Sexy time

All the years that I was in the library business I never got the question I recently ran into in Pueblo.

I was about at the end of my run, a six stop delivery day. Those big runs are always fun, especially when the conversations run into old school genetics and the current fascination customers have with strains such as Colombian Gold, Malawi sativas and old Mexican varietals such as Highland Oaxacan or Acapulco Gold. Okay, so, there I was, Leaf on the Mesa, standing at the counter, taking a look at their flower, when the conversation between the budtender and his customer turned my way.

"So, what kind do YOU like?" asked the swarthy middle aged customer.
"Well, it's depends. I always ask my partner, when I am breaking out mota for the day, how do you want to feel? Are we going to have some weed with coffee? Are we going out for a walk? Are we going to do some cooking....."
"What if you want to fuck?"
Well, without batting an eye I looked at him and said "That Lucy right there looks great. High in CBD..."

A trained professional all the way. I learned long ago that there's no such things as a stupid question. I learned to work the tools that helped me answer things like "what is the capitol of Tonga?" or "how do you fry pole cat?" or "when does the next bus come by heading to downtown?" That man's query was just a matter of fact thing, nothing to it.

I wish I had had the time to really help him flesh out his question. We in the marijuana trade know that cannabis has been known as a  Class A aphrodisiac for centuries. We don't, by law, give out medical advice. We don't tell folks that cannabis is going to solve this medical concern or do that to your medical problems. And while we have our hands tied by Colorado MED rules and regs in regards to dispensing advice we can certainly talk about the anecdotal efficacies that the plant and it's products have had on us. We would if we could talk up our personal experiences, chat all day long about how cool our stuff is for sexy time. But alas, we are there to sell product, not make idle conversation.

My colleague there at the Leaf took over the sale but if I had had a chance to chat and didn't have a delivery to attend to I would have offered up the following sales pitch:

First, I suppose, I would have wanted to know what kind of fu..., er, lovemaking. did he had in mind? Athletic? Memorable? A seduction, perhaps? A good night in the sack with his old lady? Goodness, there are tons of ways to bring cannabis into the equation. Flower, concentrates, topicals, edibles, tinctures, the sky is the limit. I like to think how this particular path has been explored in recent months in my neck of the woods. We've indulged a wide variety of products, some recommended by coworkers who have had a chance to mess about with samples, others explored because of possible employment with a firm I was hoping to interview with.

As a matter of fact, one of the greatest finds I've stumbled across recently came about while I was talking with the staff of the Underground Station in Trinidad one afternoon. I like to spend a moment while I am out delivering to chat up with staff about the stock their dispensaries have on hand. I saw that they carried a relatively new (to me) confection, 1906 chocolates. I found out that our CO2 oil was part of the make up of these delicacies. I heard that they had a "lovers chocolate", too, that was supposedly the bomb. Well, I was told, "they tasted like chocolate, sure, no big deal, but if you want to show your woman a good time try out Foria". Well, that started up what was to be a pretty ribald sales pitch on the part of the staff there, with all three gals weighing in on how great that particular product was.

I couldn't afford their prices there in Trinidad but once I got back to my shop I took advantage of my employee discount and picked up the "Weekender" model we had in stock, a smaller, more affordable bottle of the same recommended product and took it home for a try. This was after I had already laid in a bottle of the massage oil by Mary Jane's Medicinals, a packet of the extra strength Apothecanna lotion and a delightful 2:1 IndigoPro Harmonia cannabis oil cartridge.

We're not total hedonists or anything like that, mind you, but we do like to sample new and exciting cannabis things that are out there, to see what works best for us. Take, for instance, one Sunday last summer we started out with a a touch of CBD oil and a quarter portion of a gummy each, went out and took a long hot afternoon swim, came back home, took a hit off the Magic Flight Launch box (an indica hybrid, natch), took a warm relaxing shower then spent the afternoon messing about and giving each other massages with that medicated lotion. With the fan blowing overhead it felt like my whole body was being caressed by magical fairies or something like that! Total immersion in the wonders of cannabis!. Lately the Foria product has come into play and, brother, is it ever a dandy product! Highly recommended!

I'll never know what that guy ended up purchasing that day for his upcoming "good time". What I found nifty about that exchange was that three middle aged guys could stand around in the middle of the day in a pot shop and talk about what would be a good strain to go out and get down with. There is really way too much fun to choose from these days to really make a decent, focused recommendation on just one kind of flower. And really, why just stop there? In the end I suppose it really is a matter of preference and need, something that comes out in the "reference interview".

As an older guy in a loving relationship I am really happy for the wonderfulness, the efficacy, the freshness that cannabis plays in our lovemaking. It's a long ways from the days when callow boys would think "candy is dandy but liquor is quicker".  Yeah, we're older and wiser now and there is no reason to be in a hurry, to be anything but caring and kind, as that care and consideration in the love making department is what matters the most. And to tell the truth, when it comes down to that subject, "straight with no chaser" is how we like it best. But if we are going to play, well, let's make it something that will allow us to remember that wonderful moment the next morning, please. That is the best kind of mota potion I could ever recommend.

Melting bricks, Easter and a parade missed

A sea story:

"Once upon a ti...." er, this ain't no shit:

1978. It was a good time to be a sailor on the good ship USS Blueridge. It was the second year of Jimmy Carter's Love Boat Navy. At that time I was tasked, as a seaman, to do all the gritty work, like painting, waxing floors, sweeping and such, all stuff that I came to love and that came to serve me well later on as a supervisor in my shop. But at that time, once the work was done, I got to fuck off a lot. I found myself, at the beginning of the year, as a mess man, working the floor of the enlisted men's mess deck. We worked hard but we partied a lot, too, and what made it even better was the light hours we had once we got into port.

The Navy turned into a sort of travel agency for me at that time. The first of the year took us down south to Acapulco. There I had myriad off the wall adventures, including being hit on by two old jotos who had a dandy house on the edge of the cliff where the acclaimed cliff divers went to do their thing. Walking, or rather, running away from that bad scene I twisted my ankle, not a cool thing when you are broke and the neighborhood was about as bad as it could get. And this was the night after almost getting busted coming back on board with cannabis in my match box.

From there we went back to San Diego for donut drills but soon departed to San Francisco where we did our best to buy pot and acid from truly bad news street dealers in North Beach. I had many shipmates who came from that part of the world and so for a week or so had mighty good times in and around the Bay area. From there we continued on our way up the coast, Tiger Crew style, this time to the mouth of the Columbia River and on up to Portland, Oregon, to be part of Fleet Week and the Portland Rose Festival.

The biggest bummer of the whole experience was that our antennae mast was too tall to allow us passage up to the heart of the festival. We couldn't make it past the bridge close to the railroad terminal and had to moor out in the industrial section of town. While the rest of the invited fleet got up close and personal with the crowds near the midway, we were way the hell outside of all the action in town. It meant long taxi rides or, worse, long walks back to the ship in a variety of states of mind. No matter, we were young, swaggering, swinging dicks and those walks, after nights of hard partying, always did us good.

Portland is a great town. Back then it was mighty gritty, but there was Powell's, great places to eat, fabulous beers (thanks, Henry Weinharts!) and plenty of old theaters that played classic films, like Treasure of the Sierra Madre, something that my pal Arch and I couldn't pass up.

While we were there one of my shipmates, Jay, went off to visit his people in Yoncalla, a long ass haul from Portland. But the distance we could make away from our navy life, as well as the adventure, beckoned once were invited out to have supper with his family. So, early on a Friday Nick, Willy and I decided to take a Greyhound bus out to see him. Jay felt he could meet us in Eugene, about half way, so we went downtown, bought round trip tickets and took off to the fabled college town to meet him.

