The Weepies, Shots, and the War on Plastic.

Waiting in line outside The Great American Music Hall to see The Weepies last weekend, my friend Rachel found ourselves standing behind a boisterous aging hippy and her teenage brood who were having a spirited conversation ranging from the pros and cons of glitter based makeup to the popularity of the fedora in Brazil.

Once inside the hall we ending up occupying the same space to the left of the stage by a row of tables that I decided was both a makeshift seating area and the perfect place to set a jack and coke along side a delicious plate of garlic fries. The hippy woman, tall with long blonde hair that was just beginning to turn grey, almost regal in her loosely wrapped red velvet dress, slowly sipped on a neat golden brown double while the teens lay in a random pile on the ground taking turns giving each other massages and sitting back against a faux marble pillar.

At first I thought, I wish I was on drugs too, but the more I observed this unlikely crew the more I thought they were just naturally unconcerned with what people thought about them. That's a real gift these days, especially in this country, and even more so in San Francisco where the legacy of personal expression for the sake of freedom from decades past has, in this era of tweets and hits, desolved in to something that feels more contrived and calculated.

I like weirdos though. I wish I was weirder. I wish that part of my brain that tells me I have to be this and that to these people and another thing to those people so that we can all just get along could be carved out. But I suppose that's just a much of me as what kind of music I like and what kind of art catches my eat. Perhaps it can be trained and refined but it can't be switched on and off.

About halfway through the set, during a break Steve Tannen, the husband half of The Weepies duo, took a sip of water from a clear keg cup. The hippy lady, who had migrated to the middle of the crowd in front of the stage, yelled out, "Don't drink out of plastic!"


That's not coffee.

I groaned and laughed to myself as did a few others around me, in nonverbal agreement that it seemed kind of rude to try and force your beliefs on others without them inviting the discourse beforehand, especially if that person is trying to entertain hundreds of other people who have paid for the pleasure.

Steve, who hadn't heard her clearly, squinted out at the audience and asked, "What was that?"

"I said don't drink out of plastic!"

Steve and his wife Deb both laughed and he replied with a smile, "Theoretically I totally agree." And after a brief dramatic pause he looked down and said, "But there's no water in the glasses here, only whisky."

From the side of the stage, one of the venue staffers appeared as if by magic with a shot glass and set it down on a stool next to Steve. To the cheers of the crowd he threw it back and the moment was passed and the music continued.

The world needs more people like this. People who voice themselves, even if others don't agree. Less people like me who would rather traffic just moves along smoothly. It was odd and maybe out of place but had the hippy lady really done anything wrong? What are we if we don't follow what's in our hearts? And could I really have expected any less in a city where, even at the music venues, people ask why there isn't a compose bin next to the recycling?


Still better than California public transportation.