Cannabis enthusiast, cure thyself!

Medical marijuana helped change a man’s life. I wanted to see if it could change mine.

My best friend DB had done a number on his body over the years working as a diesel mechanic for the County of Los Angeles. His job was to keep the machines at the county landfills running and he did that, day in and day out, for over twenty years. Dealing with heavy machinery, working in a rough environment and dealing with a sour work crew can get a man down, but when the work starts to really damage your body in a way that you never get away from it, either at work or at home, then something has to change.

So, my friend retired from the County and looked ahead, not only to healing his body but to an active, enjoyable  retirement. One of the first things he did was to enroll in a physical therapy program, the other was get his California Medical Marijuana card. With his doctor approval in hand he took his signed note down to his local state office, paid his annual fee and picked up his card the same day. By the time the dinner dishes were done and out of the way that evening he had his favorite strain, Pineapple, packed in his bong bowl, delivered straight to his door. 

Since then he has expanded his med circle to edibles but his daily regimen has pretty much remained the same: wake up, take a bong hit, do an hours worth of stretches and muscle building exercises then spend the rest of the day doing house repairs, chores and cooking. His life has improved dramatically, his happiness level is up, his marriage is more robust and his family life is settled and secure. He went over twenty years without marijuana because of Federal Transportation laws. His favorite pain killer of choice back then was alcohol. With cannabis he drinks less, is in far less pain that he has been in years and he gets along better with everyone in his life. I thank cannabis every day for the changes it made in that man’s life.

I like to think that with the endocannabinoid system at work in our body at all times that it needs and recognizes the benefits of daily cannabis maintenance. To that end I like to do a dropper of tincture every day, a sub-threshold dose, just to keep the machinery greased and the body ready for bigger or even stronger therapeutic doses. 

But my feelings about grass were not always this way. There was a time when life was all party-party-party and herb was just another monkey wrench in my wild man toolbox. Moving back to California made it easier for me to get in touch with my old pal. Seeing the changes that medical marijuana made in his life helped me shift my consciousness about cannabis and to seek a way to get a card so I could legitimately reach out to dispensaries to help myself. It was a good thing I did for myself for the day I went in I got an alarming blood pressure count. The nurse at the wellness center in Hopland almost sent me to urgent care to bring it down but proceeded with my physical and issued me my card. It was there that I learned about CBDs and the anti-inflammatory curative powers that that particular cannibinoid possesses. I went out and got hemp oil but better a tincture from a local dispensary that I use to this day. From that day on my blood pressure, with the help of both allopathic and naturopathic medicines, is now under control.

For me, getting my med card was easy as the range of medical problems and issues a person can in order to qualify for a card seem almost limitless. The day I got my card was the day I began my new understanding of the medical benefits of cannabis, but more, opened up to me the world of legal cannabis shopping.

Mendocino County, as a part of the Emerald Triangle, is awash in cannabis. I knew people in the trade who openly sold and traded weed but I never took advantage of those friendships. Frankly, there was never a need to buy dope when it was shared with me so readily. But with my card I had access to dispensaries anywhere in California and I proceeded to start investigating the moment I walked out of the wellness center. Hopland’s dispensary charmed me but there were many others in the county, notably Compassionate Heart in Ukiah, Herban Legend in Fort Bragg and Leonard Moore in Mendocino, that became my go-to favorites. Each had their charms but all had magnificent weed of various strengths, looks and availability. 

Venturing further afield I was able to take in dispensaries in San Francisco (SPARC, the Green Door) and Oakland (Harborside). The closer I got to the city the more expansive the services became, the closer the stock and the mentality of the budtenders got to providing top notch medical marijuana understanding and service. I know that if I had taken my pal to Harborside, for instance, he would have gotten a much more focused product overview on products that would have aided his healing than he would have gotten in Ukiah, where the emphasis seemed to be providing the customers with products that would get you ripped.

Once I moved to Colorado my need for a med card was somewhat nullified by the legal aspect of weed here but it still would be nice to be able to continue to ally myself with that cause. When I go into a rec shop I know that most of my fellow shoppers are not there to cure anything but rather are getting ready for another blast of THC laden fun. Me, I still do my studying online, look to see what will suit me and my health best and buy products that I know will further my new found understanding and appreciation for the cannabis plant.

Casey, back at Happy Day Farms, truly was the one who helped get me to that high level of appreciation probably more than anybody else. I met him one evening at a community event in Laytonville. I had recently watched a video of him online as he went on about his farm, talking the good talk about healthy living, organic farming and outdoor grown weed. That night we had a chance to share a short talk, and on the way out the door he called me over, walked me to his truck and then proceeded to gift me with a pint jar filled with a strain of dope that looked like green sunshine. I got a chance to meet with him numerous times over the course of the year, listen to him talk in classes and meetings, met his compatriots and fellow farmers and took that passion he inflamed in me to a place where I was signing up and participating in local organizations preparing to get legalization on the ballot in California.

It was through experiences with men like DB and Casey that I turned a corner in my need for and understand of cannabis. With that new found knowledge and freedom I experienced in California I was able to set up a cannabis reference library in Ukiah and was able to meet players in the industry from all around the north coast. Here, in Colorado I’ve continued my research and broadened my knowledge to the point where I am looking hard at the industry and seeking a place in it where I can share my appreciation, admiration and enthusiasm for the plant with my fellow enthusiasts.

Cannabis. It’s a good thing. Ask my friend DB. He and his family would tell you it not only changed his life but that it saved his life.

Salud!

California medical marijuana information:
https://www.cdph.ca.gov/programs/MMP/Pages/default.aspx

Colorado medical marijuana information:
https://www.colorado.gov/pacific/cdphe/medicalmarijuana

Carrying

"Carrying weight". 

Those two words appeal to the inner secret smuggler in me. I have never moved any real amount of cannabis in my time but I have read about or known enough people who have that have made partaking in herb a very privileged thing.

There have always been folks around who will supply you with the things you crave the most. I think of one of our history’s most patriotic times, World War II. One should have been a stand up red,white and blue kind of guy and worked within the guidelines of the rationing system, right? Give till it hurts, for the troops doing their best to protect democracy overseas and all that? But in my readings I have found that there were plenty of black-marketeers working in those factories, business and communities who were willing, for a price, to get you that extra pound of sugar for your honey’s cake, some nylons needed for a night on the town or the extra gallon of gasoline to get you there. Smuggling undermined Prohibition in the 20s, has helped get guns and weapons into the hands of all sorts of rebels the world over and has helped keep our bongs loaded for more than 70 years. I am a libertarian at heart. I tend to look the other way when it comes to things like that. So long as your enjoyment of life doesn’t impact mine or the lives of my peeps, we’re all good.

So, the good libertarian in me didn’t think too much about scoring a pound with a shipmate of mine back in the winter of ’78. Every week or so we found ourselves out on the streets buying bags of weed and those efforts didn’t always pay off. We had more than our share of mishaps and ripoffs and so buying quantity seemed like the way to avoid having to prowl the streets and beaches of San Diego for a while. We had a pal who had recently rented an apartment in El Cajon so we knew we would be far outside and away from the eyes and ears of Naval Intelligence there in National City. We kept our profile low, we had no big stereos to blaze away on and we were well mannered as all sailors tend to be when they are on the beach. All those things tipped buying a pound in our favor.

We met a guy at a bar who had a warehouse full of Mexican and Colombian bricks to unload and the pricem 500 bucks, was right. What made the purchase even better was that I had a trip planned to Colorado for the holidays and a load of dope would always be welcomed. I know, for those out there more jaded breaking up a pound must be a ho-hum kind of affair, but for a guy who was just used to handling ounces or less it was a mighty wonderful thing to experience. So we made a late night run to Imperial Beach, and, right out of some old noir film, met the guy on the beach, exchanged cash and product and we went on our merry way with a brick of Colombian Gold stashed in a seabag. 

