Close calls!

Lady Luck...ah, what a babe she is!

Wrapping up the last day of your enlistment with an honorable discharge paper in hand is the dream that most servicemen and women aspire to. I know that towards the end of my time in the fleet I thought of myself as a pretty squared away sailor and that most of my superiors thought of me that way as well. I know that I arrived at that good opinion of my betters pretty late in the game. I also know for a fact that I was a complete and total hell raiser for the first three to four years and it was only with the arrival of Z in  my life in late ’79 that things took a turn for the better. Thank god. I am sure that if things had continued the way they had that I might have ended up in the brig, busted down to seaman, or possibly worse. What the hell. It didn’t go that way but here’s a list of the times that I can remember where it just might of ended up badly for Senior Mota Man:

Room Raid, C School Naval Training Center, San Diego: I know that the cooks were all to blame. One good time with fabulous blotter acid from San Francisco and my big mouth just had to tell the world about it. Before I knew it my roommates were not only partaking but selling it as well. The Naval Investigative Service found nothing that early AM raid. They did wonder about the string incense I had in my desk drawer, though. Perplexed them completely. 

Downtown San Diego, off Broadway: San Diego Vice was always happy to set up a sting for ignorant. less than street smart squidies. One time they got close to bagging me but no cigar. A very raggedy looking guy showed off his wares to us in an alcove off the main drag. It was funny how the cops swooped in the moment that feller stepped away. It wasn't funny how they used all the downtown junkies as informants. Tough town in those days, not the tourist mecca it is today. No bust, just hassles. Enough to scare a lad, though, no doubt about it.

Balboa Park, NIS: another one of those interesting sting operations but this time it was the Naval Investigative Service instead of the local cops. Just a bunch of us sitting in the park one Sunday afternoon, fried out of our brains, when a "cool" kind of sailor walked up and asked if we were holding. Nope. Walked away after the bad vibe became a little bit too heavy. Saw a photo in the next day's newspaper of the same guy sitting with a bunch of sailors, headlines blaring about the big arrests they made that day. A real dragnet. This little fish got away.

Shipmate crashing the car, Santa Ana: Too much to drink, too loaded to drive. Thank goodness for friends, right? Nope, not when they've been drinking as much as you. Why I gave the wheel over to that guy is lost in the fog of time. All I know is that while I was leaning over loading up the bota bag he was leaning over and was punching the switch to the 8-track player. Ooops. Hitting a car driven by two seniors was not the thing to do when we were both loaded to the gills. One night in the pokey for me, three days away from the fleet for him. My car wasn't totaled but it cosmetically challenged. And it cost me big bucks to take care of the lawyer. My reputation in the shop was secured: madman.

Wallet, photo sleeve: Santa Ana: the night I checked out of my deluxe accommodations at the OC jail I was given back my wallet. The jailer went through my belongs and then handed them back to me. I had to walk home that night because the old man was out drinking with the boys. I ended up sleeping in a hammock under a tree in my mom's yard. The next day I went looking through my wallet to make sure everything was there. It was then that I discovered that I had a half dozen hits of four way window pane in my photo holder. It was already enough to deal with the hangover and to know that I had to not only get my beater out of the wrecking yard but that I had to contact the insurance and find a way back to the fleet, too. Sigh. All things were made better that night with psychedelics. Madman, indeed. 

Dogs in the shop, end of first WESTPAC: Nothing like drug dogs sniffing hard right above your stash to make your bowels loose. Moments after pulling into San Diego the customs folks came on board, replete with dogs,. They walked through the shop but there was possibly too much steel and rubber in the flooring to make their day. Made my day after they left. I distinctly remember hearing from folks how white I got when the dogs walked in. Missed an opportunity to see what the inside of the brig looked like that day. Pity.

Matchbox, Officer of the Watch, Acapulco: After a night of disco dancing at La Botella I hit the quarterdeck and was asked to empty my pockets. There was a bunch of us, it was late and who wants to stand in the half light and go through everyone's belongings, anyway? I got a cursory search, the end of my matchbox was pulled down, not out and I was sent on my way. Little did I know that when I was on the beach the ship's barber gave me his matches. In the matchbox was a sizeable amount of cannabis. Shit. Close call. Good dope, too. What matchbox?

Matrix Printer, DP shop, Manila: Liberty call, liberty call! But before I hit the gangplank a good toke was in order. Jumped up to the shop, stepped behind the matrix dot printer to the vent and sparked a Navy Pen bowl's worth of Thai stick and then took my leave. Heard the next day that no sooner than I left the shop the Chief Master at Arms came in, raiding. I was wondering why I was getting the hard eye from him as I walked away down the pier.

Computer Room, Vents, Underway: Boys like to have fun, especially during  mid-watch. Two of us, stoned to the bone, were visited by two Master at Arms that night. We had Cheap Trick blaring, acey ducey board by our sides. They looked hard at us but didn't have us empty our pockets. Too bad, the wisps of mota in the fluff of my pocket would have been enough to bust me.

Marine guard, 32^nd Street: Ah, Mom's garden weed! To the bunch of us coming off of liberty in the midst of a mota drought it was enough for a reasonable buzz. Could have been more than enough to send all six of us to the brig. Thank you, young Marine guard at the gate of 32nd Street! You were our age and a smoker, too, no doubt!

Driving in Yokosuka, Riot Police: Z and I liked our weed and we liked to watch movies out on the economy. Took our cool little Honda back to Yokosuka to catch a flick, eyes red as stop signs. Little did we know that there was a kinda riot thang going on. Street after street of heavily armed riot police were there to harsh our mellow. We didn't say that at the time, of course. It was more like "holy shit!" We got to the movies but, wow, did it straighten out our high!