Now, meeting a guy and his gal in a new town filled with wild student  hippie types was going to be a challenge for us no matter what. We were used to having really negative experiences with the locals there in San Diego and were wondering what kind of reception we would get once we got into town. To help protect us from any bad vibes we might encounter and to help make us somewhat invisible we each took a nice fat hit of some mighty fine San Francisco blotter acid. What made that move so interesting is that we found ourselves at the back of the bus, right in the midst of some of these savage hippy school girls we so wondered about and feared. We soon found ourselves slowly getting stoned while engaged in great conversation, and before our heads really launched into outer space, managed to get addresses and phone numbers from those girls just in case we ever found ourselves in Eugene again.

No matter, we arrived in one piece but were rapidly falling apart. We were fairly well lit when we wandered out onto the street outside the terminal. I have no idea how Willy found the sense to drop a dime and call our shipmate but he did, and this was right before we decided to go stroll a bit around town. Right now I have no idea where the bus station is in relation to the student quarter but somehow we got there. Or maybe we did. The whole world was dissolving before our eyes. Brick buildings began to sway in the breeze, melt, twist, crumble and then become whole again before our eyes. Of course, we were raving loons at that point, laughing at nothing and at everything. One thing for certain we were certifiable out of our minds and truly needed to be off the streets.

Lo and behold out of the ether came Jay. He had a concerned look on his face when he found us, as we had wandered a bit from where we had landed. He piled us into his car and began, what must have been for him and his girl, one hell of a long and distracted journey, with three sailors completely loony in the backseat of his car and the whole family waiting to meet us in his home town.

We went on and on about the girls we met on the bus and the melting buildings we saw on the streets. But it was the girls we waxed most poetic about. I am sure that in our minds eye and in our descriptions they looked just like the photo posted below. Who the hell knows who or what we saw but we were pleased that we, lowly sailors of the 7th Fleet, were considered nice enough to be talked to by civilian girls!

We finally got to Yoncalla and to make a long story short we survived. We somehow kept it together enough to sit and have beers with those kind logging folk. We managed to get through dinner without too much mayhem and then, knowing we had a bus to catch, were piled back into the car and sent back down the I-5 to Eugene once more. Jay and his girl played a cassette of Jackson Browne's Running on Empty over and over again that night as we made our way back in the rain. Whenever I hear that album these days I am always whisked away to that night, high but happy knowing we pulled off a truly intergalactic coup.
.

To listen and see the whole album, click on this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_FRV2Qne0g

Meanwhile we had a bus to catch but at the last minute I decided to stay and look up those girls we met on the way in. Of course, to an oversexed young squiddy I had this image in mind about those gals...

..but in reality, after I found my way to their place they pretty much looked like .....

....just normal, pretty Oregon college girls of the mid 70's. I found their place, after a long wet walk, with a full out party going on. We partied till dawn, or maybe it seemed that way. The folks I was introduced to were cool and living the student life. The warm, welcoming vibe I got from them was different from what I had gotten used to after joining the fleet, something that I hadn't felt or experienced in a long time.

Later that morning we all went out for coffee, bought records at a rummage sale and, finally, knowing we all needed some herbal relief, went out and found a dealer who had some absolutely stunning gold mota for sale. Now, at this time, there was plenty of great Mexican and Colombian around to buy, but without close inspection and a time machine I will never know if what I got that day was Santa Marta or Josephine County Gold. Oh well, any port in a storm!

My Oregon hippy friends helped me find the bus terminal and that evening I was back on my way to Portland, with good memories, an ounce or two of gold and a few albums, including Leo Kottke's first, in my satchel.

Well, Fleet Week was still happening and we still had many things to do. A shipmate from my shop had a family who lived there in Portland. I had no idea that this player had a wife and kids but he did and he invited us all to his crib for a Sunday dinner. We loaded up a carload of us and went across town, but on the way I had to stop and buy more albums to go along with all the beer and booze we had gathered up. One of the albums I snagged was a fairly new one on the market, Easter by the Patti Smith Group. I hadn't listened to it before but was moving in the direction of punk and so felt it was going to be the party album we all needed to hear that day.

Well, we had no weed on the scene so before we got too lit we went back across town and went on board the ship to secure a bit of the gold I bought the day before. The boat was alive with tourists who found us way down the river. And my stash, well, it was in the shop, of all places. I felt it was not going to be much of a hassle as we were a secure space and off limits to civilians but who should be in there but BOB! Bob, an old alky gone straight, had pawned off his time on the beach to one of the guys attending the party. I had to get past him and all his questions to secure my pot, which I had secreted up and away in some monkey shit in the overhead wires. With the help of my pals we managed to distract Bob and get the dope and out of there before anything else went south. Never could tell when a Master at Arms might arrive on the scene!

Back at the crib a full out party was in progress. Not to let a party full of sailors go by without a full out assault on my senses, I jumped in and got going on the local beers, but that was not going to be enough! Tequila was broken out, joints were rolled and the music, mostly soul and funk, blared. I decided, okay, time for some punk and put on Patti's album. Let me ask you, have you ever listened to that album? I hadn't until that moment. Did you know that there is a song on there titled "Rock and Roll Nigger"? Did I happen to mention that my shipmate, the one who was so kind as to invite us all into his house was black?

Let me tell you I've never seen a party stop so fast in my life. I think that the only thing that saved me was that gold mota. We were all so stoned that the only thing we could think to do was laugh. After that the tequila flowed, the music got louder and the party began it;s inevitable wind down. I was told later on that, while standing up against the kitchen wall, I went from a standing 12 o'clock position to one that, straight as a clock hand, went down to the three o'clock, right to the kitchen floor.

We loaded up into the car and went back to the ship. Most of my shipmates went up the gang plank unaided. Me, I got sick as a dog and let loose all that Portland home made bbq and all that tequila. Some guys just never learn.

The rest of the visit went well. Friends came out from Moscow to see the boat and we did, in the end, manage to find our way to the midway and groove on the festival delights. Over the years I have made my way back to Portland and Eugene. I have an opportunity to apply to a job there but hesitate, knowing that there is no going back in time. I had a grand time there while on tour, so much so that it was at the top of my list of places that I would have loved to live in after my service days were over. Little did I know that my travel plans for summer were about to change. Within a week of our trip up north my plans to go to New Orleans with my Chief PO were cancelled., Benj was getting out of the service. Would I like to go and check out Colorado with him?

And that's another story all together.

Salud!



From the Easter album: the video Rock and Roll Nigger
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLIkM4wvcC8

and the lyrics:
http://www.metrolyrics.com/rock-n-roll-nigger-lyrics-patti-smith.html

Rolling Stone's review of Easter:
http://www.rollingstone.com/music/albumreviews/easter-19780420

Oh boy! Miyazaki films!

Such classics, so much fun!

Take a moment to peruse this list from the New York Times. When you find that your stone, indica style or otherwise, has you locked to a couch, pop one of these classics into a player of  your choice and be prepared to be whisked away to a fantasy isle of your choice. Satisfaction guaranteed!

Salud!

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/12/movies/ranking-studio-ghibli-movies.html?hpw&rref=movies&action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=well-region&region=bottom-well&WT.nav=bottom-well

Dream job

A dream job, yes. Maybe you wouldn't think so when you are almost run off the highway by a screamingly large semi truck at your side, in a blinding rain storm, with the only option for survival is a quick lane change to the left, but really, it is. And maybe you might think that I would say "next", when I find myself needing not only another can of Starbuck Mexican Mocha to keep me awake to the next stop but also a quick break at a rest stop, non-compliantly, just to give my eyes a rest. There is much to be said for a nice desk job but I have had one of those. There is also something to be said for a nice big fat paycheck, but I had one of those, too, and it damn near killed me.