We got back to the apartment, set up a table and tarp, put on some tunes and proceeded to break down that pound. It was important to know that the grass we bought was high quality so we spent as much time smoking as we did dividing up that dope that night. The thing that stands out in my mind the most is that we played, seemingly endlessly, Quicksilver Messenger Service, and that none of us seemed to mind. 

The night wore on, the half-ounce baggies were filled and by sunrise we had our project done and out of the way. I was granted space in a closet for my stash, a good thing because taking it back to base, getting it past the Marine guards then walking on it board ship and clearing not on the officer of the watch but the watchful eye of the Master at Arms was not my idea of a good time.

Once we got a few sea trials out of the way I purchased my airplane ticket and got ready for a trip back east. I took my dope and secured it in an oversized coffee can and wrapped it up like a Christmas present. That, along with a half dozen other gifts, completed my Trojan Horse. The mid-70’s were security lite at airports and so I didn’t worry too much about checked baggage. But I committed a radical error that almost cost me my dope and my trip: prior to leaving the apartment I rolled a half dozen joints and put them into a small leather pencil case. The pencil case went right into my pocket. Two White Russians under my belt at the airport lounge left my street smarts at the bottom of my glass. Being too happy is a way to get noticed and so I was pulled aside by airport security. I was frisked.The gal in charge pulled out my pencil case, popped it open and looked inside, gave me a stern look, then a smirk, then, a beat or two later, let me hit the boarding ramp.

I didn't think that carrying a half pound of cannabis was a big deal,apparently, but for one brief and terrifying moment that night all I could see, from the inside of my head. was a jail cell and wrecked navy career. Somehow the holiday spirit that lived inside that gal’s head felt it was a better thing to let me go than to deal out punitive measures. My flight to Colorado Springs went okay and I landed in a snow storm. My pals drove all the way out from Ordway to pick me and we drove back in heavy weather. For the record, that way my first time every seeing snow. So betwixt a wild San Diego send off and a safe trip back to town, I had a very great and happy New Years. And so did everyone else in town who got a half ounce or more of that very spirited and smokable pound of Colombian Gold.

These days, whenever I go into the local rec shops, I look about me and know that there has to be pounds of marijuana just sitting there, scattered among those glass sample jars. I know that there has to be pounds more behind the scene and then hundreds or many thousands of plants in warehouses out back. I think of that old sailor pal of mine back in the day who was so proud to introduce me to his connection, to be able to help us secure that wonderful pound. Somehow the romance and drama of securing that dope brought a whole different air to the transaction and, just maybe, helped make that weed taste that much better, made the high that much higher.

Don’t get me wrong, I like to buy my dope legally. I like the lack of paranoia, the absence of fear that I experience when I go out and about purchasing my weed. But somehow I wish that I could do that run just one more time. Go home with a one-pound brick in the bottom of a sea bag and bust it up on the kitchen table, roll up numbers till the sun comes up and spin that ragged old Quicksilver record till the lyrics and the jangling guitars make me crazy.

Or, maybe, I can just get lucky someday and find that long lost landrace at a dispensary, load a bong and close my eyes and pretend I'm back there on snowbound I-25, grooving with my long lost pals, knowing my kit bag in the trunk had their merry holidays gifts ready and willing to be rolled. That would be one hell of lot easier.

But, not nearly as much fun.

Salud!

The seemingly endless definitions of carry!
http://www.thefreedictionary.com/carry

Fantastic Animation Festival, 1977

Internet search engines are a wonder. Today not only did Google solve an old itch of mine but it gave me far more information about a subject than I ever imagined or hoped to find. And for that, I am thankful.

I know that my search was something I could have handled and solved years ago but I delayed and pondered and let the matter go time and time again. And really, sometimes those things you discover as a young man don’t really translate well into the world you occupy as an adult so it’s easy to let them go, you know? In this case it had to do with a song, a theater and a film, and together at the time they were magical. I never imagined that together and apart still had the power to inspire and bring joy an awful lot of people after all these years.

First off, we can't blame the mania about this experience just on dope. Sure, Mexican grass was THE game changer in my life back then (aw, I call bullshit on that,,,sex was, too). And yes, I know, we are all gathered here today because that particular kind of grass from the other side of the border WAS greener and made everything, I mean EVERYTHING, a complete and total gas under the influence. It didn’t matter what it was, everything was more fun, more interesting, more freaking wonderful on weed. Homework changed, housework changed, relationships changed, and for the most part, everything changed for the good. 

I am sure the day that I smoked Thai stick and swept the driveway at the drive-in changed my life forever. When I found out that even the most mundane tasks were cool and enlightening on dope I had to apply that new found wisdom to other things I liked and enjoyed, like food, music and film.

It was around that time that I found myself grooving on international animation. PBS had an animation program that aired late on school nights and it brought a whole new and interesting art into my life. Once I attained wheels I was able to take my jones for film on the road and was able to catch movies all around the county. In the end the combination of wheels, cash and cannabis made for a perfect storm.

Sometime during the winter of 76 I bundled my fellow stoner buddies into my Galaxie 500 and drove off to the Surf Theater in Huntington Beach to catch a special kind of flick. That night, instead of watching surf or ski films, we smoked some spliffs and caught an animation festival that truly rocked our worlds. One piece in particular, French Window, by Ian Emes, with music by Pink Floyd, really captured my imagination hard core. A year or so later I was able to take in another film, the Fantastic Animation Festival, at an art house in San Diego, and that piece was wrapped up in that play list as well.

I am not sure what it was about that film that rocked my world so hard but it did. After catching those first animation festivals I sought out others with the hope of seeing French Windows again but not once did it ever pop up. I went out and bought Pink Floyd’s Meddle album and played One of These Days over and over again, just to replay that rich visual imagery in my head. As the years went on I had a general idea of what the film looked like, or thought it looked like, but lost the feel for the visuals completely. In the end it was just the powerful effects of the song that drove me to wonder what that animated piece was all about. That is, until today.

Today I worked that research magic that librarians throughout the land are famous for and was able to track down not only French Windows but information about the animator as well. It wasn’t hard at all, really. I typed in One of These Days and animation and viola, there it was, French Windows, in all its glory. 

From there I was able to find out more about the fable 1977 animation festival, the rights surrounding the song (which makes it hard to find that animated piece just about anywhere) and the general unavailability of a recording of the festival itself. But thanks to a poster on YouTube you can catch a VHS rendition of the animation festival it's entirety, the same one that I grooved to long ago. Included are Will Vinton’s Closed Mondays and Mountain Music as well as an assorted of absolutely incredible animated pieces.

Today the internet provided a sort of time tunnel for me. I was able to plug in French Windows and jet back to that funky old theater by the sea and groove on a film that moved me so way back when. But more I was able to find out more about the man who not only changed animation history but is still revered throughout the world for that one particular animated piece. Somehow I knew when I saw it at the Surf Theater back in the seventies that Emes’ French Windows was timeless. Today I found out that I wasn’t off the mark at all. It truly is.

Salud!

A New York Times article from that era about the fest!
http://www.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=980DE7DE1E3FE334BC4052DFBE66838C669EDE

Ian Emes website!
http://www.ianemes.com/

Wiki about Ian!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ian_Emes

French Windows!
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x17acm5_pink-floyd-one-of-these-days-ian-emes-french-windows_music

Gallery IKON!
https://ikon-gallery.org/event/ikon-icons-ian-emes/

An interview with Ian!
http://www.vice.com/en_uk/read/ian-emes-interview

A note about the Surf!
http://cinematreasures.org/theaters/3697

A current roster of animation festivals throughout the world! WOW!
http://www.animation-festivals.com/

Lastly, a wiki on Meddle!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meddle

Barbara Kay

I always felt that Fort Bragg was one of those places on the map where, if I could have taken the whole of the United States and tipped it on its side and shook it and had all the round pegs of our square pegged culture end up in one place, that would have been the place where they all would have all landed. And yes, I had to include myself in that bunch of round pegs in search of a hole to land in because I landed there, too.