Wow With all that it's a wonder I ever got to use that GI Bill of mine! I suppose that is what makes living here in a legalized state such a mind bending thing. Almost surreal in it's peacefulness. Nonetheless I am happy for it all. Happy for the adventures, happy to have them behind me.

Salud!

"Good people don't smoke marijuana"

I have NO idea what the heck this guy is talking about. I am a very good person! Maybe this man needs to look in the mirror, figure out what "good people" means. Yes, Alabama Senator Jeff Sessions, a very SCARY, SCARY man indeed!

Now here's a real piece of work. I know we were all freaked out when Christie and Guiliani were beng considered then this guy was announced as Trump's nominee for Attorney General, right out of the blue. He's the man who will truly come down hard on illegal immigrants, who will make sure that laws supporting women's rights disappear. But it's his years of solid support behind cannabis prohibition that should make anyone in the marijuana industry very, very afraid right now. I was already very leery about moving forward and jumping into the world of cannabis when the results rolled in on election day, but once I read about this man being considered for AG I have put my dreams and desires of being part of the great experiment on hold.

There are still many hurdles in place before this waking nightmare becomes a living, breathing setback to years of state's rights and cannabis legislation. With the scratch of his pen everything that has been building up as positive and meaningful for the cannabis industry could disappear overnight. I have to wonder, when I think of the billions of dollars that are moving around legitimately in this industry, if businessman like Trump could really want to support this kind of crack pot mentality? Putting Sessions in charge of cannabis laws would be a major setback to an industry that is bringing in really big tax dollars, supporting thousands of jobs, bringing real health relief to millions and bringing closure to years of racial profiling, Read the posts below and do a bit more research if need be but more than anything write your legislators today, make sure that they feel the heat, make sure that they know that their seats in Congress are on the line if this nomination goes through.

No appointment for Jeff Sessions, With a Trump presidency our democracy is already hanging in the balance. Our freedoms, our liberty, as they apply to all things cannabis, should not as well.

Salud!

Oregon Cannabis Connection editorial!
http://www.occnewspaper.com/cannabis-industry-nightmare-sen-jeff-sessions-nominated-for-attorney-general/

New York Times story:
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/22/us/california-today-jeff-sessions-marijuana.html?_r=0

NPR interview!
http://www.npr.org/2016/11/22/503052567/jeff-sessions-appointment-poses-threat-to-booming-marijuana-industry

Huffington Post weighs in!
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/jeff-sessions-marijuana_us_582f58d5e4b030997bbf479c

If I had my druthers the Mojave is where I'd rather be!

The upper Mojave has always been a special place to me. Maybe it came from watching the movie "Them!" one too many times as a kid. Spooky it was to me back then. But on New Year's Eve, 1981, I went out there with my father, my new wife and a lot of motorcycle heads, We lit off fireworks, shot off black powder guns, threw too many beer bottles in fire pits filled with Joshua Tree trunks (we were tasked with fishing out those melted bottles the next day by Pappy's wife, believe it) and even dropped a bit of quality acid to round things out (and boy oh boy did those high desert stars shine bright that night!).

On my way to Colorado last December I passed through that stretch of desert once again, took in my share of the views, knowing that it could be awhile before I would get a chance to see it all again. A year later I am champing at the bit for a taste of that desert life. I am not finding my place here the way that I thought I would and so, thanks to the internet and various job search sites, I have dropped a line to Banning and have one in the works for San Berdoo, just to see if they might be interested in having me serve their communities.

My mujuer and I are partial to the desert. Her take on them is up Nevada way but I think we can find a way to meet in the middle. We just find that this place is a bit too dry, too conservative, too filled up with townies, for our tastes and that is just not what we wanted or expected. The desert has it's own vibe, it's own way of marking time and dealing with politics. I know that the Mojave has it's share of hardships, too, but man, the joys! Sunsets to die for, wide expanses of nothingness, Baker and it's alien jerky! Palm Springs! Las Vegas! Calico! Calico? Well, the history geek in me has to have something to see!

In the meantime I post pictures here and wait to see what happens. One thing I know for certain and that's is cannabis is making out to be the big time crop out there in those little desert towns and the management of those cities have their arms spread wide open for that kind of municipal tax action. If libraries are not in my future, and if Sessions, or whoever gets the AG spot, can keep their hands off our mota, the desert just might be the place to be. Or so says the man who just can't stand air conditioning!

Salud!

Ah, Desert Hot Springs! Mota Mecca!
http://www.latimes.com/local/la-me-marijuana-cultivation-20160510-story.html

"Them!", the trailer!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4URRp39XOo

Dealer McDope will not be under my tree this year!

Could be a bummer of a Christmas.

The Official Dealer McDope Game, based on the famous Gilbert Shelton comix character, is not going to be under my tree this year. Sigh. A long hard slog through Google and all the various leads that are posted there just goes to show that this hard to secure classic needs a reprint job, pronto. I loved reading through all the comments and such, from fans and from folks who have found it in the stacks and from those who want a copy of it dearly. I guess I need to add my name to that list!. Many fond memories, or, for those who played the game by the rules just a bit too hard (a puff or a shot for each turn!) possibly not much in the way of the memories department at all!

I loved my underground comix as a lad but somehow this game eluded me. I know for certain I wouldn't have been able to play this at home, never mind on board ship (cards and acey-ducey were our games of choice back then). I know for sure we couldn't have had it on the beach (not in Japan, anyway, not with Naval Intelligence and the Japanese police always looking for reasons to bust us). No, I missed out on picking up a copy at The Black back in '78. For whatever reason I decided to look it up today. Lots of leads, lots of items with "sold out" notices posted. Not much fun for a guy who just wants to get down with this board game on New Years Day!

