The Nose Knows

On nights like these, who wants to be stuck indoors anyway?

I consider myself to be what one might call “a bit of an expert olfactorist”. I guess you could say I majored educationally toward a degree in olfactorism. I have a particular nasal penchant for all things olfactory. In other words, I’m very attuned to smells. Good-- bad-- and the most unconscionably ugly. The nose knows, man... the nose knows.

As summer rears its beautiful sun-soaked visage ‘round that-there unfailing calendar corner, it’s impossible to not get totally hyped by the most wonderful of all smells to be discovered, or rediscovered. I love the smell of campfire in the morning. Please pay heed and only have controlled fires in places that they’re allowed to oxidize in.

Much as I love to host a pretty popular party or two, it does take an awful lot of work in setting one up in the first place. Maybe I’m just procrastinating on cleaning my own private domicile. Still haven’t found that missing hammer of mine, by the way. Lemme know if you’ve seen it.

On nights like these, who wants to be stuck indoors anyway? If you ever get the opportunity to be invited up to a party at the lake, always say yes. Unless the entrance has a banner with the words “Camp”, “Crystal” and “Lake” splayed atop itself in a rustic and ornate fashion. Otherwise, go and live it up.

It’s a great feeling finally getting to see your friends again after one or more of the core crew have had extended absences in gatherings of social togetherness. The only smell better than that of a crackling (and entirely safe) campfire, is the earthly perfume of weed. There are so many wonderfully eclectic choices to choose from. Indica or sativa? A hybrid of both, perhaps? Do you smoke a joint, or go for a wizard pipe? How dexterous are your digits feeling at this very moment? Do you have equal parts the attention and in the intention to roll a joint or two? Or would you rather light up a pre-roll? Me personally, it fluctuates.

I like the idea of rolling a joint. I like the steps that are required in order to achieve the end goal. Nothing beats the gloriously potent smell of buds from your baggie. Before crushing them down into tiny little buddy-bits, in a grinder. I like taking those precious little buddy-bits and laying them out all together in a single straight line on the rolling paper. This is where my OCD and perfectionism actually comes in handy. Literally and figuratively.

Roll the joint to the exact right degree and look at your most recent environmental creation with nothing but unabashed pride. Unparalleled is the feeling of a self-rolled joint that is just—the—right—amount. Properly thick joints should one day save the world. Just you wait.

I also love to roll a joint in front of other people for a two-fold purpose. 1) You can help teach someone else how to do it. 2) You look really cool. These are just facts. That’s how I roll. That being said, I’ll never say no to a pre-roll.

I do love smoking from a pipe. Makes me feel really old-timey and rather other-worldly. Granted, I have yet to master the majestic magic trick of blowing smoke rings that somehow turn into elegant ships sailing for long distant shores. Knowing how to actually do that, would be real wizard.

Of course, no campfire bathed in starlight on a warm summer night would be complete without the communal passing around of a bong. They can be really harsh to use, but like most things, all you need is practice. And you gotta give it a good name. This is paramount law. While everything is hands down a lot funnier when you’re high, there’s nothing funnier than watching someone try smoking from a bong for the very first time.

At this point in the Earth’s annual revolution ‘round The Sun, a lot of people often want to focus on perfecting their supposed “summer body”. Whatever that means. I’m no expert Adonis by any stretch.

I know I don’t know much, but what I do know, is this: You want washboard abs? Smoke weed about it, with your best friends and laugh so hard till your stomach hurts. Maybe you’ll get a six-pack, and maybe you won’t. At least you’ll have fun doing it.

Mary-Jane