I was 19 when I inhaled the first joint of my life, and after five or six tokes (I was sharing with three or four others) I was completely ripped. I had no choice but to succumb to all the classic effects — giggling fits (I don’t think I’ve ever laughed quite as hard or as hysterically), dry-mouth, time drop-outs (falling into a deep dream state as through a trap door and then abruptly returning to reality, not knowing if 30 seconds or 45 minutes had passed) and of course the munchies.
Barbra Streisand apparently never experienced any of this, which indicates caution in her bones. Caution and hesitancy. God had simply ordained that she wouldn’t be open to easing up or letting go…floating downstream into that sparkling cosmic Revolver dream state…”it is being”, John Lennon, newspaper taxis…the realm that kept on giving…her Brooklyn-honed mentality said “nope” and that was that…never again.