lessons in rolling a tight doobie

From the “places to avoid if you are hemp-intolerant” department:

first, an apropos "how-to."

finally i made it to the concert, held at the new city YMCA baseball field. cutting through the haze of run-of-the-mill nicotine-induced smoke came that distinct sweet-smelling fragrance that generally emanates from the mouths of twenty-somethings with baggy pants, greasy hair and various body piercings. i benefited most of the evening from my very own “contact high.” death cab was quite enjoyable, though the stuff i am most drawn to is definitely not concert material. at least not Q101 block party material. anyway, between being nearly trampled by trains of concertgoers migrating from beer lines to the front pit, navigating my own way to the disease/bacteria/foreign object-infested port-a-potties and spending eons in line waiting for freshly plucked chicken in the form of quesadillas, modest mouse provided decent and rather lengthy entertainment as the headliners. the memorable moment of the night came when attempting to exit the park. i got a pleasant taste of the jacket of the person in front of me while being moved under compulsion by the mass of hundreds forced to bottleneck at the 10-foot wide entrance to the park. it felt slightly reminiscent of a brazilian soccer match, sans agonizing deaths. had an exhilarating (as always) political discussion with lisa on the ride to her apartment in the burbs, but it was quite possibly tainted by the combo of the after effects of my contact high and the late hour. slept soundly on the recently delivered couch and departed for the city at the ungodly hour of 7:27 from the metra station across the street.