I arrived in Fort Bragg the weekend following the 4^th of July, 2012. I went there in search of something, to this day I am not sure what, but what I came away three years later was far more than I ever expected. But before I could lay claim to the riches that the coast was to bring me I had to find my heart and soul again and that was the place to do it.

Fort Bragg started out in the 1850's as a military garrison in charge of an Indian reservation. After the Civil War it opened up to wider settlement and went on to be a very important mill town, one of many on the coast that helped supply lumber to rebuild San Francisco after the great earthquake of 1906. It was still a mill town when I rolled through on my way to Eureka in 1988 and by the time I reversed that journey in the spring of 2012 it was grasping at straws at what to do with itself. It is a California Historical landmark, a government and service center, a hub for coastal tourism and the home of many local artists, where there are plenty of galleries about to show off all that quality work.

I was happy to call Fort Bragg and the Mendocino coast my home for three years. It was cool and foggy in the summer, wet and cool in the winter, graced with a magnificent coast to walk on and plenty of interesting folks to get to know. Glass Beach was a big tourist draw, the craggy headlands a natural location for film and television series, the artist town of Mendocino with all its charms a short drive away and some of the best beer on the coast, North Coast Brewery, was available at a tap room right on the main drag.

Sitting in that brew house I met many folks from all around the state and nation who came to visit and dreamed of moving there someday. The biggest draw was the quaintness, I am sure, but to live there was to face a different sort of reality. Good paying, steady jobs were scarce, broadband was practically non-existent, roads tended to be blocked, flooded or washed out during winter storms and the local population tended to ignore or patronize you until you proved your worth or readiness to endure and handle the quirkiness of living in a frontier zone.

I managed a library so meeting folks from all walks of life was my specialty. I got to meet townies, local and upright citizens, I got to know all the homeless who called my branch their home, got to work with many talented people who knew and understood the land and who helped me better acclimate to my surroundings. I volunteered around the region just so I could meet folks, show the locals that I believed that a good library had doors that swung both ways but more, so I could get to indulge in plenty of free food and wine drinking, both of which were an art and a mainstay there on the coast.

Cannabis was and still is king on the coast. I found out from my first day there in Mendocino County how important weed was to the economy but more how it greased the local social, culinary and art scene. It was easy enough, if you were patient, to get to know growers, farmers, middlemen and dispensary owners, just as easy as it was to get to know certified public accountants, lawmen, fisher folk and artists of all stripes. I had lived on the outskirts of cannabis for a long time and I found that so long as I didn’t look too hard or too desperate weed would find its way to my door.

Getting to know folks from town was easy as the local library was the nerve center for the community. It was there that I got to know one of my favorite coastal people, Barbara Kay Olsen. She was a naïve artist who handled many different mediums including sea grass, watercolor and collage, had art in galleries and museums from New Mexico to the coast, had many unusual friends and acquaintances and due to her kindness, gentleness and fierce independence, kept folks both close and at a distance. We got to know each other through film, rather, through recommendations there in the video section of my library. Through her I got to know about the local art scene, had a better understanding of the how the town worked from the impoverished artist side of things and was given a sideways kind of tutorial on contemporary coastal art work through the purchases I made at thrift shops and flea markets in the area.

Barbara and I got together once a week to pour over my findings, to drink wine, to eat homemade pizza, to watch film and, best of all, to smoke local weed. It was one thing to find baggies of dope on the sidewalk coming or going to work, it was another to be gifted large garbage bags filled with trim and nuggets of wonder from a local who knew the ground where the weed came from and the farmers who grew it. We enjoyed each other’s company, both of us outsiders of sorts, but her nature, a mix of fierce, unpredictable and soft, was too hard for me to understand and too challenging to embrace. It was good enough to be weekly friends, to occasionally share drink, to talk art, to smoke the kind herb. I was happy to have a connection to the Mendocino coast but it was a connection with limitations and I was good with that.

In January of 2013 Barbara passed away suddenly, too suddenly for those who knew her and who appreciated her friendship. At her memorial I got to know her children, many of her local friends and much of the community that got to know her over the years. When her house was being packed up I was gifted a number of smaller works and a large collage piece that I kept around my home till I left the coast. It was one thing to be given art and her stash jar and baggies of cannabis that had been gifted to her from all her grower companions, but it was another thing entirely to be gifted all the friends that surrounded her during her time on the coast. Through them I continued my journey there in Fort Bragg, where I got to know painters, film exhibitors, tattoo artists and growers of all stripes.

Thanks, Barbara, for reaching out, for being a friend and for showing me the way in Mendocino. It was pleasure to know you, to tip a glass with you and to fire up that strange Japanese water pipe with you, the one that never, ever worked properly. Thanks for the homemade postcards, the strange second hand finds and for passing along that basket you wove that was much, much too big for my wandering kind of life. May you rest in peace, kiddo.

Salud!

Zushi Beach Window Box!

Japan in the autumn of 1979 was to be THE make it or break it time of my young life. If you had told me that in June I would have laughed in your face or thought you mad.

The USS Blue Ridge had been slated for repairs that fall at the Long Beach Naval Shipyard but instead we got the word that the USS Oklahoma City was to be retired and so the US Navy picked us to be the new flagship for the US 7^th Fleet. At the beginning of summer I had just finished up a great leave period in Ordway, Colorado and was aching to continue on with the experience. I had a pack of young friends there who had just finished high school and were anxious to join me and my shipmates in our new yard worker digs on the coast. At that time my shipmates and I were all pretty wild, very hardcore party animals and so I feel with a fair amount of certainty that had we stayed on in the states my life would have turned out much different than it did.

So, instead of a shared sordid den of iniquity in Long Beach, California, fate intervened and we were shipped overseas and by the end of September were home ported in Yokusuka, Japan. At that point in my life it was probably the best thing that could have ever happened to me. I still had over two years left in my enlistment and was not at all certain what I wanted out of life. It was tough enough being young, sex crazed, rudderless and out and about in the world but even worse to be blind to your bad habits and not able to see where the hell you are going.

Now, Japan in the 70's was not without its vices. I was a young man hungry for those worldly vices and being in the fleet helped to compound that condition. This was the era of Jimmy Carter's Love Boat Navy. The Vietnam War was over, peace ruled and the land we had too much time on our hands. Drug use was rampant and trafficking flourished. Cannabis, hashish, LSD and other inebriants flowed and found a home both on and off the ship, which made for an awful lot of partying both in port and out at sea. Having access to old China hands from our soon to be retired sister flagship made the transition from stateside to overseas deployment easy. But having sailors across the pier who had easy access to Thai stick, Singapore opium and all sorts of other quality drugs made being in a new foreign port an even more interesting and profound experience.

All the same I knew deep in my heart of hearts that I needed something to help moderate my appetites, to bring me back to ground. As my mom put it to me in a letter from those wild, long ago days, I had a choice to either become an athlete or an alcoholic. So I made a choice and took on racquetball with a passion, embraced photography, sailing, soccer, weights and running in equal measure to help balance out the beer and saki that seemed to flow endlessly whenever we hit the Honshu district outside the gate. But most importantly I got lucky and met the woman who became my first wife and who changed the way the fleet impacted my life on a day to day basis. Now, I didn’t become a saint but knowing Z spared my soul and saved my naval career.