No, I am happy as a clam in a field full of other happy clams. Somehow I have stumbled into a form of employed bliss, one that I didn't know existed. Sure, the hours are long, some might even think horrible. I start my driving day at a quarter of seven and sometimes find myself getting home, after a full day behind the wheel, well after 8 in the evening. The car that I drive, while relatively new, is small and has an engine that sometimes feels mighty anemic going up those Rocky Mountain grades. I find myself at the mercy of the weather, I never get lunches and the pay, while substantially better than that of my bud tender brethren, is not what I would call killer.

 BUT! And here's the big but....it's a blast. I find that I really truly love this state that I live in. I get to travel from east to west, from north to south, mostly in the day, and so far, mostly in absolutely stunning sunshine. The scenery changes daily, clouds here, wind there, mountains in the distance covered with snow, trees at my elbow bedecked with sunshiny colors. For years I longed to be on the east coast when the leave changed, this year I have had weeks of full bounty, from Trinidad to Parachute, along Glenwood Canyon to the tops of the Rockies.

And while I rarely stop outside of the dispensaries that my manifests dictate, I make sure that when I hit town and my deliveries are done I visit a pot shop or two, just to see what the biggest strains are of the region. I rarely have money for bud, and I know that if I wait I can get a sizable discount back at the shop, but every once in awhile I find an extra twenty in my pocket, one that, applied to a local driver discount, will let me leave with a treat or two. Colombian Gold, Gorilla Glue, Durango OG, Cannalope Haze, just to name few, have ridden home in my satchel, just ready for another weekend's play.

It is a very serious industry, something that most folks on the outside of it might find hard to see. You would think that with all the grass in the world to play with you would find all staff stoned all the time, but to tell you I have never seen such a hardworking, honest and integrity filled bunch of workers in my life. And while I might catch a silent buzz from the heated oils or the decarbing grass I am a clean player, too. There is too much at stake here, here in Colorado, with this grand experiment of ours. We have to play it straight, show ourselves to be a legitimate business, to show the world and the Feds that the tired old trope of red eyed stones is a myth. We're business folk, here to make a buck but also one to follow the rules, too.

I absolutely love this job. I eat my lunch on the road but what passes by my windows in sublime. The people that I work with, from folks in my shop to the workers and owners of the dispensaries that I serve, are wonderful, interesting and a whole hell of lot of fun.

And while a snowstorm may shut off my mountain access here and there I know that while I get to I will get up at the crack of dawn, pack my lunch, eat an egg or three and happily get on the road for another day of delivery and adventure.

That's what a dream job is all about.

Salud!

Uncle Max comes to visit

Uncle Max and I go a long way's back. We calculated it the other day and we figure somewhere shy of fifty years. Our mutual love affair with mota goes back almost as far, something that we have in common and have shared on and off for over forty. A couple weeks ago I was graced once more with his company, something that was much needed and long overdue. I never thought that Colorado would be so far out of the way of friends and family but it has been. Doesn't help that the older you get the fewer friends a man has to call on. But Uncle Max must have felt the same way. Maybe his wife did, too. It must have been nice to get the old man out of the house and out of the hair for a bit.

I am sure, too, that his good wife decided not to join him as I had been promising him a weekend's visit worth of weed and quality craft beer for months. The idea that you could hardly swing a dead cat around here without hitting a brewery appealed to him greatly, but it was the promise of well cured, high quality Colorado weed that really got him excited about visiting the Mile High City. When I heard that the good wife would not be coming because she didn't want to play chauffeur for endless dispensary and brewery stops I knew that I had painted too much of a debauched portrait of my now adopted state. There was so much more to do, and damn it, we were going to set on sights on doing all those things, too!

He landed at DIA late on a Thursday night and we set out for our first destination, The Broken Plow, a small brewery here in Greeley.. They were gracious in letting us in, fifteen minutes after closing time, if only because  they had a musician still on stage. The 9.5 ale was potent, enough to just have one. It did not mean the end of festivities, though, as there was almost two cases of local craft brew on ice back at home. That night, as we caught up over beers, he wanted to know all about my new job as a dispensary driver. I told  him about the product I was driving all over the state, a new revolutionary oil pen that got my shop's fabulous CO2 oil out to the masses. Uncle Max has been a flower man most of his cannabis imbibing life and I thought it was high time to turn him on to something new.

I loaded up an indica cartridge into my pen and handed it over to him. Well, cannabis oil was a mystery to Uncle Max but like all good detectives he was out to solve the case and took, what I thought to be, a grand and masterful pull of the vape pipe. Being a good guest, he proceeded to get mighty high, but, right before we bid adieu for the evening, he asked to see the pen again and once again took one last, mighty draw for the night.

The next day I found out that he spent half the night higher than he had been in years. What did that mean, then? Well, it meant a road trip to my shop where he straight away bought a battery to take back home with him (no cannabis over state lines, natch!). We packed in the sights as best we could that Friday. He got to travel along the highways and byways of the Front Range, seeing that there was not too much to my 50 mile commute other than cows and corn in the fields and mountain peaks in the distance. We went on hike in the foothills in Boulder, took in the Flatirons from afar, did a super short tour of the Coors brewery ("That's the brewery over there". "Great, let's go get a beer!"), visited a sweet little dispensary in Denver (Lucy Sky, Washington Park, my favorite dispensary in Denver...with so many to choose from, that say's a lot!) and bought some fresh roasted green chilies from a tienda in Evans for enchiladas that night.

It was a fun and varied holiday. On Saturday, con familia, we hiked the Clear Creek Canyon path, sipped brews at the Dam Brewery in Dillon and battled the first snows of the season coming back home over the Rockies that afternoon. We played it fun and straight most of the time and that was fine, too. We hung out with my sweetheart and the boy, watched movies, took in the local sights and by the time I sent him off on Sunday left him thoroughly exhausted him and with a grand impression of the Centennial State.

And, of course, we indulged in our share of ganja, too. He got in some Blue Dream from the Farm, Purple Haze from Lucy Sky and NYC Diesel from Nature's Herbs and Wellness in Garden City. He got in a taste of CBD and homemade tinctures. He got a chance to try out "Focus" from the Lucid Mood cannabis oil pen line. He also got a chance to try out Harmonium, another vape oil product from the Farm. He was open to experiencing vape gear, and was able to take a big draw of Cindy 99 out of a Vape Bros desktop and sip some home made mix out of a Magic Flight Launch Box. He enjoyed our flower but it was the CO2 products he experienced that were the biggest revelations.

Talking to him made it clear to me that cannabis was continuing to do it's good work with him. He walks more these days, eats less, is less prone to meanness and talks openly all the time now, all things that he wouldn't necessarily do or indulge in when weed was out of his life (damn those Federal Dept of Transportation rules).

I was happy for my years of study that allowed me to share with him all sorts of cannabis knowledge, products and good news, so much so that he went home and shared all that he had learned with his mom, who proceeded to call me to ask about CBD products for ailments of her own.

Uncle Max and I go way back, further back than my relationship with weed, but with weed we have been pals seemingly forever. Many of our memories together have been colored by our association with grass. But this visit, with all it's craft beer and cannabis at arm's reach, was decidedly different and much better than anything we have shared in a long, long time. For all that we indulged in the air never got dark with smoke or f-bombs. Mellowness ruled, good spirits reigned. We were definitely two men closing in on sixty. We both have felt the the weight of the passing years, the lightness of hard gained wisdom. We have learned many lessons, but one of the biggest one was don't let too much time go by between visits. I am sure that Colorado made a favorable impression, hopefully nice enough to entice his lovely bride to come along nice time he comes a callin'. As his sore feet attested to, there are so many more things to do here in Colorado beside mota and beer!

Salud!