Tell me, how does this game sound to you? Here's a product description from Amazon:

Product Description

We've all had fantasies of making the million dollar deal. We've even worked out some of the details--indulged in thoughts of exotic dope ports, tons of contraband and that enormous bank roll in our pocket. Lots of folks are coming out these days telling us what dealing big time was all about, but we know one thing for sure: McDope went to all those places, played and panicked, scored and whored, and now that he is legit he wanted to pass along to you the way it was really done. So sit back and cop to some fantastic entertainment. Leave Doobietown, USA and journey to an intriguing port of call, score caches of dop and return home anxious to sell. Sounds simple and it is, as long as karma, skill, and the roll of the dice are on your side and you don't get hassled at any borders, ripped off by your partners, or busted. Enter the world of Dave Sheridan's classic comic book character, Dealer McDope, and reenact the hilarious scenarios with each roll of the dice.

Lots of cool snapshots from a personal collector! Thanks!
http://imgur.com/gallery/3wRIo

Board Game Geek link!
https://boardgamegeek.com/boardgame/10783/official-dealer-mcdope-dealing-game

Download it. Really?
http://harmonysite.wixsite.com/wizardsblog/single-post/2016/01/12/Download-Dealer-Mcdope-Game

In the meantime, anyone out there ever play this game? Is it as good as it sounds? Is the art as cool as I think it is? And, what the hell, if you have a copy and wish to unload it, drop me a line!

Salud!

Goodwill R Us!

We are a second handing kind of family. In all the years I have been with my partner we have never shopped at a department store. Target doesn’t count, neither does Walmart or Fred Myers. We just like the bargains we find in the aisles of junk shops, thrift stores, flea markets, pawn shops, swap meets and consignment shops. Why pay retail when you can find perfectly reasonable goods at a much better price?

One things for certain is that all that second handing fills up basements and garages but that is a different story entirely. This story is just about one outing that we had recently. It was a good time, a way to unwind from a week. Some folks would not think that going to a hip urban center to hit up a fifty percent off sale on the weekend before Thanksgiving would be anything but restful, for those of us who tend to like their CBDs and a touch of tincture before lunch, well, a little dab will do ya.

What made the outing even more fun was taking my boy along with me. He and I hit up second hands and we are on different missions entirely. At first I could not get why the young dude was not hitting up the books, movies and toys with the same enthusiasm and interest as I had. But, once I tuned into my own personal history channel I got it: when I used to go to the swap meet with my mom I would be given the same treatment. What my mom dug on was completely different than what I was into. It took years for her to get that I wasn’t into carnival glass and ceramic dolls. She was and that was cool. Me, I would go after Marx toy soldiers, comic books and just plain old weird shit. 

Whatever floats your boat.

So this day it was really about that boat floating stuff. The aisles were packed with bargain shoppers. Every time a new cart would come out of the back sorting room it was pandemonium. Folks hit those bins like locusts. The boy and I did our rounds. I cruised the electronics, the books and the cds, he tagged along with me, doing his best to look interested and to read titles on movies the best he could. 

My dear was around the corner getting her hair fixed, so we had the time, until she got there, to ourselves. But after a while the noise was just a bit too much, even with subtle waves of cannabis bliss cruising through my system. It was time for a time out so we wandered over to the furniture section and grabbed two identical wingback chairs. By that time he found an M&M one armed bandit and I had a stack of prints to mull over. The shoppers wove their way around us as we sat there. I felt as if we had turned into a large rock in a fast moving stream. We sat there, the boy engrossed in his future winnings, I with my art, all sedated, happy and eager for the arrival of the good mother.

I loved what I came away with that day: six movies, four cds, a nice Northwest watercolor, a strange arsty thermometer, two bedroom lamps and an African carving. The boy scored a brand new snap on cover for his Ipad. The mujuer scored clothes and gosh, what else? Oh so much. Once again we left with filled up bags of stuff that we “needed”. Well, we needed the lamps. The light in the bedroom was killing my eyes.

So, the moral of this story? Buy second hand, get good deals, forego the mark-ups of retail. And if you should ever decide to do that kind of shopping on half-off days, go medicated.  It’s one hell of a lot easier on the brain, the heart and the soul. Plus, wow, it was just so much fun checking out all those strange things stoned!

Salud!

The crystal ball is hazy...check back later!

June 14th, 1940, the day the Germans marched into Paris. Folks who witnessed that event probably felt a lot like many folks have felt like since Election Day. I am still in shock. My partner worries for me. I am close to cancelling my New York Times newspaper subscription and to swearing off of Google News. Monitoring the daily news feed has just been too freaking depressing!

It's not as if I haven't lived through a Republican administration before. I have and I survived. I managed to live through the presidencies of Nixon, Reagan and two Bushes. The world slid into a recession with the last Republican in office but this time it feels as it we have a lot more at stake. More than just losing our position as leader of the free world. I feel basic freedoms are on the verge of slipping away and I worry that there is not to much we can do about it, not in the normal sense. Marching in the streets is just not my style but who knows? Fashion sense changes regularly and rapidly at times.

What worries me even more these days is the nomination of Jeff Sessions for Attorney General. Just Googling that man you can see that we have a lot to worry about. I am concerned about many things that could go south if that man is appointed...civil rights, voters rights, immigration, sexual orientation rights amongst many. But even more, to think that we could have a hard liner in the AGs seat who could roll back, with the stroke of a pen, all the gains we have made in cannabis legislation, makes me very sad and a hard man to live with.

Fuck. I have already said no to Just Say No policies and mindsets. I have willingly smashed all beakers set before me that I would unwilling place my piss in. I have already put away my paranoia and have said "no more" to unreasonable searches and seizures. I gave away my reefer madness, I have driven around the road blocks, the pat downs, the fear that my life was made up of for so many years.

