Wasted on the Way

Even with a gentle breeze blowing through the upper tiers of the Hollywood Bowl -- or perhaps because of it -- there was no mistaking the presence of many a joint being passed Monday night among fans of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young (who put on a fantastic show, by the way). It's no surprise that these boomers would want to relive the entire sensory experience of the first time they heard "Ohio," "Immigration Man" or "Southern Cross." But there's something weirdly comforting in knowing that, although they have so completely evolved into The Establishment with their cars, their mortgages and their 401ks, there are a lot of 50- and 60-somethings who "know a guy" in Topanga.
I did not puff any weed myself, but I want to thank the tokers of Section T1 for bringing some stuff so pungent that it actually masked the fragrance of a nearby skunk. And for helping my usually rockin' 'n' rollin' 8-year-old son to sleep very soundly through the last third of the show and all the way home.