Diggin' the Scippies

Wickerman!

We played the biggest festival of tour last night and it was totally a hit- despite the fact that the acoustic tent was retardedly placed right next to the techno tent, somehow we powered through the skull vibrating bass lines and managed to play what I thought was a great show. Some of this might have had to do with the fact that due to poor lighting we could not see the audience at all, they were just some black amorphous goo vaguely distinguishable from the white tent. They made themselves known though, because they were a drunken goo, real good and drunk. Very receptive as a result, signing along whether or not they knew the lyrics. The only unpleasant moment of the night was when I heard one of them shout to another about my brother"Tat wun's his sun, but oo's d'uther wun?" Other answers..."'Must be 'is luver." Gross. Eiw fucking eiw fucking gross.

The festival was full of Scottish hippies (Scippies) which are somehow different fro American hippies- a little more flamboyant I'd say, like they don't have anything to prove. They don't care if you think they're environmentally friendly or vegan or peaceloving or nuthin- it's all gravy. Druuunken gravy. "Do you want to eat some kava kava? I love sleeping bags. Man colors are fucking... great. Everything should be like, 15 more colors than it already is. Especially yellow. And other colors. Man. Colors Bro."

Scottish hippies might seem more silly because they are hard to understand, but I'm pretty sure I sensed a distinct giddiness lacking from US antiBush antiWar antiMeat antiCorporate hippies- these hippies had only one agenda and it was to get fucked up and listen to music. And also to make out. Scottish hippies make out on average 8 times as much as US hippies. My expert calculations took into consideration how many people I literally tripped over in the act of salivaswapping- it was 8. At least American hippies have the decency to take it inside.

Nudity is okay with most hippies but these hippies, as i mentioned before, had a fantastic flamboyance about them with shades of goth, raver, and transvestite from outerspace thrown in. Inspired outfits included: codpiece and tutu, kilt and dozens of glowing lightsticks, many shirtless guys with fancy easter bonnets, dreadlocks underneath a giant inflatable tophat, and my personal favorite, a naked guy in (and out) of a sleepingbag which he cut leg holes in but hadn't figured out a fastening system for.

It was a very civilized festival all in all, they even had a tent specifically designed for people who were having bad trips, all outfitted with soothing music and low lighting. There was a reggea tent, punk, hiphop, terrible atonal drumming spastic beatboxing bullshit, and stuff for little kids as well. I have never seen so many little kids at a festival- that's another defining Scippie characteristic... they don't grow up and become yuppies or corporate hacks, they all seem to just camp out together and continue to get super wasted and loll around in fields listening to music, except this time with baby carriages in tow. This was rather endearing actually, the whole family vibe inspiring me not to try to outrun my parents, as I would have done instantly in previous family festival outings, because there is nothing lamer than trying to flirt with some cute dreadlocked guy and having your dad come up to warn you about putting in your special earplugs because the music is really loud and you might get a headache.

Another endearing surprise in this little down in god knows where Scotland was the tiny parade we happened upon this morning. No warning, no occasion, seemingly no reason for it at all. Out our window suddenly there were marching bagpipers. The parade didn't seem to have a theme, just people who threw glitter and streamers onto their vans, tractors, and in two cases, dumpsters... there was a truck with a gorilla playing guitar, four little girls dressed as bingo balls, a man in drag who looked like Catherine the Great riding a rocketship made out of empty barrels, and one very perplexed looking family in a minivan who had accidentally been caught in the parade and now couldn't get out. Absolutely hilarious.







Tomorrow we are off to... Glasgow maybe? I don't know really, it's all a haze of silly accents and friendly smiles. I'll check back soon. Writing is going... sloooowly. I hate my writing. Then I sit down and write and things are okay, then I check my wordcount and hate my writing, then i write and things are great, then I want a sandwich, hate my writing, want a brownie, check my wordcount, eat a brownie, hate my writing, check the wordcount, check my email, check the news, take a walk, hate my writing, and then am surprised when I check my wordcount for the 400th time to see it has increased by 21 words, most of which are "I hate my writing." I love writing but I feel like I'm in this rut... I need to be planning in earnest and it's hard to feel settled enough to lay out all my ideas when we're in a different place every night. But that is an excuse. A huge one. I know it. Any advice out there folks? I'd love some. Hope all is well wherever you are.



xox
H

P.S. in an attempt to find something to do in the 5 hour car rides that won't make me nauseous, I picked up a crochet kit in a local craft shop, and succeeded in making a swell worm, and then something that kind of resembled a rectangle. here is my attempt at a circle. It would make a swell hat for a small child with an extremely deformed head. For now I'm using it as a saxophone mouthpiece condom.