Maybe I put away those things too soon. We will see.

Sure, the Donald said during his campaign that he would let the states continue on with their cannabis experimentation but then again, Mr Trump said many things during the campaign that he has flip flopped on endlessly. This could yet be another one of those things.

Taking the bigger view of life, being a responsible partner and dad, sometimes means having to set aside personal needs and interests. The fate of marijuana legislation on both state and federal levels is just one more thing that we, as free, libertarian thinkers, have to be concerned about but it is, in the end, just one more thing. I will try to take the high road, no pun intended, these next few months and like everyone else in the industry, take a breath and wait to see what happens. My dreams of joining the merry ranks of folks who are currently serving the needs of MMJ patients and happy everyday tokers may have to be put on hold for a bit. I was poised and ready to do something else with my life and that may have to wait awhile, maybe even through another presidential cycle. In the meantime I will still be here at the library dispensing information and hoping for the best, all the while keeping a weather eye out for the loss of liberty here in the Republic while I anxiously put my pen to a passport application.

Vancouver, BC, is such a nice city. Legalized cannabis in Canada in 2017, anyone?

Salud!

A different take on the Trump/cannabis world view:
http://mjbizdaily.com/rep-rohrabacher-optimistic-on-future-of-cannabis-under-trump/

Scary man!
http://www.thecannabist.co/2016/11/18/trump-attorney-general-marijuana-legalization-enforcement/67892/

Another take on the Sessions debacle!
http://www.thecannabist.co/2016/11/22/marijuana-legalization-suddenly-in-danger/68065/

The state of cannabis in the State of California:
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/22/us/medical-marijuana-is-legal-in-california-except-when-its-not.html

The Wizard!

It’s a snowy day and I am bored. Shouldn’t be, mind you, because I am sitting here at my desk at work. I am looking out the window at the falling snow and I am filled with nostalgia for other, less snowy, times.

It’s easy to want to sit and surf the web on the last day of the work week. Today I stumbled on an article about Chicano Park in San Diego. Found out that the park was recently elevated to National Historical Monument status. How cool is that? Chicano Park was right down the way from 32^nd Street, where the USS Blueridge, my home away from home as a young man, was moored. Thinking about that ship made me think of liberty call and the weekends I would spend back at my mom’s house. Those days were rare but when they came around they were always blessed with freedoms we never experienced on board ship. Ah, late sleep ins, no bunk racks, no navy chow! Now, grant it, going home had its hardships. too. I gave up my room to my younger brother when I went off to join the fleet, something that was to be expected. So, if I wanted any kind of privacy or peace went I went home I had to banish myself to the attic. Not as bad as it sound, no indeed. And it was especially fine after my first WESTPAC and the arrival of all my PI stereo gear. And the best thing about those weekend getaways? The paranoia free use of cannabis.

My mom was a 30’s era LA Chicana, an old school mota head. By the time I made my way into the service she knew better than to tell me not to smoke dope. But she still had to draw a line somewhere as far as use of it in the house was concerned. Hence the attic. Besides the privacy it did have a few, if limited, attractions. The floor was solid oak, leftover from the days when the attic was not any attic but the actual second story of the house.  It was dark, musty and riddled with old iron pipe jutting up through the floor. It was eerie at times, playing up there on cold winter nights as a boy, knowing that there was an open chimney hole to fall into. The space had no windows, only vents, which added to a funky sweat lodge feel during those hot SoCal summers.

I come from a long line of pack rats. My mom was a collector of antiques and such and used the attic space as a secondary storage space for all her swap meet stock. It turned the place into a strange, wacky and moody kind of carnival funhouse. An old Persian carpet, an assortment of tiffany lamps, a handful of wicker furniture and a smattering of old prints gave the place a very bohemian touch and added a certain San Francisco Haight Ashbury flair to the joint. A young guy couldn’t get much luckier than that. I had tried my hand at renting rooms on the weekends, and had spent many a day kicking around San Diego in search of fun and mischief, but going home was one step closer to a form of sanity I understood and I embraced it.

What truly made it a refuge was knowing I could bring home cannabis and not have to worry about hiding it. Sure, I had a locked stash box. And no, I wasn’t just going to leave it lying around when I headed back down south (as noted my mom liked her dope, too). But I didn’t have to stash my dope under a railway bridge or stuff it into someone’s hedge to have it in my life. I loved the comfort of having a stash of weed to come home to, but more, knowing I could add to it and build it up a bit over time. So, before too long buying weed became a routine: work the week away on board ship, line up a dealer for the weekend, make the score and then thumb my way home for a couple days of r and r.

Once I became the sultan of my space I had to have the proper accessories for enjoying my grass. I had a few glass and wood one-hitters, plenty of Zig Zag and Reezla rolling papers, but what I needed for long term pleasure and enjoyment was a proper bong. We had access to plenty of headshops along the coast and I took my time finding the right piece. I had always fancied a bamboo bong but couldn’t find one those. There were towering glass pieces, ones made from PVC, but my funky artsy sensibilities took over the search. Finally, at The Black in Ocean Beach, I found the bong of my dreams: The Wizard, designed and sculpted by Jim Rumph.  It was about 8 inches tall, cleverly done, solid, heavy and functional as all get out. I took it up north and proceeded to put it to work and it soon became the mainstay of my weekend soirees.

