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A Toast to Harshmellows
When was the last time you heard someone seriously say, “Hey, man…you’re harshing my mellow.” It makes me smile to think of some tie-dyed dude drawling his complaint over having his serenity spoiled.

I calculate that the hippie in this reverie is now in his late 60s or 70s, and I’ll bet he’s long since stopped protesting his lost mellowness with that nice phrase. It is now an antiquated expression, after all, like “What’s buzzin’, cousin?” or “Ducky shincracker.” You don’t hear it anymore, and that’s sad because it leaves a hole in our slang vocabulary that cannot easily be filled.

You might suggest that “You’re bumming me out” or “You’re bringing me down” would suit, but those terms don’t have the poetic power of a mellow turned acrid. They communicate the same thought, but they are pedestrian phrases, and we should be looking for something with the same flair as the original.

“Don’t rain on my parade” might be offered as a substitute, or “Don’t burst my bubble,” but neither of these conveys the same sense of an organically-attained high laid waste. A parade, for example, is a product of planning and precise timing; its fun is fully orchestrated. A bubble may be a pretty thing, but its enjoyment is by nature fleeting and insubstantial. A good mellow, conversely, is a slow, natural groove — a feeling that might well persist indefinitely if not interrupted by some negative force.

“Pissing on my bonfire” is not quite right either. It implies malice on the part of the pissor, while the harshing of a mellow could simply be the product of clueless inadvertence. The same goes for “Breaking my crayons” or “Pooping on my cake.” The expression we are looking for is not about being mean; it’s about making someone feel crummy through simple thoughtlessness.

In short, there is no good alternative for harshing my mellow, though a few possibilities come to mind: Don’t choke my flow, diss my bliss, dim my bulb, eclipse my moon, soil my linen, despoil my wilderness, ignite my Hindenburg, interdict my shipment, or pack my parachute backwards.

You can see I’m having trouble with this, but let me try a few more: stunt my growth, empty my calories, fog my solar panels, lower my dividends, or overheat my antioxidants. Okay, that’s all I’ve got, but I welcome your suggestions for a replacement of this lost, lamented idiom. Please share your thoughts with this blog about any potential new version of “Harsh my mellow.”

No, this is not a contest. No, there will be no prizes awarded. No, your nominations will not be published. So stop with the questions, please. You’re precipitating a synesthesia in my aura, man.

Please Note: Tim Eagan will read your comments but he is currently not publishing them.

Trump supporters are people who know what they believe.
~ JC, Bonny Doon