Love Punch & Other Collected Columns. Rob Hiaasen

me to paint another picture.

      Watch your step—there’s a couch there. Sorry, a chaise lounge. The cushions, red velvet.

      Would you care for some sparkling water with a twist of lemon? No? How about a glass of Sauvignon Blanc? We offer a nice Kim Crawford that’s not too citrusy but maintains a hint of passion fruit.

      You’ve noticed the chandelier. It’s French. The gold-plated faucets, Corian countertops and individually-lighted vanity mirrors were put in a few years ago. The artwork was upgraded—some ladies thought the Pollock too explosive and unsettling, so we toned the walls down with Wyeth and Hopper.

      If you’re still waiting, please consider our complimentary chai honey sticks, steaming hand-rolled towels and our small library in the anteroom. The new-age music you are enjoying—“Mating Whales: The Greatest Hits”—is specifically chosen for your complete relaxation.

      You’ve probably also noticed we have replaced those tacky cans of Glade with a working herb garden. Feel free to pinch off some fresh mint for your sparkling water or for our “Thank God It’s Mojito Friday!” events held in the restroom’s library.

      Two restrooms—two very different pictures.

      Isn’t it time we end this foul discrimination?

      Please join me then as I launch a petition drive to get the “Equality for All Restrooms Act” on the ballot in November. Because our children and our children’s children should live in a world where all restrooms are equal.

      Now, hand me some mint.

      My brain on pot

      March 2, 2014

      Normally I don’t take positions on issues because that requires thinking about issues, and frankly my time is better spent binge watching “House of Cards.”

      But given the General Assembly is weighing several pot bills, I feel compelled to speak out.

      I urge Maryland lawmakers not to legalize or decriminalize marijuana, which, as we know, leads to massive deaths. But that’s not why I oppose pot.

      They say it takes 1.2 million muscles to frown but only four muscles to smile. Some of us are proud of our 1.2 million muscles. My fear is that pot will insidiously attack that muscle group and before I know it, I’ll be smiling, which, as we know, leads to relaxation.

      And relaxation leads to happiness, which leads to living longer, which leads to more thinking, which leads to more thinking about issues, which leads to frowning, which leads to unhappiness.

      To illustrate this tragic cycle, let me tell you a story about a Baby Boomer who smoked pot three times (I’ll wait until that preposterously low number sinks in). Each incident was more harrowing, more frightening than the next:

      Early 1983:

      Under the cloak of Daylight Saving time, the Baby Boomer secures pot (quality and origin unknown) from a supplier resembling one of those Duck Dynasty dudes. The transaction is a nervous affair. The young man grossly overpays for he is certain he’ll be captured by the FBI and shipped to a Turkish prison where cable TV is spotty at best.

      Safely locked in his apartment bathroom, the young man attempts to roll his first joint. The work does not go well. For sealing purposes, he considers using Krazy Glue before remembering this, too, is a gateway drug and will only compound his Turkish prison sentence.

      Somehow, a joint is fashioned. He lights the twisty end. He attempts a puff. The puffing does not go well. He tries again until he finally inhales. He is smoking pot. Alone. In front of his bathroom mirror. It is not relaxing.

      Later to friends, he likens the sensation to inhaling bottom-dwelling food scraps found in any kitchen disposal.

      Middle 1983:

      He has someone (“a friend”) pay for the pot to avoid even a hint of extradition to a foreign prison. His friend proves to be a talented buyer, roller and puffer.

      Safely locked in the same Orlando apartment, both young men smoke pot. As Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” shreds their eardrums, a Monopoly board materializes. It is brought out to the pool, where both of them commence a game of floating Monopoly aboard leaky beach rafts. Hilarity ensues over the yellow property “Marvin Gardens.” The name is the funniest thing ever said or heard. They call each other Marvin for the remainder of the experience.

      They judge the time as either 2 in the morning or 2 in the afternoon.

      It’s a very relaxing time.

      Late 1983:

      In his last brush with the demon weed, the Baby Boomer finds himself in possession of pre-rolled and pre-paid “marijuana cigarettes.” This time, he fears no Turkish prison. It is an extremely relaxing evening—until a new fear emerges.

      What happens if he likes relaxing too much? And then what happens if one day Marvin Gardens isn’t hilarious anymore?

      It hurts the brain to think that much.

      How to enjoy your shutdown

      October 6, 2013

      On the bright side—OK, there is no bright side, but just stay with me here—the thousands of Americans affected by the government shutdown have something the rest of us can only dream of.

      Free time!

      Am I being insensitive? Mean? Me? Impossible. I’m just trolling for some levity.

      The challenge for me would be to fill my free time with productive, life-affirming activities. So, as a dubious public service, I offer 10 Things To Do While Furloughed:

      More time for hobbies! Remember all those pet projects you wanted to get to around the house but pesky work kept getting in the way? Now you have time! So, go ahead and retreat into your man cave and work on that dartboard you’ve been pining for lately. You know, the one with the likenesses of Congressional leaders on it.

      More time for family! Thanks to the shutdown, you can spend more quality time with your family! And how many of us long to work less so we can spend more time with our loved ones?

      More time for family! No, seriously, I’m asking. How many?

      More time for career planning! What better time to look for another job than when you have been inhumanely shut out of your current job and your spirits have been harpooned? Time now to polish your resume and track down references in hopes they still walk among the living. (One tip: your references might also be furloughed, so you might want to take it easy on the shutdown humor.)

      More time for exercise! No more using employment and that “feeding my family” excuse for not losing those hideous 15 extra pounds. Time now to go to the gym every day! Sweat, shower and stare at people you don’t know!

      Every day.

      More time to write personal letters! No, wait, that was for the shutdown in 1976.

      More time for quality TV viewing! “Breaking Bad” is over, but take the time to reconnect with other great television drama. Of course I’m speaking of “River Monsters: Unhooked.”

      More time for reading! No more gobbling down your favorite book or newspaper while gobbling down your lunch or dinner. Turn being furloughed into a golden reading opportunity! Finally, here’s your chance to tackle “Moby-Dick” and shave 10 years off your life! Finally, here’s your chance to leisurely savor your favorite hometown newspaper—whatever publication I may be referring to.

      More time to travel! What better time to spend money on travel than when you don’t know when or if another paycheck is coming! Imagine hours of complete relaxation lounging on a beach in Bermuda and the only care you have in the world is running out of rum, followed closely by bankruptcy.

      More time to give to others! Let’s face it: employment keeps us all from doing things for free. But here’s