditions specific to the moment.” — Thomas Pynchon, Inherent Vice
“Blue Mountain, I bet you have never drunk it.”
Bottle, it’s Blue Bottle, cold brew coffee from San Francisco. My mind merrily talking to itself while the actress is calling it the noblest of coffee, flavourful.
“It’s Jamaican.”
My know-it-all mindgasm is interrupted. Like when meeting a new acquaintance and the evening’s hot and steamy promises are cold-showered by something said.
My mind seeks relief from the dissonance. It starts reciting its version of the story of espresso in the US – a neat continuum starting with the beatniks, also known as hipsters.
50’s coffeehouses. Meeting places to read cool poetry and listen to far-out jazz. Berets and espresso part of an imaginary Parisian Bohemian lifestyle.
And then came the baby hipsters, also known as hippies (the etymology of which includes its first usage in an article about the Blue Unicorn coffeehouse ).
Berkeley, where the Free Speech Movement was a seminal moment for the hippie movement. Berkeley where the Dutchman Alfred Peet started French roasting beans and taught his craft to the three founders of Starbucks. Starbucks now too popular to be hip.
The play finishes, I head home, and go to the internet. Wikipedia tells me all about Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee.
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She tells me she doesn’t like coffee. It’s the bitterness. She’ll drink it disguised with syrups and smothered with cream.
I ask if she has heard of Blue Mountain coffee, asking the question so that I can follow the hoped for “No” with “It’s the most expensive coffee that doesn’t come out of an animal’s butt.”
Another set up. I get to reply to her questioning look with the story of the Indonesian coffee pickers, forbidden from drinking the coffee they farmed, picking the beans out of civet droppings. Kopi Luwak, born of a forbidden fruit and stomach enzymes.
And then there’s the clever entrepreneur who started feeding coffee berries to Thai elephants.
“I could never drink it knowing where it came from.”
“Potatoes and other root vegetables are in direct contact with fertilizers. I’d try it. ” I think I can see her thinking about it and deciding that the two things are different.
She wonders if I have ever tried the Blue Mountain Coffee.
“Once. I was early for a rendezvous and went into a boutique coffeehouse. When I saw it was on the menu, I ordered a cup. Mild, with a slightly tangy aftertaste. Good coffee but I’m not about to make a habit of drinking four-euro espressos.”
The talk of being early for a rendezvous makes her apologize a second time for being late. “I bumped the gate at the garden centre and it took forever to give my details. If it wasn’t for the asshole that ratted me out to the store manager, I could have been here earlier.”
You want to give the world a chill-out pill; Like the one Coke was pretending to be in the 70’s. Old fashion styles always come back and you declare love is now back in fashion. And when something is in fashion, the in-crowd wants in on the in-thing. They’ll all come.
Hurry, hurry, supplies are limited. Please wait patiently for delivery. But if you miss this opportunity, don’t wait around to go down in flames — walk out into the fire.
You say the hippies were all peace and love then, suddenly, the spirit disappeared. Some were true believers, some sold out, but the children were all hypocrites because when something is fashionable, meaning is lost.
You call to action. The misery out there is no joke. There’s no 60’s magic in the air.“Don’t sit back, it’s time to act.”
The news is doom and gloom. You warn: Blow your mind and you will be absent for the next generation.
Hurry, hurry, supplies are limited. Please wait patiently for delivery. But if you miss this opportunity, don’t wait around to go down in flames — walk out into the fire.
I hear you romanticize the hippies. It wasn’t all Woodstock and Love-Ins. Let’s romanticize together. Let’s forget the Weatherman, My Lai and Kent State. Now we’re singing happily, in harmony.
It ain’t no joke I’d like to buy the world a toke
And teach the world to sing in perfect harmony
And teach the world to snuff the fires and the liars
Hey I know it’s just a song but it’s spice for the recipe
This is a love attack
I know it went out but it’s back
It’s just like any fad
It retracts before impact
And just like fashion it’s a passion for the with it and hip
If you got the goods they’ll come and buy it
Just to stay in the clique
So don’t delay act now
Supplies are running out
Allow if you’re still alive
Six to eight years to arrive
And if you follow there may be a tomorrow
But if the offer’s shunned
You might as well be walking on the sun
Twenty-five years ago they spoke out and they broke out
Of recession and oppression and together they toked
And they folked out with guitars around a bonfire
Just singing and clapping man what the hell happened
Then some were spellbound some were hell bound
Some they fell down and some got back up and
Fought back against the melt down
And their kids were hippie chicks all hypocrites
Because fashion is smashing the true meaning of it
So don’t delay act now
Supplies are running out
Allow if you’re still alive
Six to eight years to arrive
And if you follow there may be a tomorrow
But if the offer’s shunned
You might as well be walking on the sun
It ain’t no joke when a mama’s handkerchief is soaked
With her tears because her baby’s life has been revoked
The bond is broke up so choke up and focus on the close up
Mr. Wizard can’t perform no godlike hocus-pocus
So don’t sit back kick back and watch the world get bushwhacked
News at 10:00 your neighborhood is under attack
Put away the crack before the crack puts you away
You need to be there when your baby’s old enough to relate
So don’t delay act now
Supplies are running out
Allow if you’re still alive
Six to eight years to arrive
And if you follow there may be a tomorrow
But if the offer’s shunned
You might as well be walking on the sun — Smash Mouth, “Walkin’ On the Sun”, Fush Yu Mang (1997)
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