Musical landscape of my life

Monday was tough enough. A long distance run to the end of the state and back. Radio is always mixed and spotty in-between Trinidad and Denver. I do my best, now that I am on the road most of the work week, to keep up with the times with NPR. The president's visit to Puerto Rico and the tragedy in Las Vegas dominated the news. It wasn't until I got home that my sweetness told me, as she cruised through her Facebook feed, that Tom Petty had passed away that afternoon.

My first reaction was "WHAT?" Rarely much of anything pulls me away from my reading that but information stopped me in my tracks. What was even more  unusual was that I didn't get up to scan the news on the internet. Everything came to a stand still. I was too stunned to do anything more than shut off my bedside light and go to sleep.

The next day I read what I could handle and began what has been a week long state of denial. It wasn't until this morning that I came across enclosed article and photo spread in the LA Times and finally came to accept the loss of Tom Petty, arguably the greatest rock and roll influence of my life.,

Sure, the Stones are up there, along with Aerosmith, Led Zeppelin and Nirvana. The Beatles, the Beach Boys, Joan Jett, Isley Brothers, Queen, BB King, David Bowie, Blondie, the B-52s all colored the musical soundscape of my life, too, but it was Tom Petty, solo and with the Heartbreakers, that consistently showed up just when I needed him most.

I first heard American Girl in the data processing shop on board the Blueridge. That sound of his was infectious and that cassette, along with Damn the Torpedoes, went into heavy rotation wherever we went. The Heartbreakers followed me home from the service and have been a constant part of the soundtrack of my life. Many events, from tamale parties to acid trips to throwing my father's ashes onto the Mojave sands, were colored by his songs. Free Fallin' is a background song right now as everyone seems to be playing it in remembrance, but for me, when I hear it, it takes me back to my Aunt Mary Jo's little back yard house in Burbank. I stayed there the night before I headed off into the desert with my father's remains. Some of the us had gone out on his boat earlier in the day, spread half of his ash on the slight swell of the Pacific. That evening, after copious beers, I caught Tom's video on tv, thought it great and poignant. With my father gone, a new baby to learn about, a girlfriend who always seemed to be in flight and a new position in a far away city to deal with I felt my life was in a state of free falling, too.

Years later all is well as I am as happy as a man could be. Then comes the events of the week. And the passing of Tom. Read the articles posted below to catch the flavor of a man who just came off a long six month tour. Take a look at the photos to see a man very much, very vibrantly, alive.

Life is short. Embrace the moment. Be sure to love.

And thanks, Tom, for all the good sounds. You will be missed.

Salud!

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/music/la-et-ms-tom-petty-the-final-interview-20171004-story.html

http://www.latimes.com/visuals/photography/la-me-genaro-molina-tom-petty-20171004-htmlstory.html

Surfing in Cambodia: a strain review

Today I decided to play mad scientist. What got me going was reading through a blog post from a grower who liked to mix and match his herbal bounty. He felt that just smoking one strain at a time was not sufficient. In order to get really high, he said, you had to mix up four or five different strains at one time and then fire it up.

Well, there are days that I am what I read and today I decided to take up this man's advice. Who am I to get in the way of science? After the family departed and I got my first round of housework out of the way I found myself with a bit of time to mess about in my sticker patched trunk, I dug around through my strain jars, read up on what the strains consisted of, broke them down and did my best to try to get to the bottom of how they were supposed to make you feel, just like I did earlier on with my Blue Dream experiment. That day I was the investigative reporter of my dreams, out there witnessing the fun and glory of Super Silver Haze and Blueberry strains, finding out what kinds of highs they were, all on their own. I thought, why stop there? I was just about to start to break those two strains down to their land race elements when I came across the above mentioned article. Why breed a new strain in the hothouse when I could make up things in the kitchen instead?

I have to admit that I was comforted knowing that my company does pretty much the same thing when they make up their oil products. They will take a five or so flower strains, grind them up and then gather together all that flowery goodness into one big CO2 processor and make the delicious oils we are known for all over Colorado. I know I will never go quite so crazy as that. I like to have small fun, instead. Instead, I take a look at my holdings, take out three or four kinds of cannabis that might go well together and then I take a bit of bud from each jar and grind them up. My Mendo Mulcher has been a radically grand toy to have around, especially for projects like this. Every time I mix up a batch the closet that I am squirreled away in goes from being a mere storage room for our clothes to a opulent, grand scented hashishin's den.

Today I smoked a sample of a blend I call "Surfing in Cambodia". It is a mix of Chemdog, Skunk No. 1 and a Phnom Penh strain I found awhile back at Verts in Fort Collins. I have to admit that I did use it on top of an earlier application of Viet Thai, a truly stellar, ceiling-less  sativa. The total sum of those herb pools mixed together was, to say in the least, very stony, indeed. What I experienced was what I have been looking for out of an herb for quite a long time. It had the high, open ceiling of a quality sativa, the goofy, smiley goodness of a fine hybrid and the happy, couch locky feeling that I have been craving out of an indica. I guess when you add up all the the strains in the above mix...Colombian, Mexican, Thai, Afghani, Cambodian...you should expect a nice compounded sativa head high and a righteous indica body stone. When I mixed it up I did give it some thought and it turned out just like I wanted. A short, pleasant moon shot and then a nice afternoon spent on the couch watching Tony Jaa.

I have a few others blends I have been messing with but have yet to sample. It's been fun accumulating land races and simple strains like Northern Lights, AK-47, Acapulco Gold and Maui Wowie. It's been like getting out ingredients in the kitchen and pulling together a nice pan of cookies. And just like those treats coming out of the oven, I get to be baked, too. Huzzah!

Salud!

Eye up in space

What a day! Not my day, per se. Mine's been nice and simple. A bit of housework, a run to recycling, a touch of weed sampling and now dinner coming up. Rather, I was thinking of the planet orbiter Cassini. Today it is ending it's career in the atmosphere of Saturn. All those years up there all alone, using the gravity of Titan to swing around the big gas giant, snapping a bounty of photos of rings, moons and our little planet Earth from oh so many millions of miles away.

Take a moment to read through the article below snatched out of the New York Times. Dig into it a bit and read the accompanying article that highlights 100 photos from the space mission. It was pennies on the dollar well spent, a program that was close to not going up at all. We are all so much the better for having sent that bit of metal out there to do our investigative work for us. No dogs, monkeys or people were harmed in the snapping of those photos.

Yeah, money well spent, US and European alike. We do all sorts of outrageous things with our government dollars. We wage war on drugs, we lock people up in prison, we pay the salaries of many Republican congressmen who go out of their way to impede the will of the people and we, unfortunately, send a lot of good folks off to fight little brown skinned people in far away foreign lands. But on the good side, we help restore lives after horrific natural events, we feed kids free lunches, we conserve land through public parks, we fund museums and libraries and through cool agencies like NASA we send elaborate devices out into the heavens to get the best photos of planets money can buy.

I thought it was a mighty big thing, as a boy, to watch the moon landings on an old black and white set, fuzzy connection and all. To put folks on the moon was awesome, something we have not duplicated or replicated on other moons since. While we're waiting to go again we send other kinds of crafts out into the solar system and beyond, just to see what we can see. Cassini was a by product of the Voyager program. That one passed by the big guy and we said, holy cow, we gotta see more of this!

Well, we did and here you go. To see the results of what that orbiter sent back is and will always be, I imagine, mind blowing and never to be duplicated. The magnificent, fear inducing winter storms swirling the atmospheric surface above Jupiter, the geysers on Enceladus sending off salt water plumes into space that settle back down onto the planet as alien snow, the many moons of Saturn weaving beautiful woven patterns into the planet's rings, is the stuff of fantasy. Our THC addled brains, always awake and thrilled to witness new and ever present wonders, could never, in a lifetime of toking, come up with the wonders of the imagery you are about to witness. This is no science fiction CGI, no movie studio magic, no work of pen or paint. This is the real deal.

