A month later, I was sitting in Central Park's Delacorte Theater watching a bunch of hippies getting high in the current revival of "Hair," just a week before "Pineapple Express" and its slacker potheads, James Franco and Seth Rogen, hit the big screen. And, of course, let's not forget the fourth season of Showtime's "Weeds," which alerted viewers to the fact that suburban white collar folks sure do love their dope.

Are producers not so subtly pushing for the legalization of pot?

If so, they'd certainly have a supportive base among the New York social set, and I'm not referring to the younger crowd.

At many an event this summer I've watched a very slender lady (who naturally shall remain nameless) scarf down hors d'oeuvres like she was eating for two when, truth be told, she just had a bad case of the post-smoke munchies. And she's not alone: a convenience store on Madison Avenue in the sixties -- apparently a well-trod stomping ground for the cannabis consuming -- sells blunt papers clearly not intended for mere tobacco. I guess bongs really aren't terribly chic.