I had that wonderful bong for a number of years and kept it smoking through the early nineties. I have to think that Just Say No, pee tests and a less than enthusiastic wife put a stop to the fun. In the end, what happened to that guy is a mystery. I know for certain that he is long gone but apparently not forgotten, not by me or all the other folks out there who happened to get lucky and find a Rumph Wizard for themselves. What I love about the ‘net is that nothing stays hidden for long. I did a quick Google search this afternoon, typed wizard bong and up popped an image of my old joy. What was really crazy is that I was a collector of Jim Rumph’s work for a long time and didn’t know it. I had plenty of his whimsical tankards around, found them at second hands and swap meets, gave them away to all my friends for Christmas gifts and birthdays. Had no idea that those strange and sweet sculptures were from the same artist that gave me years of joy out of that bong.

It’s still snowing outside. The day is just about at a wrap. I may have a bit of a nostalgic thing going on right now for that old bong of mine but I know that swapping out of the gear is what we heads do, it just goes on and on. This coming week Green Supplies is having a Black Friday sale for the Firefly 2 vaporizer. Two hundred and seventy bucks, quite a nice savings. Things change. It may not be my old Rumph Wizard but I think I can squeeze a good ten years out of it. And it’s good looking, too!

Salud!

The Black lives!
https://www.yelp.com/biz/the-black-san-diego

Jim Rumph's The Wizard!

http://www.therumph.com/showItem.php?item=173

The family life, mota and me

Simple me.

I just want to think of cannabis as alternative to beer, or wine, or a cold and frosty margarita. I want my mota to be something I don’t have to hide away in a closet, or have to sneak out the back door to partake in. I don’t want my weed to be seen a menace but, rather, as a good, in my life, in the life of my family, in the life and wellbeing of the community. I really want my grass to be seen as the thing that helps to end pain, that short sheets an asthma attack, that keeps Senior Mota Man in line on the weekends after a long and ridiculous slog of a week at work. I know all these things to be true. That mota is good in my life. Perception is a mighty tool and my goal is to help that good perception along, not only in my household but around town as well.

I am a clean cut kind of guy, have been since my service days. Have a favorite lady barber downtown who cuts my hair and the kid’s hair, too. She knows my partner. Together as a group we chat, get our hair cut and have a good time. Nice respectful time all around. Would she have a different take on me if she knew that I was a cannabis user? To her I am just this older librarian she knows. She has the best clientele in town, she says. Would she suddenly think differently if she knew I was into weed?

I think of the negative connotations that marijuana still has in the minds of so many people. The Devil’s Weed. Smoke that stuff and it’ll make you go crazy. You’ll be a menace to society. You’ll turn out to be no good. Man, even writing that I could hear my old man talking. Tough old ex-marine. Never mind that so many of his barber friends were regular users of that good old Mexican brick. But now that I am grown, now that I have a Master’s degree, now that I have been a homeowner, now that I am a pillar of society, known through the profession as a good guy, I think it’s time to blow my cover. It’s time to get in the industry, have a card in my wallet that goes beyond medical needs but says I believe in this stuff so much that I am going to put my neck out there and represent it. Time to say I am a marijuana user and I am okay with it. You be okay with it, too, okay?

When I was a young guy we didn’t have Just Say No, we just had draconian drug laws and long standing love affair with Reefer Madness. But now that I am a man I can see, especially after last Tuesday’s election, that we, as a nation, are ready to move on and accept cannabis as another player in the land, as another tool in the medical toolbox, as a big deal, a super big deal, not only for the cannabis industry but for the coffers of the cities, counties and states that are bold enough to embrace it.

I have embraced marijuana since 1975. I was only truly wild with it for a while and have only recently come back into the fold, holding cannabis use gently to my chest. No wild party boy here. I like to look at my mota like I do a good craft beer or a somewhat expensive glass of wine. I appreciate it, respect it, savor it. When I do weed these days I tend to do edibles, tinctures or very light sips off of a vaporizer. I like to build cannabis into my life like a do a cheesecake. When I eat cheesecake I like a slice, not the whole damn pie. I like my cheesecake with a bit of cherries on top, but just a small wedge, you see, because it’s just so rich. Too rich some days.

Sort of like my relationship with weed. Back in the day I would party in ways that made my friends comment about my capacities. They would say I was downing “heroic” amounts of beer, or that I was drinking wine like a “Titan”. I would sit with pals and we would session smoke our way through an ounce of weed. But those days, however remarkable or memorable, are a thing of the past.

When I shop around for my mota these days I go for landrace strains, I look for genetics that are close to the source. I look, let’s just put it out there, for low THC weed. Sissypants? No, I just want to be able to participate not only with my mota but with my family as well.

A good example of this was my last family Saturday. We had a few things to do, errands to run. Get some TrueGoo for the flat bike tire. Pick up some chicken wire for an assemblage project for my honey. But the big item of the day was a trip to the movie theater to see Trolls with the youngster. I like those kinds of days. We build in walks on days like that, too. Last week it was out at Fossil Lake. Short trot before the flick. It was mundane, simple, pleasant and a lot of fun. No big amusement parks, no big meals out, just a nice time spent with my peeps.

Now, you might ask, what does all this have to do with bettering the image of cannabis in my town or in my family life? Well, because I was able to have a great family day, spend it in an oh so normal kind of way, and all the while groove on a slight, pleasant and sweet cannabis buzz. Thank you Sweet Grass Kitchen for your absolutely delightful Butter Melts. I didn’t have to break out a bong or a bomber to have a good ol’mota kind of time. I mean, heck, I would have had a good time no matter what but with a slight touch of THC in the system was just a touch better. Just like those cherries on top of the cheesecake.

You see, a solid and steadfast community image is important to those of us who cultivated one and still held fast to our counter culture roots under prohibition. Now that I am back again participating in the goodness of cannabis culture I want to make sure that I don’t blow it. I want to continue to be seen as a respectable citizen. I still want to have a good relationship with my barber, my partner, my kids and my boss. I want to be seen as someone who has made good of himself in this world. And, in the end, I don’t want any of it colored negatively by cannabis.

