The only thing I hate more than a dirty hippie is being mistaken for one. Some folks assume that just because I don’t have a job, shave infrequently and live out of a car with a bleeding-heart-liberal California girl, I must be a free-spirited member of the counter culture. I get offered pot. It’s assumed I like Phish.
Well, like the good people of Muskogee, Okla., I don’t smoke marijuana. And I deplore Phish and just about every other trippy-dippy jam band whose frontman wears a Jesus beard and an oversize sweater.
But about 11 times a day I find myself making an exception for Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros. This is because Jill has fallen in flowery, hairy, hippie love with the song “Home.”
We have Jessica Stefan of Santa Barbara, Calif., to thank for introducing us to “Home.” We’ve never met Jessica, but she’s a friend of a friend who discovered the blog and thought “Home” might suit us. And it does.
Make no mistake: I would never pitch a tent next to these people, and some of the guys I might be inclined to punch in the face without provocation. But I do love to listen to Jill sing the lyrics as she bobs and sways in the passenger seat like a Muppet on Ecstasy.
Thank you, Jessica, for following our blog, brightening our days and broadening our musical horizons. When we make it to Santa Barbara, we would love to meet you. I’ve got a Lynyrd Skynyrd mixtape I think you might dig.
—Scott