Fauxhemian

A far cry from the tie-dyed life I pictured for him, squeezing out the last drops of the long-depleted Woodstock spirit with a bunch of fauxhemians a third his age who want to touch the hem of his garment (or, more likely, smoke him out) because he used to hang with Dylan.

The bar where we're playing — a dank little hole in Manhattan's East Village that attracts a following every three years or so when some young fauxhemian "discovers" the place and writes about it for Time Out New York or The Village Voice, usually under a catchy headline like "Dives We Love" — is quiet, almost empty if you don't count the regulars.

By then many of the artists and writers who had generated all this interest had fled the Village and North Beach, abandoning them to the tourists and fauxhemians.