You smoke an astounding amount of pot. By 9.30 p.m., you are invariably in a watery-eyed, Cheech ‘n’ Chong–like torpor, slumped on your grungy couch, chuckling away at reruns of Match Game and weeping improbably at Lipitor commercials. Every Saturday morning you wake ‘n’ bake, thereby ensuring that the weekend drifts by in a blur of vintage Aerosmith-“Dream On” is a fave-and “Stairway to Heaven” (in a freaky postmodern gesture, you now alternate between the Led Zep original and Dolly Parton’s version from her latest CD, Halos and Horns ).
And you eat : Your monumental munchies have placed you on a collision course with the Duke Diet and Fitness Center for the morbidly obese, which you will no doubt demolish when you finally collide with it. Your endless snack purchases-e.g., crates of Ben & Jerry’s Chubby Hubby-now constitute a significant monthly overhead.
Though staggering, this expenditure is nothing compared with your pot bill. Even if you weren’t smoking bales of the stuff, marijuana-or “da chronic,” as rappers call it-is now more expensive than ever: If you’re smoking high-grade, no-paranoia brands like Hydro, your habit can set you back as much as $700 per week.
There’s a national shortage: As reported in the Oct. 25 edition of the Post ‘s Page Six, a raging and mysterious pot scarcity has driven prices through the roof and compromised the comfort levels of medical-marijuana recipients-i.e., people who really need it. All the more reason for recreational marijuaneros like you to make the next joint your last and leave the ganja for those in need. So sluice the bong
Re hemp clothing: It’s all really tragic, but not in a way I can write much about.
Re smuggling pot, which you may need to do if you’re unable to give it up before your next business trip: Inveterate potheads assure me that the best (sneakiest) way to transport one’s stash is in a Kiehl’s talc-free body-powder tin-$14 for a 1.3-ounce can. The powder’s smell-especially the grapefruit-scented version-apparently masks the smell of even the stinkiest maryjane. It’s a shame nobody told Dionne Warwick about this trick: The Grammy-winning singer and former Psychic Friends Network pitchwoman might have avoided her embarrassing but image-enhancing spring 2002 bust at Miami International Airport. Security guards allegedly found no less than 11 marijuana joints stuffed inside a silver lipstick case. Dionne! You go, girl!
There are legions of other reasons to give up pot. According to Joe Holtzman, the 45-year-old editor in chief and art director of the avant-garde shelter magazine Nest , challenging and disfiguring side effects can result. “I used to have great hair and a great memory-not any more,” lamented Mr. Holtzman, who recently succumbed to a blown Pyrex bong while replenishing his supply of hemp socks at a Boston head shop.
Hair and memory loss has not stopped the Nest taskmaster from further celebrating the beauties of pot in a new range of textiles. Under the auspices of the magazine, Mr. Holtzman has created a range of furnishing fabrics, including a gorgeous 1940’s-looking, botanically correct marijuana-printed linen-cotton chintz. (Apparently, textiles have incorporated “entertainment” foliage like tobacco and tea since the 18th century.) Joey’s cheeky textile, “Herb,” is printed at the legendary house of Ratti D in Como, Italy, using 17 silk screens. It’s $95 a yard and can be ordered from www.nestproducts.com. Don’t cringe at the price: Your monthly pot savings will easily cover the cost of reupholstering your bong-