So, fire up a bowl and get ready to have your imagination be fired up, too.

Thanks, Cassini for sending back all those mighty fine images. May your molecules find happiness there on the surface of Saturn.

Salud!

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/09/14/science/cassini-grand-finale-saturn.html?emc=eta1

Tired, satisfied, happy

It has been two weeks now. 40 hour work weeks compressed into four days. Two hours worth of commuting each day. Up at five, home after six, sometimes as late as nine. But you know, I am happy as all get out. Don't want to say I am having fun, mind you. Said that once to my true love and we had to have a discussion about what it means to have fun at work But happy? Hell yes. Satisfied with my choice? Damn straight. Tired? Yeah, driving will do that to a man.

I know, though, that I made the right choice, and it goes beyond not finding interested folks who want to hire me cluttering up my email box. This feeling, this sense of certainty, takes me back to when I first started library work in the 80's. There was a passion about that work back then that drove me to take on difficult assignments, put in the long hours, move across state lines and do all the extra curricular stuff that was necessary to do not only to get ahead but to make my mark in the profession. I feel that that kind of passion again and know that it is possible to make a real go of it here in the cannabis industry. If these past two weeks are any indication of what is coming up, but more, what is possible, well, then, I am completely signed up, ready and totally on board.

Being a Distribution Driver has been a nice way to get my foot in the door of this industry, but what is even better is working for a firm that has folks out in the world singing praises about the product and clamoring for more. My territory for driving is essentially the entire state of Colorado. I have been on the road from day one. I learned all about what it took to handle manifests and travel apps from my ski board buddy Chas, but everything else I needed to learn about this job and our product I've had to get from initiative and verve. What is great, though, is that everyone I've met is happy on the job. Folks are kind, ready with help and answers to questions. I have a newish Suburu Forester to drive, an Iphone to navigate with and a hell of a great product to deliver. Half of what I do is driving, the other is being a happy face and good representative of the product. Every day I pinch myself. How can a guy get to be so lucky?

I start my day in the kitchen, helping out where I can until I get my stack of shipping manifests for the day. I have had a chance to witness the whole process of CO2 cannabis oil processing, from start to finish, and what a process it is. My side of the house has been mainly packaging. I get to blister seal cartridges of oil, label the packages and handle all the various parts of the process. While I stand there wrapping bundles or folding instruction sheets I get to stand in a space that, while radically well handled and ventilated by an industrial strength HVAC system, is suffused with cannabis odors and molecules. Call me a lightweight but I know that when massive pans of ground cannabis are decarbing in the oven or when large Pyrex dishes of oil are being heated and stirred to make them easier to handle while loading up syringes, I can't help but to get a little bit high. Last week, first week on the job, I had to take regular breaks from the building just to clear my head,. And to think I am getting paid to work! Wow!

But the best part of the job has been the driving. And while it generally means a solid ten hour day behind the wheel with the slight promise of an occasional break, it is something that I find invigorating and exciting all at the same time. I have a decent navigational GPS app that I call Reggie. With his voice softly purring in a strong British accent in the background, I manage to get from point A to point B and back again every driving day. I have been getting used to the roads in and around Denver but the big thrills have been hitting the highway for long trips. In the past two weeks I have gone as far south as South Pueblo, as far north as Steamboat Springs and have had a chance to cross the continental divide and take on the nifty little art town of Gunnison. I been up to Central City and Idaho Springs, old Rocky Mountain mining towns caught up in tourism and casinos.

I have had a chance to visit old dispensary haunts like Verts and Oasis, have run into old bud tenders who have moved around and moved up in the industry, have had a chance to see and explore tons of new and enticing dispensaries like Lucy Sky in Denver and Green Tree in Boulder. One of the best things to happen to my budget has been this job. I see and am surrounded by mota every day. Every run I make I get to chat with the dispensary owners about our products and before I go ask them about their latest, hottest flower products. I get to look at premium buds every day and every day I get to pass them by. Well, until two days ago. I found a strain that I had only read about that I had to buy. Viet Thai. A strain review ab out that will certainly come around later.

What has been such a gas, though, more than anything, is that I am finding that our product sells itself. I go around and drop off boxes with folks and they ask me, where have I been, we needed this yesterday but today will be fine! Patrons and customers can't get enough. The pen is built like a tank, the cartridges don't leak and the oil is super refined, pure and tasty. I can't wait to try it!

Yeah, I am super fine and beyond happy. I took the long road to get into the industry but I think, if we can continue to afford it, I would like to stick around awhile to see what happens. Right now I am making small money but I think if all goes well, if I continue to shine and make this product do so as well it will turn into something truly grand.

Fix your sights on your dreams and just maybe, your dreams will come true. Mine did, may yours come true as well.

Salud!

Blueberry strain, a review

I am a completeist.

I am a guy who really likes to go through lists, see what it is that I am missing. Lists let me ponder what I need to be able to have the complete experience.  I like to gather before me the entire set of something, say that I have gone through the entire run of a series from A to Z. Most of the time this is damned near impossible to do. Nobody can have everything. And yet, trying to amass the whole shebang of something can be a whole heck of a lot of fun.

When I first started blogging I went by Accumulate Man; that in itself should say something about me. I gather things around me just to see what kinds of satisfaction I can get out of the experience. I love the thrill of the hunt, the research that goes into learning about the new, talking with folks about the goods I'm seeking out, marking the miles in the car just to see how lucky I can get further down the road. None of this is new to me or other people in my life as I've been doing this for years. I do it with music, with film, with art. Did for a while with cookbooks, with professional cooking gear, with costumes for Ren Faire. I still look for crystal champagne flutes, kaleidoscopes, folks masks, coffee table books and cool outsider art.

As a kid I first went nuts for Tonkas, then Matchbox cars, then Hot Wheels. I took that toy thing and replicated those feelings of completeness when my kids were little. Did my best to have all the Brio and Thomas the Tank Engine stuff, all the superhero figurines, all the Star Wars junk a person could amass. Even went back in time with a checkbook and started up again with toy soldiers. Got so bad and had so much stuff in that department that I started up an online business just to keep the household from rioting

Collecting can be fun but it takes up a lot of time and dedication, not to mention space. Moving that stuff costs a lot. When I get ready to take off to new destinations I tend to sell things at ridiculously low prices, dial up the phone numbers of second hands that are willing to pick things up at the house. I have gotten to know the ins and outs of selling on Craigslist and Ebay.

In some cases I have even left collections behind, a sure sign of accumulation mania. In fact I still have a storage space I pay on monthly in Washington State. Laser discs, old electronics, LP records, furniture that my ex insists the kids will use when they grow up. The only thing keeping me from just giving it all over to that reality tv show is an old trunk full of photos, old family stuff, that I can’t in my wildest nightmares picture being tossed onto a landfill heap. So I pay and know that someday I will open up that storage space door and wonder, as I look inside at all the junk moldering away, what the hell was I thinking.

Being a completeist is spendy, especially when you find yourself needing to own all the records that The Feelies put out or the complete run of all the films that Warren Oates starred in. Being a completeist means you get out a list and then do your best to get through it. I like to think that my bucket list is still out there, waiting for me to fill it out. I am sure that there are still plenty of other lists to make. I like to feel that my desire to ride all the best roller coasters, sip all the best beers in Colorado and travel to see all the state capitols is still in reach.

