Hippies are a bummer

Not 1960’s hippies. I mean modern-day hippies. I guess you could call them progressives. They would probably call themselves “conscious humans” or something like that. People for whom organic is good, local organic is better, and really you should just be growing your own produce in your back yard. You know, hippies.

There was this guy in my college dorm freshman year. At our end-of-year dorm awards, he won by virtue of a write-in category. He was dubbed “most self-righteous.” I’ve actually mentioned him in a blog before, years ago (on myspace—that’s how many years ago we’re talking about… whoa, 2006, I just went back and checked). Anyway, Mr. Brett Hall Self-Righteous 1991-1992 was a proselytizing vegan, and used Dr. Bronner’s soap in the shower, when he showered at all, which was not very frequently because of water conservation. He didn’t use deodorant either. He was pretty much a skinny smelly bummer. I wasn’t a hippie yet at that point. I recycled and stuff, and I listened to The Smiths “Meat is Murder” CD, but it hadn’t really occurred to me yet that maybe meat was murder. Because mmmmm… bacon… yummy.

During my 10-year stint in the San Francisco area, I had a brief tango with vegetarianism and a much longer period as a non-mammal-eater (that was ultimately doomed from the start because mmmmm… bacon… yummy). I was never really a hippie by San Francisco standards, but by the standards back east, I definitely qualified. I picked up all sorts of fantastic politically correct affectations, like saying “go forward” when giving directions at an intersection rather than “go straight.” I gave up use of the word “lame” because it might be offensive to those with physical mobility handicaps. I learned a few different systems of invented gender-neutral pronouns (sie, hir, etc.), and learned how to gracefully and without embarrassment ask someone what gender pronoun they preferred when it was not immediately obvious. I knew which fish species were absolute no-nos because of overfishing, and I remember when the grape boycott ended. Grape boycotts are sort of the epitome of bummer, although that Target boycott last year was even worse.

It’s been six years or so now living on the east coast, and a lot of my hippie ways have survived. I think about my footprint, and try to reduce and re-use where possible. I use canvas grocery bags. I carpool when I can. When I talk to my kids about love and marriage, I always leave same-sex relationships in the mix as an option. I compost. I try to buy local. I care about fair trade.

But even though I still sort of self-identify as a hippie, they’re just really a bummer sometimes. Like when you just saw Avatar in 3D and you were totally swept up in the shiny pretty movie magic, and then some hippie starts talking about the “white savior” thing and how the movie was racist. And you’re like CRAP! Because of course they’re right, and now you can’t not see it. And like when you’re feeling all patriotic and caught in a groundswell, and then people start talking about how we’re celebrating violence and death, and more than ten of your hippie friends on facebook have posted that “Hate cannot drive out hate” MLK quote. Sigh. Bummer!

What is really a bummer is that they are totally right. The hippies are always right. God, it’s so annoying. I know, hippies. I know I should eat kale. It’s, like, sooooo good for you. But kale chips DO NOT taste like potato chips. They taste like crunchy kale. And tofu is just not as delicious as a bacon cheeseburger on a white flour non-whole-grain bun. And I’m sorry, hippies. I have tried. But I can’t stop drinking Diet Coke.

I love you, hippies. Because of you, I can get veggie burgers and fair trade chocolate and organic foods in all of the grocery stores near me. Because of you, wonderful hippies, even the generic cheap store brand milk doesn’t have weird hormones in it anymore, and reusable water bottles can be conveniently picked up at every single store in America from Old Navy to Toys R Us. Thank you, hippies. You are awesome. Keep doing what you’re doing. But please understand if, once in a while, I would love it if you would all just pipe down.

Patriotism. Whoa.

I don’t spend a lot of time waving American flags. I don’t dress in red, white, and blue on the 4th of July. I just take it as a day off and a good excuse to eat hot dogs, drink beer, and hang with my family. Country songs about military service sort of creep me out, because the people singing them usually didn’t serve in the military, so it just seems disingenuous and icky and kind of like they’re trying to make a buck off of someone else’s sacrifice. There are things about this country of ours that I love. There are things about this country of ours that I hate. I am a lefty kook who completely believes that protesting bad government decisions and policies is part of what makes this country a great one.

Last night, I felt a swell of patriotism and pride that was unexpected and amazing. When our elected leader—the man we as a country chose to put in power—stood up and made a distinction between a war on Al Qaeda and a war on Islam, I actually got teary-eyed. Cynical non-flag-waving me... I cried watching our president speak. Because he spoke for me, and this country elected him, and I truly never thought I would have a president who spoke for me like that. He made me cry with the words of the pledge of allegiance, for crying out loud. How is that even possible?

A mass-murdering terrorist is dead, and I’m glad. Our president announced it without a hint of cowboy machismo, while radiating patriotism and pride in this country from every fiber of his being. He announced a successful military operation that has been a long time coming, while simultaneously planting seeds of peace. I am beyond words, and I am never beyond words.

I am overwhelmed with unfamiliar emotion. If I had a little flag, I would totally wave it.

Mommy apathy

Every few days, I get an e-mail from MoveOn.org, a progressive political grassroots-y organization. For the past four years or so (not coincidentally the time since I became a mama), I have deleted most of these e-mails unread. Every so often, around big elections or really big issues, I have read an e-mail, sent in a $25 donation, signed an online petition, or used their forms to e-mail my representatives. But pretty much, I just delete them unread. If it’s not about a presidential election or gay rights, I have just not been paying attention. Like, at all.

I don’t know anything about anything anymore. A time was, I would have been marching on somewhere about whatever worker’s rights stuff has been happening in… um… Wisconsin, right? Or, um, somewhere in the middle of the country. And I know that some crazy stuff is going down in the Middle East, most recently Libya. Is Libya actually the most recent one? Is it technically even part of the Middle East? Oh man, this really is embarrassing. I don’t read the New York Times anymore, or listen to NPR. I never watched “real” news, but even Jon Stewart, my old source of news and world events, has fallen by the wayside. He’s not even on my celebrity freebie boink list anymore. I get my news from facebook now. If it’s not big enough news for my politically awake friends to post their indignation or support, I don’t know it’s happening.

Sigh. Pathetic.

I do still wake up every year or so to do my full and diligent research before voting. I will always vote. I will never vote uninformed. But I feel like I’ve hung up my “march on the man” shoes. My local election phone banking days are done. My righteous fiery ideology has faded to a lethargic molasses-slogging apathy. I still have enough “political person” identity remnants in my self-concept to know that I don’t know, and to care that I don’t care. But even those remnants are fading. Fading fast. Disappearing into the gray and murky nothing of mommy apathy.