10
Nov
10

everyone doesn’t fit perfectly between two slices of bread

Few of Life’s Little Joys rival that of brushing one’s teeth while high. Leave aside the obvious fact that toothpaste, like other things, never tastes better than it does under the influence. The sensation of the toothbrush’s bristles going over your teeth and gums and between the crevices is a really pleasurable one, and one that often goes sadly unappreciated by sober persons. Plus you get that gross weed taste out of your mouth. Once you’ve brushed your teeth, of course, you’re ready to go out and mingle among the world’s more productive citizenry to observe them, and with your chemically enhanced wisdom, silently judge them for not being as in touch with the complex machinery, the intricate ballet, of the world as you’re seeing it right now.

Sunday morning brunch with friends seems the optimal setting for the people-watching that presents itself naturally to today’s discriminating pot smoker, and the break from various stressors is welcome. It’s November, and I’m already feeling that creep of dread again, occurring dully like a toothache that I only notice intermittently. My hatred of the holidays probably falls outside the scope of what can be explained away as normal seasonal depression, but today it’s offset by interaction with loved ones to whom we are bound by mutual consent, by choice, not by biologically preordained obligation.

We’ve having such a great time that I’m not even really bothered by the fact that our kids are making a tremendous mess. When you don’t go out much, you can afford to leave a 30% tip to make up for any soggy straw wrappers or crunched-up-and-thrown sweetener packets I’ve overlooked as I stuff the meal’s litter into my jeans pocket. It’s the kind of day that we’ll look back on years from now as a reminder of how great our early thirties were, when our kids were young. Increasingly it seems to me lately that unless you’re very lucky, your body will spend the first few decades of life determining the most frustrating- the most psychologically undermining- way to fail you, and then run headlong in that direction. That hasn’t happened to any of us yet, and I’m uncharacteristically appreciative of that today, while aware that it won’t always be this great.

Before the bill comes, I take a quick trip to the restroom, where someone has scratched the words “will travel” onto the mirror. The words are also reflected a quarter-inch behind in the glass, and from the angle I am standing at the urinal, the graphic interplay of the two identical sets of letters creates its own interesting architecture. Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” is playing over the intercom in here, and I stand there a few extra seconds with my pants unzipped until Eddie Van Halen’s guitar solo is over, appreciating yet another of the day’s little details that I wouldn’t ordinarily notice. On my way back to our table, I check my phone to see three missed calls from family members in a five-minute span. Quickly the day’s dreamy haze dissipates.

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1 Response to “everyone doesn’t fit perfectly between two slices of bread”


  1. 1 weston
    November 10, 2010 at 9:03 am

    hey man, what’s with the poignancy? i cam here for irreverence, dammit! and also, stoned showers are so, so fun.


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