The enigmatic vision of an elaborate counterculture first rose from the ashesof the Greenwich Village Folk Movement of the early 1960's. Officially founded in Sand Fransico's Summer of Love, the Hippy Revolution inundated middle class America's collegiate masses. Suddenly, the counterculture was the chic fad which to assimilate one's beliefs and hair.

The 60's hippy counterculture Abbie Hoffman movement is now confided strictly to hillside communes, secretly scattered across the great divide. Athens County has more than its share, but then what fault is there in this simple but true fact.

The only problems with the hippies, is that segments of the culture have resurrected themselves here at the birth of the new millenium. The catch is of course that this new-age, retro, hind n seek hippie rebirth is much less hip than Drop City. In fact, the new commercially apparent counterculture lacks such hipness that the hip- prefix was proudly dropped from the -ies suffix and replaced with the gyp- prefix which is exactly what the movement is--a gyp.

The Gypsies are the most pathetic and useless faction of collegiate style to emerge since the grunge invasion. One Gypsie is of course better than any sixteen Frats, but this is irrelevant. The problem with Gypsies is that they are in such a sickening of self-deception that Texas feels threatened by its immense size.

First off, a definition of the Gypsie is appropriate. A Gypsie is simply anyone who enjoys the tired practices of smoking weed and worshipping at the golden altar of Phish. They are recognized by the wearing of $10 doo-rags, $125 sandals, and $75 dollar pants bought at the bong shop which are actually cheap-ass Gabriel Brothers slacks with the sides slit and fabric sewn to give the appearance of bells. Anyone who has ever watched a single episode of the "The Brady Bunch" and still insists on wearing bell-bottoms should be tied up with twine and drug behind a horse until the horse gets tired and straps you to a '77 F-250 with a 390 under the hood to drag you some more.

There simply is no excuse for Phish. They are technically precise and have the ability for extensive jams, but who really listens to Phish for the music? As with Kiss and Marilyn Manson, it is simply a marketed image. Now , the Allman Brothers could jam. They had a Southern sultry flair that emerged from each of Duane Allman's riffs, but "Ramblin Man" is way to poppy a song. The Allmans could jam due to viscous guitar playing; Phish jams because their too stoned to remember the lyrics. The Grateful Dead is memorable if only for the superb country album, "Working Man's Dead," Not because by God somehow Jerry stayed alive for thirty years. Now we have become immersed in an eternal wake called Phish who don't have a great country album, but do have truckloads of bongs. Woah…Steller dude…

The problem with pot is that it's a sham. It doesn't expand your mind as hallucinogenics do, nor is it as socially entertaining as drinking brew. It's simply smoking a bowl and sitting with a blank, stupid smile and occasionally uttering the words "dude" and "wicked." Plus, Ginsberg smoking tea is simply different than a Gypsie smoking weed. Drugs are fine for those trying to find God, but not to try to find the Phish tickets.

The Gypsification of America sends ripples through the entire system. The dire lack of creativity is perhaps the worst part of the Gypsie culture. If you meet one Gypsie, you've met them all. It's is the same as any fad or trend that will be dead in another two years replaced with gasp I don't even want to know.

I'm calling for all the Gypsies to unite! Shun the image that has been manufactured for you , shave your legs, cut your hair, shower and burn your doo-rags. Let's have sculptures of used bongs and melt all the Phish CDs in a giant bonfire. You don't have to be a Gypsie! Yes its true! So put on your favorite Johnny Cash album and sing it out through the night, "I'm not a Gypsie and I'm Goddamn Proud!"