Z had landed in Japan a year before I did. When I met her she was a radioman petty officer 3rd class, a nice rarity for that side of the world. She worked in the very male dominant Yokosuka Naval Staion radio shack, a very top-secret affair, which always seemed to be haunted by spooks and other bad guys from the Ugly American era. Off duty she led a fairly quiet existence out in the economy and, luckily for me, had recently broken up with a guy who didn't match her needs. We met by chance at a leadership course where we exchanged pencils, then exchanged whatever it was that we needed to in order to connect outside of class. We started out shooting photos around the base then took our dating life on the road, expanding our territory to Yokohama, Tokyo, Kamakura and all points in and around the Kanagawa Prefecture.

In the end we shared a lovely house in Zushi Beach, a short walk from the sand. The house had an awesome view of Mt Fuji, tatami mats, rice paper screens and a Western style toilet. Our times in Japan were fabulous, tense and something neither one of us saw coming. We seemed to occupy a sort of dream world that had slices of both ancient Japan and contemporary sailor life all rolled up in it . The neighborhood we lived in was very traditional, old fashioned, on the slope of a hillside that had, in my eyes, plenty of room for a garden. I was rebuffed enough times to stop that endeavor and after a while we took up window box gardening, instead. We found that it was a pleasant way to use our balcony and spared us the grief of the locals.

Spring of 1980 we decided to plant some seeds from the batches of landrace grass I had brought home from the Philippines. It was always a case of feast or famine with dope and growing our own seemed like the logical solution. Even though our garden was up in the air three stories and shrouded in greenery secrecy was paramount. Due to our clearance status we were always cautious, always needing to stay one step ahead of  not just one but three different law enforcement agencies: the Navy Investigative Service, the military police and most feared of all, the local Japanese police. We lived with the shadow of Z’s top secret clearance always hanging over her head as well as the fear and paranoia generated by the network of paid informers and snitches that always lurked about the base and community.

Nevertheless we had a lovely time there in Zushi Beach and waited patiently for our one surviving plant to grow. We thought of ourselves as green thumb Latinos but I was in and out of port too often to really shepherd our cannabis plantation and Z, in the end, was just a tad too paranoid to really ever let it out of the house and into the sun. So, in the end, with just leaves and stems to show for our efforts, we pulled up the plant and hung it in the storage room to dry. Of course it made the house smell fine, in my estimation, but we always worried whether or not the landlady would pop in and pick up on the scent.

We stored that grass away, thinking it was not going to be worth the bother but as we came to find out, it really was a case of any port in a storm. By the time Z was preparing to leave Japan for the states in 1981 we were down to just that paltry bag of dry grass and we were thankful for it, light weight buzz and all. The only negative to come out of that grow experience was when we broke it out at her going away party. To make things clear, it was one of the finest parties we ever threw and we threw a lot of great get togthers. By sundown the house was rocking, We had plenty of shipmates, neighbors and friends there, both Japanese and American, dancing, socializing, indulging in plenty of brew and Mexican food when someone asked me if we had any weed on hand to smoke.

Well, the only thing we had was that Zushi Beach Window Box so that was going to have to be good enough. And with the house full of weed hungry sailors, it certainly was. So we packed the upstairs bedroom with fifteen or more sailors and lit up. For a moment there we all felt happy and back in the states, sipping the green air of home grown weed. Even Z, in her perpetual state of paranoia, was happy…that is, until someone broke out their camera to record the moment.

The last thing a person with a top-secret clearance needs is a photo taken of her with a joint in her mouth. That room  was cleared out in an instant, the camera corralled and the film confiscated. The party shut down so fast that shoes, backpacks and a whole lot of beer was left behind. Best of all nothing came of the top floor, top secret dope session. We all waited with bated breath to see if we had someone in the room who would blow more than smoke over that event and, in the end, nothing came to pass. It would have been a horrific bummer to have been brought down by the law over that mild to nothing high, but you know, if you got it you smoke it, even if it is just the leaves of Zushi Beach Window Box.

Salud!

Zushi Beach, Kanagawa Prefecture!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zushi,_Kanagawa

The Okie Boat!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Oklahoma_City_(CL-91)

The USS Blue Ridge LCC-19!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Blue_Ridge_(LCC-19)

Another slice of Zushi Beach life, twenty years later!
http://www.sarukoen.com/archives/zushi_life/

Nice opinion piece on Pinoy weed!
http://www.pacifiqa.com/opinion/philippine-guide-to-our-local-weed-marijuana/

An idea of what a slightly better grower of Pilipino dope can do with those damn seeds!
http://www.420magazine.com/forums/completed-journals/172273-first-time-grow-philippine-unknown-sativa-strain-100-natural-outdoor-grow.html

New exciting beach life in Zushi Beach!
https://straytravel.wordpress.com/2012/09/17/tokyo-beaches-zushi/

Bigger, louder, tastier!

As a librarian, I know that there is an awful lot to know. I do not profess to be a specialist, guru or hard core fan about anything. Passion about stuff, well, that's another story. But geek? Not so much.

Folks geek out on just about everything and anything these days. I imagine you can type just about any product name, hobby, sport, film, book, personage or personal interest in Google and come up with not only a definition and the current standing of that search but also forums, groups and special interest pages filled with folks who all seem to have a magnificent jones going on about the subject at hand and have more knowledge about the thing in question than they ever will about the US Constitution, the interests of their partners or the minutia or particulars of their profession. But then again,

I don’t identify that closely with my profession, either. I KNOW that there are hard core Librarians out there, folks who live and breathe what I do for a living. When folks come up to me, say, at a party or get together and ask what do you do, I don’t go the job title route. There are so many other things that I like to do that define me, far more than librarianship does. What do I do? I suppose I would have to qualify that question.

But even when it comes to my hobbies I am not so in depth with the subject that I bore myself to death. I think the bigger problem is that my brain is just not built that way. I get excited about stuff, become real nutty about things, become obsessed about a search but that's about it. Groove for awhile then drop the damn thing. Not so much other people. God bless their brains! I used to work with a great man back in my Seattle days who, when asked about the British Invasion, Chess Records or Duke Ellington, could go on for hours about any of those subjects. He had the artists, the disks and the musical eras down pat. My ex-father-in-law had sand rails and the sport of dune buggy racing tattooed to his soul.A good buddy of mine is into Tiger sports cars.

Other folks out there know all there is to know about weaving, brewing beer, Indian motorcycles or bodice ripper novelists. Me, I have a hard time memorizing things so I couldn’t tell you about, say, the particulars of the Crosby, Stills and Nash couch album, or of all the particulars that go into making Oaxacan mole, or what it means to be a true critic-worthy cinefile. All I know is that I like Mexican food, good film and rock music.

What I love about cannabis is that makes so many things so much better. I am not of the school that says I have to do marijuana in order to enjoy things. No, I can do just about anything and have a good time. But there is something to be said about how nice an overlay of dope can improve certain things.

Take for instance a walk. I like to walk, it’s my favorite form of exercise. With a pair of reasonable shoes, heck, even zoris, and an hour’s worth of time you can get not only your exercise groove on but you can also use that walk to transform your understanding of your neighborhood, improve the interior space of your mind, change your disposition for the better, build up an appetite, settle a full stomach, break a sweat and chase away the blues. Now, can you imagine how cool it would be to put a dab of cannabis on top of that? In a good setting, with nice weather, with a pair of headphones on and a nice walking partner, such joy could be had!

I love a good meal at the end of a satisfying marijuana session. There is nothing better, after an afternoon groove on the couch or out and about, to sit before the groaning board and greeze on a pile of ribs or a big bowl of fried rice or even a solitary celery stick. Something about dope and films, too, really rock my world. I am an almost every day movie watcher but the right film, a good sci-fi film or foreign black and white or colorful fantasy can really launch an everyday high into a monumental one.

