By Like You Don’t Know
What a long, strange trip it’s been …
Sorry. Had to get that out of the way like a first-date goodnight kiss. First things first, like, are you on or off the bus? Peace, pops. Through music. Love-harmonic vibrations. Don’t eat the brown …
You know: Candy-colored-coated tie-dyes in the sky with Lemon-wheel. Kind grilled cheese, three for a dollar. Cash for your extra or have you been miracled?
That’s a little hippieism. Something trippy-dippy for the be-in. Don’t tell us you’re skiin’. Or will you act like some South Park pole-smoker by denying your inner hippie?
Not us, we’ve got a bear hug for our long-haired brothers and sisters like they haven’t seen since Mountain View ’91. Has it been that long? Thirty-plus years since San Francisco beats, pranksters, and freaks rediscovered music was good for your soul. And people could gather around nonstop sets of sound that would say what social conditioning won’t ever let us in real life. The band that became a movement-concerts produced by an era as much as Bill Graham-was the Grateful Dead. The very name conjuring responses of love and revulsion not unlike morning sickness. Hippies suck!
Now snowboarders, can you make it past preconceptions and embrace a Deadhead-your pungent fellow clan? Obsessions have much in common: Both have an image problem and are filled with unique characters who defy categorization. Both emit love for open space exploration and a pure expression of freedom in a world that exists outside the real world. When it’s cold, hippies and snowboarders stay warm with knit stocking caps. Spacejam!
They have accepted a lifestyle choice and neither group has money for anything else. Their pursuits’ intrinsic beauty can only be experienced by personal discovery. Hippies and snowboarders have been known to exhibit questionable fashion sense without apology.
Both work at play and suck the marrow from life’s bones. Hippies and snowboarders should go skipping hand-in-hand into the millennium whistling “China Cat Sunflower,” and if you don’t think so, you must be too cool for school or one of those uptight squares afraid to dance. C’mon people now/ Smile on your brother/ Everybody get together/ Gotta love one another right now. Was that a Nirvana song? Nevermind. We’re not Angry, just Grateful for every minute we’ve been given and have left. The road goes on forever and it ain’t over ’til the fat man plays bluegrass on his gui-tar.
You holeass Interns¿ stupid. You talk big words many times over end up saying nothing. Go to fancy Penn State. Learned nothing. Better off going State Pen.
Colorado Department Of Corrections
Hippies¿ tend to suffer from overexuberance, so we will answer this letter with a free-form, improv dance about inmates with two first names licking our alma mater-Ball State.
My advice, “Do what you love, never let anyone tell you otherwise, like no military.”
Michael C. Brown
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
Like, that’s what it was all about, man: No more war, man. Like, peace, man, all right? Got any spare change, man?
Defendant Keith Judd, asks that the testimony of Police Lieutenant McGinnis at the April 14th hearing on the DA’s motion to review conditions of release be suppressed under Rule 5-212 SCRA for lack of personal knowledge Rule 11-602 SCRA because McGinnis was not a receiver of alleged phone calls to the University of New Mexico, nor did he monitor or witness the alleged calls. Defendant has an absolute right under the Sixth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution to face his accusers. Defendant’s right is denied if Lt. McGinnis’ testimony and affidavit of the April 14th hearing are not suppressed.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Two-part question: Why do all our handwritten letters come from prison and why did the Dead need two drummers? Answer: At first it was one drummerr with not enough to do.
I just read your latest self-revelations, and after sorting through previous rantings I believe I’ve pinpointed the cause of your frequent mood swings. You’re hermaphrodites, aren’t you? As described in the movie Clerks, “Chicks with dicks that put yours and mine to shame.” I think that’s probably all I have to say. So please stop your assault on my peers. All you’re going to do is scar them for life. “Won’t somebody please think of the children!?”
Worse than that, Matthew, we’re your worst nightmare-hermaphrodites who hitchhike! There you are pulling your microbus over after the show for what you think are some saucy hippie girls and when we hop in-surprise! We’ve all got mustaches.
Sup yo, I’m Mr. Muffins! I have a split personality, it’s totally dope! Like, I’ll be out riding, talking like, “Hey you guys, let’s go communicate with Mother Nature. I’m going to become one with my inner spirit. Snowboarding is all about touching this beautiful Earth and experiencing true freedom.”
Then my OTHER personality starts talking: “Hey you poser, your board is old, so it sucks! I have new snowboard clothes so I’m better than you!” Then I usually black out and wake up in the woods with my mouth full of dirty dead leaves.
Wow, man, that is so weird ’cause, like, the same thing happened to us at Shoreline in ’91, man! The boys came out of “Spacejam” into “Desolation Row,” which evolved into this killer “Jack Straw/Dark Stars” thing. Then the lights got a little fuzzy and the next thing we knew, we woke up outside the arena in the bushes stripped down to our “Wang Dang Doodle.” Everything in between is, like, totally a blur. We think Jerry ordered us abducted by aliens.
Pop quiz, hot shot-WHERE THE HELL IS DR. CRISPY?! Your piece of shit magazine is barely worth buying without that grizzled old bastard. Oh yeah, and I would just like to say why the hell don’t you cover actual music snowboarders listen to in your Hits column? Primus? Armageddon soundtrack? What the f-k is that? Cover some underground punk or maybe some hardcore hip-hop, but not some crap music that skiers listen to! Other than that you seem to have a nice mag. But don’t lose the cool stuff or you might as well call yourself Snowboard Life.
Like, totally we couldn’t agree more, Stoopid Ass. So check out this idea we, like, pitched to those Times Mirror corporate types: A snowboard magazine printed on recycled paper that comes with a different bootleg every month! Inside are rad pictures of snowboarding, and Jerry (may he rest in peace) and the boys jammin’ out, you know, man? The only text is reprinted lyrics. But the best part is the name-check this out, you’re going to love this, man-Snowboard Dead! You like it? Pretty catchy, don’t you think? We should be hearing back from them any day …
Can you pass the acid test? The Grateful Interns¿, 353 Airport Road, Oceanside, CA 92054. FAX: (760) 722-0653, e-mail: