We Need Water in the Vase

"When the moon is in the Seventh House
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars

This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius
The age of Aquarius
Aquarius!
Aquarius!

Harmony and understanding
Sympathy and trust abounding
No more falsehoods or derisions
Golding living dreams of visions
Mystic crystal revalation
And the mind's true liberation
Aquarius!
Aquarius!"

(from "Hair" -- Ragni, Rado and MacDermot)

Plot and Duck saw "Hair" last night and Plotnik felt at first like a nasty old curmudgeon bemoaning the passing of time. First off, they parked on the street at Mission near Sixth. As they headed up Sixth, they continually dodged lurching drunks and toothless old women camped on the sidewalk. The theater beckoned a block ahead, its marquee ablaze with colorful letters spelling out the promise of "HAIR," as the old, the black, the sick, the befuddled, the down and the out, one block away, leaned against lamp posts attempting to remain vertical.

"I really hate this street," Duck said.

"Me too."

As Plot and Duck crossed Market and walked towards the crowded press table inside the Golden Gate lobby they were accosted by young people in "hippie" costumes.

"Peace to you brother," said the hired shills. "Peace to you, sister. Have a flower."

The lady at the press table made sure Plotnik had a daisy. Plotnik didn't want a daisy.

"I remember the sixties," he started, "it was a lot more than..."

She wasn't listening. She handed Plottie his tickets. "Reach into this pile and pull out your Hippie Name. Everyone needs to have a Hippie Name."

Plotnik stared at her. She nodded towards a pile of white stick-on rectangles.

Plotnik pulled out his Hippie Name: "Nug Sunburst."

Duck was "Jewel Moonlight."

A skinny dude with an afro wig pressed a daisy into Plotnik's palm. "Peace and love to you, brother." The evening was not starting out well.

"Nug Fucking Sunburst. Nug Fucking Sunburst," he growled, heading towards the counter where a young girl texting on her I-Phone was selling headbands, beads, fifty dollar sweat shirts and thirty dollar tie-dyes and little imitation roach clips (or maybe they were tweezers to pull your head out of your rear end if you think "Hair" is about fifty dollar sweat shirts).

"Take a deep breath," he said to himself, and with the application of a bag of Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies, he and Duck took their seats, and the show started, and it was fantastic.

Kind of. You can read the San Francisco Theater Blog Review of "Hair" here.

When The Great Plotnik was the Young Plotnik, curmudgeons would say things like "You shoulda heard Sinatra when he was young" or "You shoulda seen Joe DiMaggio. THAT was baseball!" Plotnik thought they were pathetic.

Now it's he who is saying "...but the sixties were about so much more than flowers or hippies. And "Hair" is a subversive political piece for God's sake. If you want to give away handouts before the show, give out flags. Or joints. Be for real."

Plot shook away drowsiness in the long Act Two, but the show ends with great songs and tremendous understated power. For the most part, he and Duck loved it. Happy Birthday, Plottie.

Then they walked back to their car, only it was three hours later. The armies of the Underclass had mobilized. It was like being in a video game, bouncing through the maze of the barely conscious - but somehow still a little bit menacing - as Nug and Jewel got back to their PlotMobile, fired up and beat it out of there...

"Leaving Flower Power in its blossomy space

Walking through that concrete place

Where they forgot to put water into the vase."