And then there is music. Somehow I got lucky when it came to getting to know all about quality sound. Grass came into my life just about the same time big 70’s era stereos came into my life and the two have been intertwined ever since. I love recorded music. I buy it in ridiculous amounts, always have. As a kid I would walk for miles to hit up the local Goodwill As-Is yard and dig through the piles of vinyl, all sleeveless, just to see what was interesting. The great sadness, I am sure, is that I overlooked incredible gems back in the day because I had no idea what the hell I was looking at. These days I go for labels, artists and producers I know but also take away interesting album covers, musical styles that I am unfamiliar with and genres that I like but know nothing about the artist. Now, I can be picky about what to listen to when I am completely sober. But throw a glass of wine, a few beers or a bong hit at me and then music takes on a completely different flavor. I will then go all over the map. I can start with jazz and end up with Gamelan or show tunes or some obscure English folk rock band. With mota it’s all good.

Thanks to the Subic Bay Navy Exchange quality stereo gear came into my life. Going into that den of electronics iniquity changed the way that this young man looked at and appreciated stereo equipment, but also altered the way that I felt and experienced recorded sound. My shipmates and I happily jettisoned afternoons prowling about the Magsaysay in favor of trolling around in that air conditioned pleasure palace of electronic goods. Later, over San Miguels in the PO Club, we would argue over the benefits of big-bigger-biggest, not as it applied to the size of the breasts of the go-go dancers we gaped at while drinking at our favorite hard rock clubs but as it applied to the size of the speakers, the receivers and the reel-to-reel decks we spent the afternoon drooling over.

Speakers and stereo electronics from that era were generally all encased in solid wood or wood veneer. After hours and hours of cruising the aisles, soliciting opinions and gleaning advice I took home with me gear that looked almost more like furniture than it did musical devices. My first WestPac I went home with a nice mid-range Pioneer receiver, the SX-850, a good quality Technics turntable (the illustrious SL-1600), an 8-track deck (!) and a pair of Pioneer HPM-100 speakers. We set up those instruments of pleasure in our data processing shop and spent two months grooving to whatever tunes folks wanted play. Being out to sea meant that we kept late hours so music, very loud music, always accompanied our acey-ducey games, our geedunk runs and our late night mid-rat meals. Because were at sea on a man-o-war did not mean that we gave up our mota. On the contrary, we played cat and mouse for months with the Master at Arms. We would hide out in a fan room, smoke up and head back to our “secret” clearance office to continue our late night groove before the scent would find its way into some unsuspecting sleeping quarters or officer’s mess.

Those big speakers that rode the ocean waves are still moving around with me today. My musical tastes have continued to grow and my stereo systems have continued to evolve but playing music on those big speakers still remain my favorite way to listen to tunes. And while my old wood encased service era speakers remain in storage in far-away Washington I was happy to recently come across a pair of massive Sansui speakers at a local thrift store. I have been schlepping around a lot of smaller, bookshelf sized speakers the past few years, and while serviceable, have been lacking in roundness, warmth and power. Last week I combined a newer Pioneer Elite AV unit with those furniture class Sansuis and had the most satisfying music experience I have had in years. I know that I must have pissed off the neighbors that night but I had a mighty fine time. I know once I apply a big bowl of a good indica to that set up that my need for really loud sound will diminish remarkably.

What is even better is knowing that these days I can enjoy my music under the influence of cannabis and not be wondering if the music is going to bring down the heat. Today I don’t have that paranoia that I used to back in the day. I love the feeling knowing I have the power and the volume available to me but that I don’t have to use it. I can groove on the lightest dose of sound, put on those tunes and appreciate not only the complexities and thrills of my music but the fine nuances, variables and joy of my dope.

Getting older might mean having a nostalgia streak a mile wide. For me it means bringing things back into my life that matter, but with a sense of moderation and respect that I never had before.

Then again, on a Saturday morning, there is nothing quite as fine as Led Zeppelin roaring in the living room! Loud and proud, indeed!

Salud!

Judge Reinholdt selling a pair of speakers to a metal head

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNzr6lfiHJE

Pioneer SX-850!
http://classicreceivers.com/pioneer-sx-850

Ah, Pioneer HPM-100s!!
http://www.audioclassic.org/pioneer-hpm-100-vintage-speakers.html

A tale of two farms

I ain’t goin’ to bother seeking out Maggie’s Farm no more…

…least ways, not until the harvest season wraps up this fall.

To the point: I like sun grown cannabis. I like marijuana that takes root outside, that grow out in the air, that takes in the breeze, that is grown organically, that is given the space it needs to truly thrive and blossom. I like to see the plants tower above me, make the case for high fences and good neighbors. I like to know that my carbon footprint is lower by keeping light, fans, pumps and all things it takes to run an indoor warehouse grown at bay. I like the taste, the rangy looks, the bigger, more abundant heads of flower that come out of the outdoor garden.

Maybe I can blame Mendocino for that taste for outdoor grown but I think it really is that old school landrace thing again coming back to haunt me. My early marijuana days were packed with field grown dope from Mexico, Thailand, Columbia and Jamaica. I say bring it on again. And to that end I know that someday soon I will be able to taste it again thanks to businesses like Maggie's Farm and Pueblo County.

It was a good day for a drive to Colorado Springs, bright, sunny and pre-fall cool. I had it in mind to take in the North end Maggie’s Farm shop on Fillmore but a family friend came to my rescue and let me know that CS does not do recreational sales of cannabis inside city limits. Since I am not a card carrying medical patient here in Colorado I was bummed for a moment but then was told about Manitou Springs and the rec scene there. I brightened up immediately, broke out a pad of paper, got a Google Maps page up and scribbled down the data that I needed to get there. After a tasty lunch with my mujuer’s peeps we took a drive over to see the Garden of the Gods and got our walk in for the afternoon. It was a one-two punch because the drive out of the park emptied onto Manitou Blvd and the shop was right on the other side of the highway.

Things don’t always go the way you expect and I wandered around and over Manitou Springs in search of Maggie’s for a half hour but once I found it I was impressed by the signage, the ample amount of overflow parking and the armed security presence by the door. When you have the state’s second largest city funneling all its recreation users into a small burg I can imagine that things can get hairy. But not during my day on the farm. I got my ticket to ride when I walked in the door and was given a seat. Right away I got this vibe...very DMV, super busy, no moments to reflect or chat to get to know the staff or the product. Once my number was called I was ushered into yet another waiting room to further chill and be anxious about the zoom-zoom-zoom of the experience. Multiple screen let me know all about the products that were available that day. Alas, except for Blue Dream everything else I was shopping for was out of stock.

Two waiting rooms funneled customers in and out of the line up as fast as they came in the waiting room door. Only one gal to get us going in the door and three budtenders per room working the counters. I looked up and saw the screen with the bud of the day once again and told my tale of woe to the BT . He was sympathetic, even more so when I told him I was in there for “sun grown” cannabis, as that was the sole reason I came all that way to play. I had talked to many a bud tender over the course of the week, told everyone I was going to buy sun grown cannabis. They were confused as that type of cannabis was not normally found in Colorado,not unless you were purchasing it on the black market.

After I was told by the Maggie’s BT that there was no sun grown on the premises (“come back after the harvest!”) I left without purchasing anything. I did do a bit of research the morning after and looked into Pueblo County, where the owner of Maggie’s Farm has two more dispensaries. Medical is not allowed in Pueblo City but both recreational and medical are allowed in the surrounding county. Farms like Los Suenos are growing a wide variety of strains, and the county is hopping with new grows, a strong cannabis tax base and a very progressive populace. I feel that in order for me to truly experience Maggie’s sun grown experience I may have to take a drive and see what is happening in Pueblo county. From what I could glean from my research that upcoming drive just might be a very good time.

