I love Seinfeld, and can recall nearly every episode. When I see a rerun, within a few seconds I know exactly what episode it is and what’s about to happen. One of my favorite episodes was the one where the Kenny Rogers Roasters chicken place opened across the street and the neon lights drove Kramer crazy to the point he and Jerry switched apartments. But Kramer loved the chicken, and Jerry found out by seeing Newman picking up an order that contained “steamed broccoli.” Jerry pointed out he “wouldn’t eat broccoli if it was deep fried in chocolate sauce.” Newman said he would, biting a stalk and then spitting it out, exclaiming, “Vile weed!”

That’s a long set up for a column about weed – or marijuana – but that’s what kept coming to mind every time I smelled pot on our family trip to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware for the Independence Day weekend.

The smell was everywhere. Checking into our ocean-side motel I felt like I was going to get a contact high in the parking lot. On the boardwalk the smell was more prevalent than French fries or body odor, both of which are all over the place.

I’m no prude, a late friend of mine who spent time in Korea in the military used to joke that he’d “spilled more weed than most people have smoked,” and I’m right there with him. The “wake and bake,” the quick joint outside the club before........

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