Instead I want to continue to have all those good things…the job, the image, the respect….and be able to smoke a bit of weed, too. No one says anything negative these days about my wine or beer consumption. Same goes for my mota. Under the radar. And it’s my business, no one else’s.

The family day the other day was great. Trolls with that slight buzz was mind blowing. Music in the car on the way home was sublime. Dinner in the kitchen was fun and tasty. I even had a glass of wine with my mujuer afterwards. Did the mota play a part in all that goodness? I’d like to say, yes. Yes it did. I am thankful for it.

Stand tall with your alliance with marijuana. But be a good representative and put on the best face you can when using that delightful herb. Not everyone is on board yet. 1 out of 5 citizens have access to legal dope now, but that’s not everybody. Let’s keep it together, be good citizens and not blow it. We still have a long way to go to acceptance and legalization across the land

Salud!

A good day for cannabis!

Hip hip hooray!

Time to break out the bubbly, or, at the very least, a long, tall,  bubbly bong! California passed Proposition 64! Nevada and Massachusetts passed their recreational cannabis measures as well! Florida, North Dakota and Arkansas prevailed in their quest to bring on board medical marijuana!

Stayed up late to watch the election results. I am tired, cranky and not very happy about how the presidential race went. Frankly, I'm more than just unhappy, I'm freaking a bit but that's something that just might be helped with a bit o' CBD. In the meantime, settle down, Senior Mota Man!  We need to wait and see where this will go and how all this new found cannabis freedom will fly in the face of our newly elected president and his ultra conservative congress. Yeah, come January, we will see.

But, for the moment, none of that matters, here's to a sweet, sweet victory! The voice of the people has been heard! Here's to the end of prohibition as we've known it!

Salud!

Election news!
http://www.thecannabist.co/2016/11/09/marijuana-legalization-win-polls-election-2016/67176/

Smoking hot election!

It’s election day and I am worried for the nation, and yet I can say, too, that it’s election day and I am happy to see that so many folks are going to the polls, not only to cast their ballot for president but to cast their vote to see if they are going to go forward with the great social experiment and legalize recreational or medical marijuana in their state. It’s election day and no matter what happens in the end, whether we have a wonk in office or a dictator, we will all need to loosen up a bit and possibly smoke a bowl together, just to get the taste of this nasty campaign out of our mouths.

I grew up in Southern California and was raised in Orange County, one of the most conservative counties in the state, probably in the nation. As a child I lived in the shadow of the great Reefer Madness mind set but thankfully I discovered in my teens  that I was the product of an ethnic group that loved marijuana just as much as the straights hated it. It’s been great to see the status of grass change over the years in California, from decriminalization in the 70’s to medical legalization in 1996 to being on the verge of possibly being legal throughout the whole of the state tomorrow.

What strikes me as funny about this election is that Proposition 64 will simplify the process of being a pothead in the state and yet so many knowledgeable, courageous and well meaning folks are fighting it. Some think the wording in Proposition 64 is not enough and some think it’s too much. Humboldt thinks it will take away their heritage. Illegal dispensary folks are afraid their way of life will end. Some folks think that it will somehow take away the rights of medical folks or let big business come in and take away the goodness of it all.Some folks are just plain afraid of grass. I just like the idea that it makes it legal for adults over 21 to hold onto it and smoke it. That much I think folks can agree on.

I loved my med card and know that there are people out there whose lives depend on medical marijuana. But I know from being a regular user of dispensary medicine that there are a lot of fakers in the state who get in the door of their local dispensaries through guile and mendacity. Let's call a spade a spade: if you are hurting and need that card, go down and get it, god speed. You other guys and gals who bought a card down on the Venice boardwalk or elsewhere from a quack just becuse you want to get high, get out there and make this proposition happen. Folks who have been partaking all along as a goof will now be able to do it without having to chase down a medical card every year or have to pretend that they have some sort of illness or condition to validate their jones. They will not have to worry about the man taking them downtown just because they don’t have a card on hand to show the police that, yes, they are a registered cannabis patient.

Living in NorCal I saw, as a cannabis user, that practically nobody outside of the dispensary owners cared too much about that card, but I loved it as it let me have access to mota legally in dispensaries all around the region. If I had spent a bit more time than I did cultivating friendships with farmers and such I would have never had to register for a med card but being the pussycat that I am I didn’t want to worry about being pulled over or having my door broken down for having herb on me. Not that it was ever going to happen, mind you, but once you start smoking that Emerald Triangle dope you do get more than just a touch paranoid at times. 

What will be great is that come January 1^st, 2018 (that is, if all goes well at the polls today,)  I will be able to take a drive to coast and not only get to see the sea and stock up on my favorite Anderson Valley wines but I will also be able to stock up on some of the world’s most fabulous grass. I know, I know, we’re not supposed to transport it across state lines but if the good people of Arizona and Nevada do their part and join in and legalize it, too, I should be able to drive from Medocino to Greeley and not have to cross over into a state with prohibition on the books.

Today we vote on a president, on senators, on local laws and taxation schemes, but what we are doing, in an even bigger way, is paving the way towards a larger legalization mindset across the land. That, as much as anything else, will have me on the edge of my seat the rest of the day.

And yes, be sure to get out there and vote!

Salud!

Here's what you can do, California, if Proposition 64 passes!
http://www.thecannabist.co/2016/11/08/proposition-64-know-your-rights/66948/

A watershed cannabis event!
http://www.thecannabist.co/2016/11/08/marijuana-prohibition-election-2016-watershed-moment/66928/

Why some folks in Cali aren't behind the proposition!
http://www.thecannabist.co/2016/11/07/marijuana-legalization-california-industry/66795/

Glove box from hell!