Now tackling Leafly, that is another thing entirely. Talk about a periodic table to make my way through! One thing I do know for certain and that is that I will never be able to get through all the strains of dope that are out there, considering all the hard work that the breeders are doing to prevent me from doing so. What I am doing, though, is doing my best to start from scratch. To go back to the beginning and round up the usual suspects. In this case, all the old school strains that have been platforms for the great strain revolutions of the last thirty some odd years.

I am thankful for the sativas of my early years that give me a place to start. The strains from my youth…Colombian Gold, Panama Red, Thai Stick, Oaxacan Gold, Maui Wowie…are still out there, occasionally found but mostly caught up and enmeshed in some really righteous, solid, building blocks of powerhouse weed. I am always pleased to find old school strains such as Original Cali Orange, for Skunk #1, for Northern Lights, for Haze, for they are reminiscent of the highs of my youth. Yesterday I got it in my head that I wanted to partake in a little bit of that Thai sky high feeling from the 70's. I certainly didn't have any of that old school Thai stick on hand but I looked into other flower arrangements that might do, instead. I decided that I would trot through the lineage of Blue Dream to get to that taste of Highland Thai that I craved, so I dug through my trunk and fished out a nice nug of Blueberry to get the game started.

There is nothing better than a well tooled grinder. It makes busting up a flower an pleasurable thing to do. I ground up a nice bud that I picked up from Nature’s Herbs and Wellness from Garden City earlier this summer. The scent of fruit and sweetness, all tropical, all hothouse country, wafted out of the top of my Mendo Mulcher when I opened it up. I took a pinch (not too much!) and placed it in my Magic Flight Launch Box and fired it up. What was nice about that Blueberry aroma was replicated and more in the vapor and in the after taste of the puff. A moment or two later the lift began. I felt it first around my shoulders, then it creeped up into my scalp. Somehow that scalp thing pulled up my facial muscles and there I sat, all smiles, and even giggled a bit to myself.

I couldn’t let that nice hybrid moment go away without pressing into service the sativa side of the plant. I love how the Thai side of the strain came through at the outset, all endless ceiling, all get up and go. I went downstairs and knocked out some busy work, feeling the joy of doing stuff that was necessary and mindless. But once that got done I said to myself, no sitting around today! I grabbed my towel and sunglasses and headed for the complex pool. All summer long I kept to my duties, never took a dip with my people out of the house but yesterday I felt high and just a bit decadent. With my head in the clouds and the skies cloudless I entered the pool gate and was given my grand treat for the day: the pool was empty and all mine. The day was finally sunny after a cloud filled morning. The pool was filled with dappled radiance. I threw my towel down on one of the many empty and available chairs and hit the water. 

I felt like landed gentry, a pool of my own. Asking for that was never on any of my lists but I had to wonder why it wasn’t. Yep, quite a treat, if only for a while. Like all good dreams that one had to end, too.  Before too long other dwellers of the Summer Park drifted in and began to fill up the space, something that I never minded before in the least. I said my hellos to folks that I knew, grabbed my stuff and left with my buzz intact. After an hour of dedicated water aerobics I felt worn and slightly giddy, ready for a snack and a bit of computer time before I ran out to fetch the family. I started supper, snacked like a mad animal and began the grand come down that the Afghani side of the house promised.

I loved that Blueberry strain so much so that I will gladly take on some Super Silver Haze later on today to see what the other side of Blue Dream is all about. The completeist in me will tackle that combo dope tomorrow.  But for today, I think that Haze to come will have me out walking. Save the pool for later on today, take a dip with the family. That is what a completeist does. Rounds things up and enjoys the pastime of things gathered together.

Salud!

Horseshoes and hand grenades

Almost.

Close.

Whatever.

Torrington. Never heard of the place until this morning. I knew all about Highway 85. Took it to Cheyenne over a year ago on my way to the 25. Had a date with my kids in Salt Lake that weekend. Didn't matter that it was snowing, had to go, like it or not.

But today was something different. A grand celestial event was happening, possible a once in a life time deal and it was right up the road. I have no idea why I waffled so long, why I took so long to act. Well, maybe I do, actually. Up until last Friday I didn't really have a confirmation on my work scene. Couldn't make plans until I knew for certain what my future employer had in mind for me. Plus, up until Sunday night I had three trips in mind, all going in different directions. One by one they fell by the way side. The only one left standing this morning, apparently, was the Great American Eclipse of 2017.

Well, the Cannabist posted an article last week that proclaimed loud and clear that the Wyoming Smokies would be on the look out for cannabis. The state made it clear that they wanted us to come and see the show but they wanted us to leave our dope behind, too. Okay, no problem there, but I knew I might have had a bit of one if someone decided it was in their best interest to smell the inside of my trunk. Left some mota in there this past weekend and by the time I unloaded it this morning that sweet smell of skunk just wouldn't go away.

I decided to log onto the NY Times this morning and as luck would have it they had this cool graphic posted that displayed the path that the moon's shadow would take on it's hour and a half journey across America. Luckily for me the shadow crossed Torrington, which was right up the way in Wyoming, about two and  half hours from the casita. Once I saw that I knew that I had to take a chance, make that drive. Once in a lifetime, right?

So, snacks and water, a bit of fuel and on the road I went. After reading horror stories for days about the traffic I would hit I was stunned that I drove unimpeded through Weld County, all the way into Cheyenne. Only once did I hit any kind of traffic and that was when Yellowstone Road out of the capitol merged again with the 85. Clear sailing, I thought. Then, about 30 minutes away from my destination I hit what was to be the end of the road for me. A Wyoming Highway Department truck sat off to the side of the road, it's lights flashing. The traffic slowed to a crawl. The area around the jam up was an adhoc rest area, big asphalt meant for big trucks. Once I saw that there was a sizable crowd parked all around me, I decided to forego the stop and go traffic and watch the show from there.

A number of the articles I read suggested to watch the eclipse with folks, to get a feel for the larger impact of the event on humanity. I knew that if I had my druthers I would have rather been 30 miles further up the road in that mix of people instead but for all intents and purposes, for the sake of the story, those folks on either side of the highway were going to be my Peeps for the Eclipse. I looked around and nodded. It was just this side of tail gate party. I said hello to guy parked next to me, named Josh, who was from Fort Collins. Rode there on his Harley. He figured that the traffic had pretty much dictated his story as well. Yeah, we were from all over...Colorado, Texas, New Mexico, California, Wyoming. I guess some of those folks got late starts, too. No Torrington for us.

So, I had that extra half hour plus about an hour to kill. Knocked out the snacks, texted the mujuer and my foul friend back east. Grabbed my solar glasses and peeked at the sun. Very cool tool to have around, I imagine, even when the eclipse moved on. But before too long the moon began it's reconnaissance and began to encroach on the sun's territory. Bit by bit the shadow ate up the sun just like a boy eating up a moon pie. Slowly but surely the sky went weird and color of the light began to change. Crickets started their evening song. The horizon went into twilight mode. The wind picked up and it got mighty cool. The moon finished up gobbling up the sun, and for those of us stuck 30 miles out of town, right on the edge of totality, we saw a glorious smile on the side of the sun's face, all that remained of it's former glory..

Then, that was the end of the show. The shadow had other places to go, other folks to please and impress. Once that sweet slight smile on the sun shifted I knew it was time for me to go, too. One things for certain, no amount of mota would have improved that event today. Sometimes you just have to go "au natural". No enhancements needed. I was happy to have made the journey, even more happy to have missed the traffic that was soon to be heading down that same highway I was taking. I was mighty happy for the quick decision I made that morning. I thought the day would go completely different, that I would just smoke a doob, strap on my glasses and float around the sun dappled universe of that cool, cool pool I have down the street. But instead I hit the road, grabbed a spot off the highway and was part of a very sweet and important scene.

