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Seal Press, 131 Western Ave.- #410, Seattle, WA 98121-1041
1999
ISBN: 1-55005-031-X
Pages: 190
Language: English Category: Misc
(Foreword by Moon Zappa)
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Fourteen young women who are daughters of self-styled counterculture parents--commonly referred to as hippies--who "dropped out" of society relate their yearnings and attempts to now fit in. The writers' hope is not particularly to be conventional, but to cultivate and live according to values different from those held by their parents. Elizabeth She's piece is titled Free Love Ain't. In it, she writes, "The cost of 'free love'? Self-esteem. Happiness." Most of the pieces are no so regretful, however. Most of the authors have mixed emotions--mainly distaste for their parents' values and fond, or at least tender, memories and aspects of their childhood. Occasionally an author has a comical perspective on the hippie life. Easy reading, with barely any attempt at analysis or even mere reflection, with the lively minds and honesty of the authors, the pieces offer an often-fetching portrayal of a generational divide in contemporary America. And review of the amazon.com visitor Reviewer: supersurlygirl (see more about me) from Plantation, FL United States While the stories within the pages of Wild Child are absorbing and often funny, I was slightly disappointed that the main focus was growing up with hippie parents, instead of a broader range of alternative lifestyles including punk parents and rock and roll parents (like I had). The foreword by Moon Zappa is slightly misleading in that regard (although I found it the most interesting segment of the book!). Don't get me wrong, though - it IS a fascinating read, and really does offer every angle of growing up in a counterculture family - sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad. Just like every other family, but goat's milk and your papa's band playing in the garage. Thanks to generous Doctor John I've got the copy of the book and even read one third of it once and Moon's foreword four times. So I think it's enough to review it for you, fellow zappa-heads. Listen. The book itself is a collection of memoirs of girls that were born while they parents were on an acid trip or just blew marines by platoons in a free-love anti-war frenzy. (You know, all these pot-heads never gave birth to boys, so feminist editor shouldn't really bother about opposite sex experience. God save the Queen). Anyway, all these young and sublime creatures with pies instead of pencils were without their written consent (which as we know is a pre-requisite for baptizing or circumcision) brought up on natural-food only diet in grass-reach Pennsylvania wilderness. Don't smile, you misogynistic pigs, it's really traumatic. And that's the main reason why Moon Zappa wrote a foreword to this collection of a 'Calvin'-next-two-hitch-hikers' progeny' life stories. She just feels like being the same helpless little one evilly used as a pavlov's-dog in an unhappy anthropological experiment of her vanguard but selfish parents. Take a five, sister. Despite even the fact that "Were we hippies? My dad hated granola and tofu. In fact, he willfully ate Hormeli chili from the can and plump-when-you-cook-em' meat hot dogs, which he skewered on a fork and cooked over an open gas burner on our kitchen stove, like a home-owning hobo. No one was Oming in my house and pachouli and drugs were forbidden. The pure hit of reality was the high we were riding." But unrestricted life stream in and out Laurel Canyon had its own drawbacks. "The men who visited us had patchy beards and bad posture and smelled like B.O. Crouching in the nude near by playthings, they melted brightly colored crayons and made candles out of old milk cartons. Everyone seemed to be unwashed, musky and recently fucked. If they wore clothes, they were flamboyant, mismatched garments with bright colors and crazy patterns that clashed. On the men clothing always clung to the fleshy parts of their bodies, and drooped and flared where there was hardly any meat on their bones. The women wore tissue paper-thin kerchiefs or dyed, crocheted, doilyesque halters that left nothing to imagination. I have a vague memory of woman attempting to conceal large areolas with black masking tape and colored Magic Marker." So the impending revolt of the "rat-lab" daughter of barechest Frank and barefoot Gail was sort of backward. She really craved for curfews and strictly enforced family meals. She prayed for brown shoes and TV dinner by the pool so to say. The regular suit with a pieces that match became a life goal. Mother people me gotta go! Fuck off, pervert! At first you are amazed by this turn! The Moon Unit of Uncle Frank, she is just a typical tip-top member of modern polit correct condominium of life writing foreword to a collection of the stale farts produced by chicken-brains' indigestion of fishy ideas, you know, "I'm a dyke who wants a children" or "The Beatles are still gods", etc. But giving it a second thought you suddenly understand that Frank would be proud of her. He definitely wanted his daughter to become "another person". And she really is. And who gives the fuck if she is on Janis Joplin rather then on Stravinsky as long as she is happy! Subject: Re: Moon Zappa's foreword to Wild Child book Yes, I saw it [Vlad's review:-] and thought it was very good writing and quite true about the book. I too have ambivalence about all the whining going on but see the book, perhaps, as a step in the right direction to get finished with the whining. |
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