In the meantime, The Farm in Boulder is there to help keep me happy. My initial impression of the dispensary was the same that I felt for Francis Ford Coppola’s winery outside of Healdsburg in Northern California. Rolling into that place I felt the power and pleasure that big money could bring to a business. And while The Farm did not have movie props and well-heeled Bay area types sipping Chardonnay at the bar it still had that wonderful feel that comes with finally arriving at one’s destination. Walking in the door I could have been in any cool little boutique on Melrose or in Newport Beach or Beverly Hills. It was all upscale glass, wood and lighting, very chi-chi. The display cases were tastefully laid out with high quality glass, the walls had t-shirts and logoed products for sale, the staff was bright, cheerful, beautiful and gave off that feeling that said to me "yes, you belong here, take a seat and enjoy the show".

The back room was just as pleasant as the main floor lobby. The staff behind the counter encompassed a wide variety of ages, which was great as it was as nicely distributed as the folks who were in there to buy weed. I have been gravitating towards these types of dispensaries lately, ones where they have gray haired folks there like me ready to serve. The budtender that helped me that day was witty, pretty, chatty and kind. We had a nice unrushed talk about the state of cannabis in Colorado as well as the differing marijuana needs of the wild young party set versus those of us who are coming in for medicine and contemplative highs. My online menu perusing helped quite a bit as my shopping list in hand helped me get in and out gracefully and within budget. I bought a gram of Purple Hawaiian and one Sweet Island Skunk, both of which look and smell pretty, even if they seem somewhat underwhelming in their wee portions.

There was a world of difference between the Farms and I know that I will seek them both out again in the future. I know that I would like to go back to Manitou Springs, if anything to try out Emerald Fields (another nice looking, upscale shop) but then again I can shop at their Glenwood location and save myself a drive. I look forward to later on in the fall when the harvest comes in and I can take that drive down south. Sun grown was something I thought I left behind in the Emerald Triangle and I look forward to seeing what Colorado’s interpretation of the product is.

For now, though, it’s all greenhouse grown. Bring on the sungrown landrace strains, bring on the new and fabulously appointed interior designs and upscale merchandising. If we are going to move forward with cannabis as a society and have to pay the premium, tax wise, for indulging in this pastime then let’s make the experience the best we can make it. Cool, collect, pleasant and fun. I’m all for it. I bet you are, too.

Salud!

Maggie's Farm!

http://maggiesfarmmarijuana.com/

The Farm, Boulder!

http://www.thefarmco.com/

The thrill of the underground!

I am not sure what was more instructive or instrumental in shaking me to the very core of my being as a boy: finding my first stack of Playboys in a dumpster on the way home from my girlfriend’s house (circa 1969) or picking up my first handful of underground comix from a San Francisco freak at my local swap meet (circa 1972). The first one certainly improved my appreciation for the female form (and oh, boy, those articles!) but the other really throttled me and made me think much differently of the world that I was living in.

I grew up in a pretty conservative household, very Catholic, very uptight. As far as I was concerned, Orange County, for all its agrarian beauty, sparkling beaches, easy access to LA and Hollywood and acres of citrus groves, was a pretty much was on the other side of the moon. My county was happy being hard core Republican, the home of Richard Nixon, Disneyland and the John Birch Society. My old man was a barber, my mom a stay at home haus frau. I was a pudgy kid, goofy, not at all coordinated and a borderline loner. I had my pals to play with so I wasn’t bored, but I had an active imagination as well, something that kept me deep in the library stacks, into comics and actively writing stories, cartoons and poems when kids didn’t bother to come around.

When you are young and impressionable everything goes straight to your head. Movies ruined me like they must have ruined many a young man. Adult fiction was something I dove into well before I could even begin to understand what the hell authors were trying to get across to me. Music, well, I couldn’t shake my booty no matter how hard those little black gals tried to make me do it, but I listened deep into the night on my little transistor radio, picking up stations and songs that brought both light and darkness to my pre-adolescent soul.

But it was Catholic school that really redirected my life. I avoided going to my local junior high because I felt it was going to be too much like going off to gladiator school (let’s be fair here: I just didn’t want my butt kicked). So instead of having my ass beat by local toughs my intellect was pummeled for the next six years by a flock of psychotic nuns and a posse of bad ass Jesuits. My abuelas, happy for my salvation, sent cash along to my parents to pay for my tuition. I am sure that they felt that they had my course for life, which for them would have been a straight and narrow teen life and college straight out of high school. And that vision just might have been if it wasn’t for the triple triad influence of women, weed and work.

Standing on the sidelines of parochial school you might like to think that we were all angels, but it really that was just not the case. Prior to 7^th grade I had never known let alone hung out with such a pack of hellions. Junior high was where sex, drugs and rock and roll really got a hold of you if you were so inclined. At that time I wasn't, frankly, all of that stuff scared the hell out of me. But by degrees I began to see the light and then began to indulge. But first Hugh Hefner and his publishing empire had to kick around my moral core, and then, thanks to girlfriends, the LA Free Press, Boones Farm Apple Wine and endless triple bills viewed in the old grindhouses along Broadway in downtown Los Angeles, I found my world view expanding to the point where I felt I needed if not a mentor at least a tome that would make everything clear and come together.

That is where Zap Comix jumped into my life and changed everything. I can still remember the hardcore visceral thrill of finding a stack of them there at the Harbor Blvd Swap Meet, so exposed, precariously out in the open. Seeing that cover of Zap Comix was complete and total subversion! Opening them I was assaulted by a delicious sort of perversion. Could I get arrested for owning them? What would my parent think? What did I care? I took them home,snuck them into my room and waited for the house to get quiet. At last, when all was dark, I turned on a closet light,and cracked open those well worn pages.

Well, those black and white graphics jumped off the page and into my heart! I had no idea what the hell I was reading let alone seeing as I had no point of reference at all to refer it all to but whatever it was it spoke to me deeply. I felt like I had landed in a magical land that required the understanding of a completely new and different language to truly understand what I looking at. From that first comic on I went completely and totally native and began to scour the bookstores and second hands for more of the same. I had been reading Mad Magazine, Cracked, Marvel and DC comics for years but that one stack of gritty Frisco pulp changed not only how I viewed the comic arts but helped me see the world around me differently. Those people portrayed satirically in them lived all around me in my hyper conservative county and they all deserved a second look.

After reading that first stack of underground works I found myself hungry for more, not just more comix but for a taste of that world I saw portrayed in those cheap pulp pages. I wanted to find out what that dope stuff  Freewheelin' Franklin was talking about! I wanted to know more about that poontang that Mr. Natural was after! I wanted to be tough like Trashman, I wanted to be cool as the Keep on Truckin' guys! I woke up and began my journey of defiance and experimentation in ways that shocked my peeps and made me the envy of my peers, I wanted more and those comix were the first visa stamp on my passport to a world that I had been seeking all along!

Where I lived I was surrounded by people of color struggling to get on with their lives. I lived on the edge of a great Latino barrio and suddenly I became very much aware of their problems and issues. I became aware of Brown Power, of marijuana, of local guys blowing off school and getting their education on the streets and in the can. I didn’t look at my friends or my schooling or the County the same anymore. By the time I finished Catholic school, which these days is still is a very decent college prep school, I wasn’t ready to head off to college like my schoolmates, I was ready to join the service and see the world. And boy, did I ever.

So thanks Robert Crumb, Gilbert Shelton, Spain, Rick Griffin, Von Bode and all the rest of you. You guys changed my life forever and I am forever thankful!