Maybe that eclipse thing does inspire big feelings. I heard that folks would laugh, cry, when they saw the sun go out. Me, when I was driving off I felt a bit flat. It kinda reminded me how I felt when the movie Jaws came out. For years I put off watching that flick. Was it because of the giant shark? Did I put it off thinking it might make me afraid to hit the surf? Nope, it was the endless hype that ruined the event, that made the movie seem so much larger than life than it was. I generally avoid things that have big hype attached to them.

Until today. Glad to have done it, big solar smile and all.

Hope you caught it, too.

Salud!

Signed up for the duration!

How cool, how wondrously cool it is! Week after next I will be a member of the cannabis industry!

Now, with that being said, I can't say that it was easy choice to make. Today broke orange, cool yet strangely ominous. I woke up feeling rested and determined to make a choice, to be firm on my decision, but before coffee that decision was not a forgone conclusion . The family split before 8 and headed off into their day, leaving me at home to mull over things. I hit the road at 11, drove through a moderately warm summers day, air a bit hazy but the cornfields blew by as the mountains reared up on my way down and over the highways and byways to Boulder.

My mission? To complete employment paperwork, plow through legalese, read through the employee handbook, cancel a check for direct deposit and, for all intents and purposes, give the ol' heave ho to the idea of taking that long drive to the Southland. In the end, was it a hard decision to make? Not at all. Not a bit. As a matter of fact it feels like a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders. As of today I am an conditional employee of Skinny Pineapple, home of The Farm. My driving position is effective end of the month.

"What about Cali?", you might ask. Don't get me wrong. I went to sleep and woke up with that struggle at the forefront of my mind. I messed about with it this morning as I killed time around the pad, wondering what to do as I got myself ready for my appointment. I jumped in the car, took care of a couple of errands and then hit the road, still perplexed about the course of my future even though I was on my way to signing it over.

Well, I did it and I am very, very happy about the direction I am heading. My future is with cannabis and I hope to help make that future, a life of easy to access, regulated, organic, legalized marijuana, happen for those who want it.

I have to admit signing up today was nothing like signing up for the service. No, this time, if felt like a long overdue job opportunity to work at Disneyland. I even said so to the HR manager on my way out the door. Ever since I gave up a shot to work the park the summer before I shipped out I have always wondered what my life would have been like had I taken that path. I knew right away that I wouldn't have been doing the cool things I hoped to do...monitoring the line at the Haunted Mansion, wearing leider hosen on the Fantasyland side of the Skyway, or even steering a raft back and forth to Tom Sawyer's Island over the Rivers of America.

No, there would be no Mickey costume for me, either, no street sweeping, no burger flipping, no bathroom patrol. They thought highly enough of me to offer up an ice cream cart near the entrance of Tomorrowland. Somehow, man, I have no idea why, but my field supervisor job at the swap meet for the Harbor Blvd Drive In seemed to be more in line with what I wanted to do with my summer. The hours were better, there was more time for the beach, flicks were free, plus there would be plenty more time for the little blondie in my life. Heck, what does an 18 year old boy know?

What I do know now, and what has been drummed into my head and welded into my heart, is that you go with your passions. Mota, now, that's a burning passion if there ever was one. Library work, well, I worked through that one and yet I will always be a powerful advocate for reading, public service and having the door of my business open to all. Disneyland? What that hell was the matter with me back then? Before that job offer I was a tried and true Disney fanatic. I grooved on the Mouse forever, was the envy of all the kids in the family for all the times I hit the park. Heck, I even walked around the parameter of Disneyland once or twice just to pick up paper "souvenirs".What a kid. What a missed chance.

Until today. Today I decided, after a long bit of thought, that the bridge back to my past was effectively detoured. Not burned, just given over to that OTHER fork in the road. The one to my future. I have already done what I can do in the Southland with books, movies, swap meets and storytelling, now it's time to see what I can do to effect change in the marijuana industry here in Colorado. After that drive today I just have to say, I don't know ANYBODY who has given up a job in Boulder just to move to Fullerton.

Here's to going the other way down the highway.

Salud!

No hot boxing for me!

Hermetically

In a way that is completely airtight
“hermetically sealed windows help to keep out cold air”

In a way that is insulated or protected from outside influences
“hermetically sealed lives cut off from society”

I am part of a two car household. Hard to be otherwise when you have two working stiffs going in different directions each day. In a bit here I will be going off to Boulder, my dear will head off to the university here in town. Different hours, different directions, different lives after years of sharing the same profession, commute and schedule. Should be interesting.

Our car choices sort of reflect these new differences. For the past year we have been sharing a Honda Fit. Red, spartan and yet sporty, thanks to the former owner who tricked it all out for us. Our recent acquisition, a Buick Park Avenue, is a whole different world. Large, conservative, fancy. A true grandpa car. Or, as one dealer put it to me when I was looking at a '98 that was on consignment “nobody wants to touch that car. Everyone who comes up to look at it likes it but they turn away, tell me that it looks like a car their grandmother would drive”. There it is. But this grandpa likes his leather seats, like the way the stereo sounds, like the way it handles on the open road. I may be driving an older model car that has sucky gas mileage but baby, I am doing it in style.

One thing that we both have in common, though, is that we both like to ride with the windows down. Only once we did fire up the air conditioning in the Honda, and that was to impress my honey’s mom when she flew in last summer. Since then, we go around town with the windows in various states of closure. Same with the Buick. But I think we're weird that way. There is definitely something going on here, as far as windows are concerned. Saw the same thing when I was in Idaho. Seems that folks just don’t like to ride around without their windows up and their air con blasting.

I moved here car-less last year in the midst of winter. Six months later when the temps began to rise I began to understand why folks went around with their windows up but now that I am acclimated I just don’t get it. Except for the monsoons and the occasional blizzard we're farely mild in the summer. The same goes for winter. Folks around here really like to button up. We have come a long way in designing vehicles, houses. We live with incredible building codes in place. We really respect insulation, gaskets, watertightness, the way our electric bills humble us. We make things that are truly tight, so much so that when you cook those cooking fumes stay around forever, so much so that when you fart in your car the next owner will know what you ate for supper way back when.

I just don’t get why on a pretty summer’s day when it is less than 90 degrees folks just don’t go around with their windows down. They hermetically seal themselves off from the weather, from the world. They go around in their protective bubbles, listening to their music, grooving on their phone calls, bubble wrapping themselves into their own private worlds, from bedroom to doorstep to garage to highway to work and back again, every step of the way closed in and sealed tight. From day to day, year to year, from home to store, the temperature must always seem the same. Me, I guess I just like to sweat, feel the heat in the summer, have an excuse to wear wear wool in the winter.

Now, all that being said, sealed up is the way I like to see my mota. Not kitchen vacuum seal, mind you. I have become a big fan of sealing my dope in glass after I buy it. I think, after all is said and done, I am being the little helper that that herb really needs. There are times when I KNOW that my dope has not been cured well, that it has been treated with a touch less than kindness. There a few places, like L’Eagle in Denver, that pride themselves on lengthy cure times, so much so that the price of their mota reflects that. When it burns down and the ash in nice and grey, when it fires up and you don’t taste or smell grass clippings, well then, I feel my money has been well spent.

It was after reading an article about that particular dispensary that I began to seek out jars for my weed. I first went to King Soopers to pick up some jelly jars. That was great but it was a bit pricey. Then I scored a rack of baby food jars that had been color coded for a teen program at my library. Lately I hit up my local second hand stores for jars that have been donated. I like those deals best of all. At this time I have old footlocker full of them, my mota happy as clams, a gram here, an eighth there, the jars all nicely labeled with whatever strain is in them. So now my mota sits in the dark, stashed away in a cool space, all sealed, all biding their time till they are ready and properly cured, to give delight to Senior Mota Man.