DB makes it seem like it’s such an easy story to tell. Maybe it is. All I know for sure is that it was the closest call we shared there in our early dope smoking days.

The facts were simple and clear: I had a car, my buddy and I had time to kill, and well, boys being boys, we had a hard core case of the munchies to deal with from smoking just a bit too much of Mexican brick weed. I was driving my old Galaxie 500 at the time, something that I bought off of DB’s folks the summer of ’75. Right before I bought it from them we took it out for an evenings worth of fun, the trunk packed with beers, the car filled with girls and pals and thanks to our local drive in movie theater, proceeded to put a dent in the fender, thanks on a large part to a stray speaker pole. No matter, I loved that car, dent and all, and it became an accessory to many a good time over the course of our senior year.

That night we were parked in the lot of a local Italian restaurant waiting for my gal, hostess for the evening, to get off of work. Well, we sat as long as we could and decided to hit up a convenience store around the corner for snacks. We got out of the car, crossed the lot, walked down the block, grabbed some chips and cokes and then came back the same way we left, across the lot and then, after a bowl or two, settled back into the car, buzz, snacks and all.

I am not sure what made me do it but after we got back from our walk I decided to put all our mota, papers and paraphernalia into the glove box and lock it up. We didn’t think it was a worry, but hey, no sense sitting around stoned in a car with dope in your pockets. As we sat there in the parking lot, KMET blasting away with some album rock song or another, we got this sense that something was amiss.

Before we could even straighten up or think to get the Visine out the car was surrounded by three or four cars filled with SAPD’s finest. They brought their bumpers right up to the door, headlights beaming, search lights square in our eyes. It took only a moment for flashlights and handguns to be thrust in our faces, for commands to be called out, to put our hands on the dash, on the steering wheel. We were dumbfounded. What the hell was happening here? What kind of wrong could two high school students high on weed be doing to warrant this kind of fire power?

Needless to say my gal got a bit hysterical there in lobby of the restaurant seeing her boyfriend and his pal on the other side of a veritable shooting range. Little did she know that her boss called for the cops. It seems that a week or two before a few cars had been burgled in the parking lot and he thought, watching us walk back and forth across the lot in search of snacks, that we were the perps who had made a mess of things. Well, of course, we weren’t but that didn’t stop Santa Ana PD from dragging us out of the car, patting us down and giving my car the once over.

There was one moment and one moment only where our fates hung in the balance. It had nothing to do with us being high. The moment those cop cars pulled up and hit their lights that buzz we shared was long gone. No, it was watching one of those cops hit the glove box. It had only been by chance and by sheer luck that I locked it. I watched, shocked into silence, legs quaking, while he fumbled around with the lock. They didn’t have a search warrant but had he asked me to open it I am sure that I would have stupid enough to have complied. But he left good enough alone and went on to other things.

In the end the cops didn’t find anything. No stolen loot in the car, no burgled cars in the lot. They went inside, talked to the owner, found out we were waiting for my date to get off of work, which was confirmed by my sobbing girlfriend. I don’t remember if we ever got an apology from the cops or the owner of the restaurant but what would of it mattered if we did? We came close, just by the virtue of having the munchies, to being hauled off for possession of marijuana. All’s well that ends well, I suppose.

All young stoners need tales of daring do to share with their buddies, tales that tell of near scrapes with the law, of lucky, dumb escapes. Fortunately for us that tale was the closest we got to being busted the rest of our chaotic senior year. We both went on to join the Navy to see the world, my pal doing it underwater, me on a surface ship overseas. The dodges and scrapes of that evening seem quaint now in retrospect, as life wasn’t always as kind to us as it was that night. We’ve both come a long way since then and things, well, they are what they are. We’re both successful, happy, healthy and lucky, something that doesn’t always come to those who love their mota. We live far apart these days, him in California, me in Colorado, but one thing that we both still share is our affection and appreciation for cannabis. What’s funny is that whenever we get together on the phone we tend to get around to telling that old tale of daring do again. These days we can laugh about it, but man, it's wild to think how close we were to our lives taking a serious course change that night.

And to think we owe all our good fortune to a locked glove box!

Salud!

Here's the car in toto:
http://www.curbsideclassic.com/blog/cc-capsule-1967-ford-galaxie-500-2-door-hardtop-the-big-sporty-hardtops-last-hurrah/

The weaving of the old into the new

There is no way I could have seen that phone call coming. But I have to say, in the end, I am so glad it did.

Twenty-six years ago I left the Southland to live out a dream, one based more on fantasy than on reality. I had it in my head that professional fulfillment would only come to me if I settled in Seattle, but instead taking a direct line to the fabled Emerald City I took a long series of detours, instead. This wasn’t the first time I went wild for a big town. There have been plenty of “fabled cities” in my life over the years. Los Angeles, Portland, Hong Kong and Manila all come to mind as cities that really rocked my world. In my later days New York, San Francisco and Cleveland all rose to the top and fit the bill as well. But Seattle, wow, that was a city that really came out of left field. I took a trip there over Labor Day weekend in 1988 to visit an ex-pat friend who went on and on about how cool it was in comparison to LA, how arty and intellectual it was in contrast to OC. I had time to burn, no commitments to anyone and a few weeks till my first semester at UCLA was to start, so, what did I have to lose?

Well, Seattle floored me, just as my old pal said it would. I was wowed by the craft beer scene, by the wealth of independent bookstores, by the Bumbershoot art festival and the sheer beauty of the Puget Sound. The ferry system was awesome, the university district was incredible and the art scene, oh so much of it downtown in those days, delightful. I took in a side trip to the old main library on 4^th, met the children’s librarian in charge of the department and told myself right then and there that I was coming back. It took a while but in the end, I did.

