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"At the time of the Gulf war, I was friendly with members of the neo-hippie house band for the peace movement, Rusted Root. They played every demonstration, vigil and fund-raiser in Pittsburgh. At a rally marking the start of the bombing, the usual activists led the solemnities before the band turned it all into a very good party. At the time, smoking pot and dancing to greet death and destruction seemed life-affirming rather than sacrilegious."

I was at that rally, on the Pitt campus. About 10 college republicans were joined by some regular guys from the dorms in going down to do something about the protestors. The protestors were the usual collection of people stuck in the 60's and young people in the Birkenstocks that their parent's money paid for. We were pissed that the hippies were stinking up the lawn of the Student Union and dissing our country. "No blood for oil", "STOP Bush's WAR" - you know the signs. We got an American flag and unfurled it and carried it down there while singing the Star Spangled Banner. The hippies were not happy. We started arguing, getting in each other's faces. I was going at it (verbally) with some guy that reeked of pot, and who was in his late 30's/early 40's. We were getting ready to exchange fists when the campus cops came and made us leave. I wanted to beat some hippie ass.