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! 

Editor, please!

Goodness, why hasn’t someone dropped me a line to tell me “how boring, Sr Mota Man! Write about something else besides looking for work, why doncha?” Okay, okay, I was caught up in that whirlpool, becalmed in the doldrums, my ship of state going round and round on the same thought. Well, I was spun right out of there last Thursday and now I am here, your faithful servant patiently awaiting the start of a new era. Here all by my lonesome and with a lot of mota to partake in.

As mentioned in my earlier missives, I was on a regular dispensary crawl there for a while, amassing mota, just in time, apparently, for the great American/North Korean Armageddon. Have you been keeping up with the news? Goodness, all that saber rattling going on and we’re not just talking about Sessions. On that note glad to read that his Special Commission didn’t give him any Special Commission ammunition to go out and turn loose the dogs of the drug war. Nope, instead we have the Great Orange Menace out there on the golf links throwing stink eye at that equally unhinged madman over there in North Korea. 

All my life I wondered if I was ever going to have use that Duck and Cover shit I learned in elementary school. Still don’t know the score on that but while I am waiting to find out I think it’s time to go down to my favorite liquor store and round up the usual suspects….a good cold bottle of sparkling Cava, a couple nice bottles of Merlot, a case of decent craft beer, a bottle of 100 percent agave, a bottle of quality calvados and a maybe a decent cigar. Oh, yes, and ice. Can’t see sitting on my deck chair, watching the end of the world go down and having to drink warm beer!

Well, if I can’t make it to the liquor store on time I can at least get into the stash I have accumulated. What a treat that will be! Fired up the batteries for the Magic Flight Launch Box. Got matches for the new bubbler. Charged up the newly acquired Pax Era pen. Have all the mota that’s fit to sample aging properly in nicely sealed glass jars and well, that’s that. Now it’s time to choose! Should I start out with a bit of tincture, just to set things up? Should I cut up a Wana Brand Blueberry treat into fours, just to get that microdose thing going? Maybe I should take a sip out of one of my Lucid Mood pens, just to see if after all this time the batteries work? Maybe I should just crumble a little bit of flower? Hell, now that that’s out of the bag, where to start? Landrace? Hybrid? Indica dominant? Sativa forward?

Maybe instead of flower I will do a bit of old school hash. Should I do it solo or sprinkle it on flower and roll it up or maybe make up a nice healthy glass spoon’s worth of bubbly joy? Maybe I’ll get out the oil syringe and make up a Cali Cannon? Maybe I’ll make up my own caviar! No time to go out and by a rig, just going to have to wing it and do it the old fashioned way, make a snake out of it and wrap it up, blunt style, with a bunch of bud in a plethora of hemp paper!

Man, too many choices, like Noah trying to pick out his favorite twins out of that zoo of his on the ark. Well, there is nothing better, in the end, to just pick an old school strain, something light and mellow like Maui Wowie or Original Cali Orange and grind down a bud, sprinkle a bit on the screen of the Launch Box and just push the button to fire it all up. At this stage, this old lightweight is good for one toke. One hitter quitter, that’s me alright!

Then, and only then, after the buzz has died down, will I get out a beer. As the saying goes, “Grass before beer, you are in the clear. Beer before grass, you are on your ass”.  Composure matters! When that fireball goes off, I don’t want to rolling around on the ground stoned out of my mind embarrassing myself!

Salud!

Balls!

A bit over three months ago I decided to take a "sabbatical". In other words, I quit my job. It wasn’t something that I took lightly but my health, the happiness of my household and my life depended on it. There isn’t a “right” time to go, a proper time to do something, but when I walked into work on the 4^th of May I knew it was time to drop the hammer on my twenty-five-year career in librarianship. When you’ve done something for that long you have either been fortunate enough to have been able to take the high road, one that, if you are lucky, just keeps on going higher and higher, or you look around, know that you long ago hit the pinnacle of your career, and say, “what is there left to do?” On that fateful day I knew that “once the boss, never the servant” was what my life in that business was all about. What is funny is that I figure that most of the folks who have been getting my applications, reading through my resume, listening to me chat library stuff with them over the phone, got that too.

So, three plus months of grooving since then. I go to the library almost every day to use their free computer time, send off apps religiously, take naps when I can and help to keep the house clean. I cook a lot, drink a bit of wine (sometimes more than a bit!) and, for the sake of possible piss tests, have been keeping my pee clean. I sleep well at night, my digestive tract is back to normal, I am happy and my household is humming along. My partner, gawd bless her heart, has been with me on this. She is happy for the changes she has seen in me and has been behind me on this quest that I have been on, to gain access to the cannabis trade. 

As a matter of fact, she is the one that made the connection that helped me land the position I will be starting on the 28^th. We were leaving the Denver Vangst career fair that fateful Sunday last month when she heard me mention that the lines for The Farm were just as long as when we came in. She walked over, got the attention of the HR manager and told him that we were leaving but could her partner introduce himself and leave a resume? Well, one thing lead to another. A midweek phone call and a bit of serendipity lead to an interview. I turned down the possibility for budtender work but then they showed interest, called me in again and found a way to fit me into a new position they were generating to help get their Indigopro products out into the world. 