Salud!

A quickie history of underground comix!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Underground_comix

Sessionable cannabis!

"Geeking out for new strains", indeed!

Until I started researching information for this blog piece I completely overlooked how much I love beer. Here I write my heart out about my passion for cannabis but my first true gateway drug was a can of Coors beer. I don’t know how old I was exactly when I popped the top of that 8 ounce can. It was summer time and I was at a party at my aunt’s house. They lived directly under the jet path to the Burbank airport. It was a post-war home, they had big trees in the back yard and best of all that night the neighbors had a barbeque going on, too.

I have no idea why my tia and my abuelita were game to give me a beer that night but I will chalk it up to being in the spirit of the evening. Nice sized crowd, a lot of family, a safe environment. Safe until I decided to climb the garage so I could see over the fence into the adjoining yard, just so I could check out what the neighbors had going on. I suppose that bit of lunacy could be attributed to the loosing up of my psyche while under the influence of an intoxicant. I would rather just say that my young brain completely dug the effects of that small beer. I got an earful for climbing up on that garage but I learned right then and there that there was a whole different kind of fun awaiting me out there and I just had to get a bit older to find it.

Now, these days I don’t climb up on garages when I have a cold one, no more so than I would when I pack and fire up a bowl. No, I think of myself as a mellow sort of guy. I like to take things slow and easy. When I drink beer with friends I like to be able to talk and eat, enjoy myself, not stumble around, black out or say things that I might regret later. I only recently stumble on the word "sessionable” and I absolutely love it as it applies to beer drinking. I like the idea of being able to go low and slow, to have a drink in my hand all afternoon or evening and be able to walk away from the fray. I like to drink beer and want to have a good time with it. I like my beer tasty but simple. The same applies to my cannabis.

Somehow I have this impression that “back in the day” cannabis was a more sessionable plant. This could be why right now I have such a fascination for the landrace strains. They were basic, direct and to the point as far as their high was concerned. I pretty much knew what to expect, what kind of high I was going to get when I fired up a joint of Colombian or Mexican Gold. Get you high was what those old time sativas were wont to do, and I and my friends (you just didn’t smoke alone in those days), thanks to their moderate THC levels, would be able to keep on rolling and puffing all night long, and, at the end of it all, if we hadn’t munched ourselves into a stupor, could get up and go home with only a slight bit of impairment.

This is not to say that we didn’t get our world rocked when we sparked up. We got high, we just didn’t get our clocks cleaned out like we do now. We had a good time, we laughed, we ate, we watched movies, we were social, just the way I am when I have friends over and indulge in a good sessionable beer. I had to take a look at that word online and wow, what a stream of articles came out of that search! So, not wanting to keep it to myself I wanted to share with you my bounty of links. Some will be for session beer, some will be for cannabis beer, some are leads for brewers here in Colorado that make ABV 5.0 or less beer and others will give you a beer-focused view on the extremes folks are going to in that field just to be novel.

I think novelty is grand but what I really love are the basic application of simple things. A good crisp apple, a strong black cup of French pressed coffee, a plain doughnut with just a hint of nutmeg, a burger with cheese, onions and touch of sauce. I like my Hawaiian shirts wild, my music loud and my movies anytime, day or night, but when I deal with those things I like to work within the parameters of my preferences. When it comes to beer and weed I like them simple, close to the source and sociable. Couch lock? A stumbling beer blow out? Yeah, a time and place for then, too, but on the most part I want to be out and about, feel good about my vices and be able share them with you.

So, let’s fire up the bbq, fill the cooler with a good quality session beer and roll up a doobie. Get comfortable, we got all night.

Salud!

Oh, so many things to read!

https://www.leafly.com/news/food-travel-sex/beer-cannabis-pairing-guide/

http://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/dudes-brews-to-release-worlds-first-line-of-high-cbd-cannabis-infused-craft-beer-300131016.html

http://buddingfortcollins.com/welcome-world-marijuana-infused-beer/

http://www.thecannabist.co/2015/01/26/oskar-blues-beer-pinner-marijuana/28560/

http://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/05/hoppy_beer_is_awful_or_at_least_its_bitterness_is_ruining_craft_beer_s_reputation.html

https://www.thrillist.com/drink/nation/craft-beer-is-dead-gose-ruined-craft-beer

http://www.denverpost.com/2016/09/13/denver-beer-scene-through-german-eyes/

http://www.dcbeer.com/news/session-vs-sessionable-refining-dialogue-not-getting-slizzered

https://www.beeradvocate.com/articles/653/

http://www.denverpost.com/2014/07/14/session-beers-for-when-youre-having-more-than-one/

Who would want to argue for lesser quality cannabis anyways?

Great article posted in the Cannabis Business Executive! Be sure to read and print out the STATS guide and take it with you whenever you go shopping for cannabis! Invaluable!

Craft of Cannabis: The Argument for High Quality Cannabis

August 19, 2016 by Matthew Huron 1 Comment

By Matthew Huron

On New Year’s Day in 2014, recreational marijuana dispensaries across Colorado opened their doors. For the first time, consumers 21 years of age and older were able to buy high quality Cannabis—just as they’d been able to buy liquor, beer, and wine for decades.

Many consumers were just happy to be able to get out of the shadows and back alleys and walk into a regulated storefront where they could purchase a product that they knew was safe for consumption at that time. After more than two years later, the novelty of being able to walk into a dispensary has worn off for many. Consumers realize that “Not All Cannabis Is Created Equal,” and a generation of Cannabis aficionados is emerging.

After decades of operating in the shadows, basements, and warehouses across the country, we are now able to operate in the light of day. As the industry flourishes, we’re building the foundation for those who follow our lead in the creation of high quality Cannabis for generations to come. At Good Chemistry Nurseries, this expectation of exceptional product and production excellence is the foundation of our business. It’s an exciting time in the Cannabis Industry.

High Quality Cannabis

If you want to grow exceptional Cannabis you can’t just plant it, give it water, nutrients and light, and expect exceptional results. Cannabis is not a typical agricultural crop. It is more than a pistil, a stamen and petals. Cannabis is a myriad of components—a mosaic and a pharmacopeia unto itself. The hairs turn into flowers; the bud is a collection of thousands of flowers and those collections become their own form. Each bud on a plant has a particular shape that is unique to its strain and to the plant kingdom.

As a dispensary owner, there is an enormous responsibility to educate our customers and guide them on this journey. Many consumers are canna-curious and want to know what all of the fuss is about; however, they are often intimidated to ask questions and learn more. Building courage to visit a dispensary is the first step for consumers, then it is up to us dispensary owners to provide them with comprehensive and helpful information that will ensure the best experience possible.

We believe that knowing how to assess the quality of Cannabis flower is key to having the best possible experience. That is why we developed a technique called S.T.A.T.S.(Sight, Touch, Aroma, Taste and Sensation)—a stylish, easy-to-use free consumer Cannabis evaluation guide for assessing the quality of Cannabis flower. S.T.A.T.S. is a guide to helping consumers evaluate essential aspects of the flower in order to make the most informed and satisfying purchase decisions.

Just as American consumers have become more knowledgeable about quality wine and craft beer, consumers want to know how to quickly and easily assess high quality cannabis. As Cannabis becomes mainstream like a glass of wine, customers are asking for tips on how to navigate the wide world of Cannabis. It is up to us to lead the way.

There is an almost infinite range of experiences and effect of being lifted through Cannabis. Good Chemistry strives to help consumers navigate their experiences by establishing a pioneering category system that helps people navigate the world of Cannabis across many levels. These categories include Amplify, Relax, Relieve, and Sleep. Good Chemistry’s Categories are yet another way we are striving to help our customers and patients harness the power of this remarkable flower.

