- Brandon Soderberg
- Romulan’s an ugly, turd-like bud with a smell that’s like pine to the 10th power.
Just set that smart-dumb stoner joke to the side for a moment. Really, Romulan’s appropriately named because smoking this strident, predominantly Indica strain will make you feel like an alien. Walking around after smoking some, I felt separate from the cityscape, the weed mitigating or even protecting me from a confusing, oblique world I was encountering as though for the first time. I registered everything happening around me, but I was able to just compartmentalize it, make sense of what I could, and ignore the rest. I was unfazed — not quite part of anything, but not a smarmy above-it-all dick either, which is a good thing. Is this how dogs feel maybe? All feeling and impulse, little context, yet painfully sincere.
One potentially bad byproduct of this that I’ve encountered smoking Romulan many times before: I almost got hit by a car. Whether my responses were just slowed or my timing was off or what, I just couldn’t process crossing the street properly. So be careful out there on this stuff. Though I suspect on some level, I felt impervious and just didn’t realize it. Romulan is one of the most intense highs around. And that combined with the way it sucks the anxiety out of you and fills you with calm results in a feel nothing-ness that could tip into not caring much at all.
And there, Romulan reveals itself to be again potentially dangerous, a strain with an edge that has some of the darkness to it, a certain kind of steely pain-relieving menace that can consume you. A friend told me that the Romulans are an aggressive alien race on Star Trek and that might also be how Romulan got its name, because it’s tough and unwieldy at times. I didn’t know about that because my Star Trek knowledge is limited to stoned-and-alone Netflix binges of the original ‘60s series — I am still waiting for a strain called “Creepy Baby Clint Howard With a Grown-Ass Man’s Voice.” (See “The Corbomite Maneuver” episode, bro.)
While Romulan’s high is singularly soporific, everything else about it is unremarkable, almost covert. It’s an ugly, turd-like bud with a smell that’s like pine to the 10th power, though that doesn’t transfer to the taste much at all — which is kind of a nebulous, rough-hewn “sweet” on the inhale. Romulan’s probably best enjoyed on the couch, but something in it nags you to get out of the house and go out and about and explore. And when you do, you’ll see the things you see all the time but differently, dissociative, so it’s not antisocial weed, it is just a whole lot. As the high intensified, I felt suspended, contained — I imagined myself as one of those animal-in-formaldehyde Damien Hirst sculptures gone sentient, being carted through a cityscape, observing, taking things in, but having no effect on anything, eyes and a mind, nothing more.
Nose: honey-dipped pine
Existential dread: 1
Freaking out when a crazy person approaches you: 1
Drink pairing: cheap, bad white wine
Music pairing: Sleep, The Sciences