In this fashion and this fashion only do I like my life hermetically sealed. I open my windows to let in the light and to flush my house of noxious smells. I drive around and let the wind blow through my closely shorn hair. But when it comes to my dope I like it tightly sealed. Psssst! Ah, the sound of dankness!

Salud!

Jonesin'

So here I sit, filling out my weekly quota of job apps at the library, awaiting the big day when I get to start work with The Farm. Got a nice packet of paperwork from them via email to fill out. One of the great things I will be getting right off the bat is an upgrade on my MED badge. Thanks to this great serendipitous opportunity I will be moving up from a Support badge to Key! Management! Very nice, but once again I get to fill out the voluminous stack of paperwork that goes along with the honor of serving the state in that capacity. Best of all, my future employer is picking up the tab! Another benefit and I haven’t even started yet!

Never mind all that. I still have to fill out apps and that happy pastime has now led me to a bridge that I must cross. I got word yesterday that an old school, fantastic, well run and good paying library out west is wanting me to come in to do an interview. Now, my dear readers, you might have gleaned while pouring through these missives that I spent around 40 years in the information industry gulag before jumping ship in May. And, if you went back far enough in this blog history of mine, you might have also gleaned that I grew up in the Great Orange, now not quite the conservative place it used to be. Choices, choices! Knowing how much I like to drive I think I might just go and interview, see what they have to say, take a look around, smell the rarified air of decent one house library again, and afterwards, maybe nosh on some old school burritos or a few In-N-Out burgers, maybe catch some rays at an outdoor bar in Newport or on the sands of Huntington. Who knows, maybe living in the Southland will appeal to me again after all these years.

One thing for certain is that securing dope will not be a problem anymore. Back in the day I had one good set of pals who were my main source of mota and believe you me that really mattered. Now, well, I think I can go into a clinic and get my old medical card renewed and have a completely different relationship with marijuana in the old O.C. I won’t have to hang with some home girls to get my dope, won’t have to drive to Bellflower to hit up old bikers to score my weed. Might make being “home” okay again. Well, only if having access to mota really matters all that much. There ARE other things that make life worth living, believe it or not.

That old saying “you can never go home again” might apply here. Have no intention of living in Santa Ana, of going back to the barrio of my youth. No sense even pretending I will live close to the beach. I do know in my heart of hearts I am really tripping the light nostalgic right now. I have no idea what it is like to live there anymore but for certain it will not be anything like where I am at now. No high plains, no grasslands, no oil wells, no cattle farts, no rednecks, no hard stares because I have a young gal for a partner.

One thing I do know is that going back will have its own set of hazards, such as, how am I going to transport my herb across state lines safely? I know, I know, here I am getting ready to start a new position in the world of world class mota and of all people I should know that taking any amont of dope across state lines is a super big no-no. Major Federal stuff. Eeek, dare I say it…but like, prison time kind of stuff. But really, what is a man to do? My investment is just a bit too big to just leave my steamer trunk by the side of the road. Maybe I’ll go down to my local medical dispensary and have a raffle. Lucky winner gets a shit load of good shit.

In the meantime I will jones away on the old home land. Pull up Google maps, look at images off the web. See what things from my youth are still around. Like the Doll Hut. Like the Goat Hill Tavern. I think of where I could be going versus where I have been the last year and a half and think, okay, this is really put up or shut up time. I have a truly righteous choice to make, always a good thing. On one hand I can take on this new job in the cannabis industry, drive throughout the day, discover a whole new world of beauty and commerce here in Colorado, embrace this brand new world of opportunity and coolness or take the plunge, go back to beginning of the circle, do what I have been good at doing, earn really good pay, have Disneyland down the block, know that swap meets, family and old pals are all around the corner. Yeah, I can go back to the beginning of me and see if what I used to have in my world is what I really need in my life right now.

Or maybe I can just smoke a bowl and look up air fare rates to Orange County and just stay right here on the Front Range. Save the moving costs and the hassle of packing up my shit. Colorado and the marijuana industry are the new world and the new world, just like it was for those gold seeking conquistadors of old, can be mighty scary. But just like Cortez, maybe it’s time for me to look over my shoulder at the Old World, at Cali, shake my head no, dig in my heels and burn the boats. And burn a fatty while I’m at it. Down to the water line, man, that's the way to do it.

Jonesing for the old world while the new one awaits.

Salud!

Never said "ssshhh!"

A public library is supposed to be a quiet space, least ways, according to legend and to the cranky old guys who only come in to read the daily news. Me, I have been a proponent of the “noisy school of librarianship” for almost thirty years. For me, noise and the hallowed halls of silent bookish behavior parted ways ages ago. When I used to be a children’s librarian I would walk around my branch with a small sleigh bell attached to my keychain, ring-ring-ringing everywhere I went. Was it there to help my boss know where I was in the building? Nope, it was there because I equated noise with bigger, more robust business. I felt, way back then, in the Stone Age of librarianship, that we needed to open up our world to regular folks, not just “library patrons”. We needed to view our building not as a library, a sanctuary of peace and quiet but one of excitement and busy activity, a community center. If we wanted to bring in the business we dreamed of we needed to be open for business, and open meant welcoming crowds, and bringing in those crowds, especially ones not savvy to the ways of libraries, meant being willing to embrace noise and a touch of chaos.

Today was the reaping of all that I sowed years ago. “Noisy as hell” is how I posted it on Facebook today, not a bad assumption on my part. Even from my perch in the teen room I knew that there must have been some sort of children’s programming here today as the kids were wild, the parents largely absent and the walls echoed with the noisy refrains of unsupervised children. Now, why is all this civic information showing up here on a mota inspired website? Well, this morning, for the first time in many months, I was able to dose myself with a bit of tincture. Now, it has been awhile since I’ve indulged so I went mild, super mild, just like the “mild” sauce is from Taco Bell, the kind that my house kid favors. Instead of noshing on an edible or taking a vape hit I decided to do some Terrapin Balance, a 50/50 product, instead. I wanted my controlled light dose of THC to be buffered with an equally light dose of CBD, just so I could go out and about and not be conspicuous. Somehow I think it worked out fine. Better than fine. It was great!

For the moment I am still tethered to the state system, still need to file applications while I wait to begin my job later on in the month. But while I am doing that chore, sitting here at the branch filing away, I would also like to begin my return to the land of mota imbibing, too. A soft touch was necessary to be able to to do the work I needed to do and today, in the midst of all the crazy kiddies, that 50/59 dose felt something like being swaddled in a soft flannel sheet. The world went wild all around me and I was cool with it. Kinder ran in and out of the teen room, walls reverberated with anguished sounds of untethered kids, little feet tramped back and forth while their parents plinked away mindlessly on their cell phones, all the while, this mild manned ex-librarian doodled away on his keyboard, checking into this, commenting on that. Bliss, yes it was, bliss.

Funny thing is my last year in the business kind of went this way, too. Almost every morning for a year or so I took a bit of my homemade tincture before I left home, took just a dab on the back of the tongue, found myself, not high, but mellow, all through the mornings of my work days. Today feels like a slight return to that moment in time, but, this time, without the hassle of needing to be “in charge”. I think more folks in high office, no pun intended, should do a bit of the same. 

Hey, Great Orange Menace! Here's a thought! Go take your tiny hands off the nuclear trigger and put them on the battery button of a Magic Flight Launch Box, instead! At the very least, have your physician team raid the Ole Miss reefer stash and have them roll you up a fatty because, baby, you need it! You are much too tense and far too straight to do the job of being the leader of the most powerful country in the free world in a righteous fashion. Frankly, I couldn’t see you even doing an effective job in the J department today.

Well, maybe, if only you did a bit of tincture first.

Yeah, enjoy a beautifully noisy day, y’all.

Salud!