We are deeply grateful to be living and working at a time that we can make a positive impact on people’s health, safety, freedom and overall wellbeing. We are committed to being leaders in making life better for people through the growth, production and use of Cannabis. To that end, we’re constantly striving to educate our customers, because an educated customer is the best customer.

We welcome all members of the new generation of high quality Cannabis aficionados and hope you will join us in this mission.

Filed Under: The Buck Stops Here

About The Author:

Matthew Huron

Matthew Huron started Good Chemistry Colorado in 2010 and is currently Chief Executive Officer. With 15 years of experience in the marijuana industry, one of the most experienced cultivators of marijuana in the United States. Huron became involved in the medical marijuana industry when his father and his father’s partner were diagnosed with HIV/AIDS. In 1996, when medical marijuana became available in California, Huron saw firsthand the symptomatic relief patients experienced from this alternative medical treatment. In 2000, he began growing medical marijuana for AIDS patients throughout the state, founding and operating a nonprofit medical marijuana co-op that became one of the most respected and well-known facilities in San Francisco. In 2010, he launched Good Chemistry Colorado, a vertically integrated cannabis company in the state.Since 2010, Huron has expanded cultivation operations in two large Colorado facilities that are devoted solely to the production of more than 60 strains of marijuana and the production of extracts and concentrates through solvent-less processing. Huron is a founding board member of the Cannabis Business Alliance (CBA) and a founder and former board member of the National Cannabis Industry Association (NCIA). He has served on the Colorado Department of Revenue’s Medical Marijuana Enforcement Division’s (MED) Licensing Authority Advisory Committee, which was charged with advising regulators on the development of production management, tax and other policies pertaining to the use of marijuana.

Salud!

Sunny side of the day!

In a word. “Perfect!”

You might be wondering what a delightful road trip, three Goodwill stores, an Indian food buffet, a live music fest, a world class dispensary and the second to last weekend of the season at Lakeside Amusement Park have in common with cannabis?

Nothing, really,

But then again, maybe a lot.

For starters it felt like cannabis was all around us yesterday, not in our face but in a warm friendly kind of way. It could have been, too, that we were celebrating community family life out and about in town and that was the order of the day, From my experience the kind bud just doesn’t surface when the kids are in and around and under foot, never a bad thing, I think. But more than anything, I feel that Cannabis has arrived in this state, has shown itself to be a positive social lubricant and because of of it's ubiquity is pretty much accepted here in Colorado as a good, not an evil. My overall impression? It just doesn't seems to be a big thing here, not in the way the reefer madness crowd would like for us to think.

Now, this isn’t to say that I didn’t see mention of it over the course of the day. Commercially it's a big thing here.  Mota leaves were up there for all to see on signage for rec shops and dispensaries all along the way from Greeley to Denver. Local papers were loaded with ads, too. Westword and the Boulder Weekly had plenty of advertisements for cannabis products in the back pages of their rags. With the enticing billboards and all the ad space filled up you just have to figure that marijuana is booming here along the Front Range. But even with the big splashy print ads and all the rest of the wonderment around us I never really felt the presence of marijuana, not in the negative scary way that the drug warriors warned us about..

Indeed, with all that mota floating around out there you would think that doobies would be dangling from everybody’s lips, but, thankfully, that’s just not the case. Folk are paying attention to local ordinance and to state laws because I believe most folks like this privilege of being able to smoke pot freely in their homes. Except for a sniff or two at the amusement park last night (and hey, we got there at late twilight and the park, with it’s neon stoked visuals, practically begged for a high!) there was no sign that folks were running amok with their heads full of cannabis smoke. It really was the other way around. It was a mellow time, a true meeting of the tribes and all through the night was a delight.

Now, I am a true believer that you don't need cannabis to be happy. I am a happy man generally speaking and my family would be happy to verify that if you asked them. Yes, I am sure that my perfect day yesterday was deeply colored by my love for my peeps. We had a perfect family outing, a true happy, happy, joy, joy kind of day. We shopped well, found cool things to do and eat, we got along all day long, money wasn’t tight, the weather was perfect and the venue for music very sweet and uplifting. The Sunnyside Music Fest was truly the unexpected highlight of the day. Free music, food and merchandise vendors around the perimeter of the park, lots of cold beer and tons and tons of great family vibes. I have to thank the Denver Post for the article on Friday that got us there on Saturday. We now have a favorite neighborhood and destination in the city, a launch pad for weekends and a target neighborhood to shoot for.

But getting back to cannabis. We were out and about all around the region…a campus business zone on game day, a live outdoor neighborhood music scene, an old school amusement park after dark…and nowhere did I experience the socially detrimental side of cannabis that the anti-drug warriors would like for us to fear. Alcohol was more visibly displayed (and socially accepted) as we made our way round town than pot. As for alcohol we were encouraged to buy and drink up at the music fest because the non-profit event was in part funded by our libation purchases (I was a good citizen and did my part). I love my beer, love my wine and have no issues with drink in general but what I want to say here is that mota, as an entity and as a socially acceptable drug in and to itself, was a player, a silent partner in all those events and not at all negative from what I could see.

So, knowing that it was swirling all around me I had to play a part in the grand social experiment, too. It was hard to be on the Northside and not pick up some mota for myself so I stopped by the Oasis Cannabis Superstore once again and bought a couple grams of flower. It was a fine visit, complete with great service and an overwhelming amount of pot to chose from. Now, don't take that less than energetic set of sentences as a sign that I wasn’t pleased with the experience because I was pleased greatly. I left the store in a complete state of awe. Rather, what I am seeing and loving about this great experiment here in Colorado is that cannabis is just doesn’t feel to me like an issue. It’s the norm now and that is beyond cool. Walking in and out of that pot shop was like stopping in at Wilbers in Fort Collins and walking out with an assorted case of wine, For me, buying pot, getting high here is the social equivalent of smiling, or being polite, or being libertarian, in the way that says you do your thing and I’ll do mine and we just leave each other to our own devices and thanks to that we’ll just all get along.

I feel that cannabis is allowing for that in a big way. Allowing for us to just all get along. It just seems to be and feels so normal that at times I think we are not even noticing it.

Again, I wasn’t tripping among the Travelers at the mall downtown or hanging with folks at the Mission who do have social issues or economic problems beyond drugs. I was with my peeps, amidst regular folks doing regular things. And, certainly, I went out and about with a touch of tincture under my tongue. I was happy in the kind of way kind that allow my gal to shop for clothes till the cows come home. With that slight bit of buzz I can groove on art and music and film and it all works out well in the end. And yes, the food did taste better that day, and yes, with a bit of mota cruising through my veins I could watch the world go by and let folks do their thing. With a touch of dope you can find joy in old neon light and take the zoom-zoom-zoom of carnival rides just a bit better than could ever with a belly full of beer. Life just seems to be better and buddy, there is nothing wrong with that.

With cannabis we all just seem to have better days. We are hard wired for that plant and with that plant we all find ways to get along better.

So, in the end, I just want to thank my peeps for their generosity of spirit, thank Sunnyside for the grand music time, thank Goodwill donators that allowed for us to have such a stupendous haul, thank the crew of that anonymous Indian food joint in Boulder for a delicious lunch spread and thank Lakeside Amusement Park for still being around after all these years.  But mostly I just wish to thank the citizens of Colorado for passing Amendment 64. Your great bravery at the polls has turned into a grand social experiment and from what I can tell it is working out beautifully!

Salud!

Lakeside Amusement Park!

A great article on Sunnyside!
http://www.denverpost.com/2014/12/23/sunnyside-neighborhood-in-nw-denver-thriving-amid-success-of-highland/