The biggest thing to come out of that dream was the high cost to old friendships. The week before I left SoCal I had a going away party at my house. Over the years I had perfected the fine art of throwing parties and that final one on Wisteria Street was a barn burner. The best part about it was the wild cross section of folks from all walks of life that I had been happily gathering around me for years. I always thought that, hey, I was going off to the great Pacific Northwest, everyone was going to want to come up and see me there, but life moved on not only for me but for everyone else. Folks got married, had kids, landed serious jobs, found partners and got large slices of real life served up to them. In the end I did have a pal or three come up to visit me in Oregon, a few more made it up to Everett, Washington, but after a while the visits trickled down to the point that by the end of 2005 they stopped all together.

Working as a librarian in Seattle came with plenty of challenges, but so did being a home owner, a husband, a business proprietor and a dad. I had friends come and go there but when you stack up making new male friends against all those other responsibilities, friendships come in last. At the time I didn’t know how important it was to make that kind of time or to manage all those connections, but what I did find out is that over the years it became harder and harder to make male buddies in a female heavy profession. It got to the point where being a dad fed me the most and all those old pals, along with all those wild pal adventures, were all put away.

Fast forward to another place where I longed to go to, Colorado. I never put Denver on the map but recently I have been thoroughly enjoying the thrills this place has brought into my life. Three different adventures in the city in recent months with the family has made it clear that is the city for us. Family friendly adventures aside, it seems to me to be the place where I will be able to launch my new career in the cannabis industry. The whole country, heck, the whole world, is watching what happens with cannabis here in Colorado. The election coming up next week in California and the proposition that could pass on Election day could radically reshape the marijuana movement around the country and I am happy to think that so much of what will pass on election day as far as legislation goes came about because of what has been happening here.

So being here in Colorado has a been a benefit as far as being involved in cannabis is concerned. All well and good. It’s been great to see and embrace new opportunities in a new land. The one thing I never thought I would see are the old strands of my life being interwoven into the new.

Two weeks ago I got a call out of the blue. The last time I saw Jimmy was at that barn burner of a house party I had before I left to go to Grants Pass. I got Christmas cards from him after I made it to Washington, photos of his kids as they came into the world, but sometime after the in-laws gave me and my ex-wife a faulty phone/fax machine, the calls and such all dropped away. Well, the call that landed in my work voice mail floored me but it was the live call that really spun my world. Jimmy and I were old Navy reserve pals, shared a large pool of common friends, spent way too many years drinking way too much beer, and while lines of Bolivian Marching Powder were more his party preference, we still managed to blow numbers of Humboldt grass one long ago Sunday while watching the Grateful Dead and Dylan rock out at the Angel Stadium. But things move on, thank god. He got married well, found a woman to help him clean up his act, grew a family, established a cement truck business and kept his shit together there along the Gold Coast in OC.

We left on good terms and so, even after twenty-six years, our brief meeting in Denver went well. His kids are grown and off to college. His marriage is solid, his business robust and life, well, like all our lives, has had it's share of ups and downs. What is interesting is that his son is keen to find his way into the cannabis industry, something that blows my old pal’s Republican/straight arrow/conservative ways. But he sees the medical path that I am taking with it and is down with the progress the country has made along the lines of legalization. I think he can find his way to sharing the insight we shared about the cannabis business with his kids, especially now that legalization is poised and ready to land in California.

A long time ago I left Santa Ana in search of some sort of wild-assed dream. It was a quixotic move, one that cost me time, cash, tears and more than a few lines on my face. The hardest part of all my adventures was leaving pals, good friends all, behind. This week I was able to see that no matter how far afield I may roam those old pals, like birds settling down from a long flight, can roost together once again.

Salud!

Great things that only get better!

Goodness, how much more do we have to take? The 2016 election process just goes on and on. There are days when it seems that things will never improve, that we’ll never see the end of this tawdry campaign season. I crack open the New York Times every morning and every morning I get to read about more tragedy, more horror, more unsettled and unhappy things going on in the world. My partner wondered aloud the other day if there was room for a morning edition that just had good news in it. I have to wonder if it would sell, as it seems that we really only get jacked up and out the door in the morning if the tv talking heads, the radio mouthpieces and the newspaper scribes give us something negative to ponder and gripe about instead.

So, rather than comment on all the things that we are tired of worrying about I thought, for a change, that I would trot out a list of cool and wonderful things that really get me jazzed and excited about living instead. Feel free to drop me a line with your own personal favorites if you’d like. The things on this list will be around in my life long after the election is over next week, that’s for sure!

Here are some great things I can’t picture doing without!

A solid, long lasting and passionate relationship

Long term friends

A good haircut in a real barbershop

A tasty cheeseburger (with onions!)

A cold beer (or three)

A frosty fall morning

A decent municipal fireworks display

A story well told (movies, books, storytellers, doesn’t matter, all good with me!)

A get up on your feet, shake your booty live musical experience

A letter in the mail from an old pal

A freshly brewed cup of coffee (the darker the better)

A crisp, farm fresh apple

An honest assessment of the situation at hand

An old movie house that smells of fresh popped popcorn (velvet curtains that open before the movie a plus!)

A walk in the snow

A warm, solid handshake

A winning smile

A well-made bed

The end of a perfect day

A shared, home cooked meal

The lights of a carnival at night

A warm and toasty fire

A long walk in the sand

A good splash in a brisk surf

My kid’s laughter

Waking up to a new day (no hangovers, please!)

A well rolled joint of really dynamite grass

Love the whole live long day

Thanks, everyone, for your indulgence! May your life be long, inspired and happy!

Salud!