You can’t blog a smell

I was supposed to spend my Friday night at the drive-in. I chose not to because the drive-in is currently showing “Talladega Nights” and “Little Man.” I’d sooner watch a silent black and white German movie than another movie about NASCAR, and I’d sooner vote Republican the follow-up to “White Chicks.” While waiting for the drive-in to get its act straight, Birmingham and I journeyed to the west side of the Hudson to go to a bar in New Paltz instead.

We went to a bar where you can get all the hippie drugs you need, either by buying them from the shady stoned dudes in the corners or by enjoying the contact high wafting off the sweaty crowd as they sway to the laid back sound of the equally stoned band. Among the crowd was a tweaker playing with his shadow on the dance floor, a strung out girl wearing 17 layers of clothing on a hot August night, and a guy who had a full frame pack and canteen on his back looking like he took a day off thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail to throw conventions of hygiene to the wind and get a little party on. It would seem that I plenty of source material for a blog entry, but every time I try to write something, all I remember is the body odor, the smoke, the patchouli, and the stale beer, and I know no words to convey the olfactory assault thrust upon me Friday night. Lest I sound like I’m complaining too much, it was still better than “Little Man.”

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One response to this post.

  1. Posted by Birmingham on August 14, 2006 at 11:08 pm

    … pass tha dutchie ,pon tha left hand side!!

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