So, after a fun and informative interview I went off to eat some Indian buffet when 

I got a phone call on my way to the hot plates. Starting at the end of the month (with time for jury duty, a bit of eclipse watching and a visit to see the kids) I will be coming on board as a courier driver, with the chance to see how the industry works from the bottom up. Years of providing quality customer service plus experience as a driver plus persistence helped to pave the way to this opportunity, one with a new car to drive, health benefits, a smart phone to use and discounts in the shop! Wow!

This month in High Times there is an article about securing a job in the cannabis trade. I have been reading for months now how lots of folks from all walks of life are finding their way in, or, as was the case for me, trying to find a way to get a foot in the door. I know that the allure of pot, the thought of getting high all the time, must drive a lot of folks to want to play in the industry but this industry is maturing and is growing like any other form of big business. In other words, be serious about this and you will be taken seriously. If you have a trade, that is great. Managers, accountants, sales reps, chemists, security, IT folks, warehouse people, food service types are all needed. And sure, if you have “experience” with cannabis that might be helpful, too, for securing those coveted sales jobs at the counter but it will take more than that. The line behind you is long and full of folks who really, REALLY want a place in this business. 

Be more than just another head at the pot shop. Study up. Read the Cannabist, Marijuana News Daily, Leafly and Weedmaps for the latest in the business. Tune into what NORML and other activists are doing. Study up on your state's marijuana laws. Talk with dispensary folks, attend job fairs, go to a big tent pole show like the Cannabis Cup, read up about all the uses of hemp, dig deep into Jack Herer's The Emperor Wears No Clothes, keep up with the national news daily to help you stay on top of the political climate of the most sacred of all plants. Be interested in all aspects of cannabis. Learn about the medical efficacies of it as much as the fun, recreational side of it. Read the trade magazines, do regular dispensary crawls, find out about all the new products coming on line and then be sure to try them out if you can. Then, and only then, you will find folks beating a path to YOUR door instead of waiting for the phone to ring.

It took balls to quit a well-paying job with benefits. I don’t know if I was ever so ballsy before in my life, knowing that bills and rent and child support were all hanging in the lurch. But I got lucky. I have a great partner, a good home life, a trickle of unemployment and a deep, abiding love for cannabis and all of that got me through what could have been a pretty bleak time. But it wasn't.Yeah, I got lucky. Now, go out there and make you own luck. Go out there and live YOUR mota industry dream!

And don’t forget to bring your balls, you’ll need them!

Salud!

Making my way in

“Must have a year’s worth of experience in the cannabis industry”. Sheesh. How to get experience when no one wants to hire you unless you have experience? 

The Green Rush. Most of all it has been a waiting game. As with all big deal rushes it is always falls on the ones who arrive late in the game to pay big bucks for the supplies to mine the gold. The first ones in call the shots, set up shop, claim the big deal titles for themselves. Saw that at the Vangst job fair a few weeks back. Regardless of your levels of experience in those other worlds of commerce unless you were there grubbing it out as a grower, a medical clerk or a dealer of some sort, it didn't matter much. Get in line, son, there's lot of folks behind you who want in, who are willing to trade off those high salaries and fancy job descriptions just to get a foot in the door, to sell a bit of weed, just to get the clock started.

It was a shocker to see what a game it was, but in the end, not very surprising. You could smell the money. Some of the folks behind those tables didn’t even appear to be very sophisticated but that didn't matter, they were here first. I sometimes feel that the weight of those ten dollar cans of beans and two-hundred-dollar pick axes are a bit too much to bear. But like all those prospectors of old, I will take up the challenge and mine that ore, bust up those rocks. Who knows when my time will come? Who knows when that vein of fool’s gold will yield pay dirt?

I make time pass by being a good researcher. I while away time on the road, make the miles pass doing dispensary crawls. Talking with budtenders and buyers, looking at all the products on hand, seeing how owners have their showrooms set up, all of it helps me see what the state of cannabis is here in the state of Colorado. While I wait for something to happen I read The Cannabist, Marijuana Business Daily. THC magazine. I always pick up fliers and local rags from the lobbies of the dispensaries to see who is selling mota around town, to find out where the bargains are. The Rooster. Westword. The Denver Post. I read the local news to make sure that I keep up with the politics of the state as it applies to the politics of the land. I sometimes vacillate whenever I hear Sessions rattling his drug war sword but then I look around me, see that weed is not making a negative impact on my community or my life and continue my quest to make something happen. Something will happen, indeed.

To tell the truth I was offered a job with an edibles firm but I had to turn it down. Wana Brands. Delivery, warehouse. A foot in the door. A job to get the meter running, to rack up the time that will make that “one year’s experience” thing go away. But I live 50 miles out from that warehouse, drive an old Buick. The gas would have killed the wage. What a thing, all the folks who work with the people who are coming in the door to buy that weed make peanuts. The old adage, the ones who touch the product don’t make the bucks, certainly applies to cannabis. But I knew that already. Too many months of study clued me into that. 12 bucks is not a living wage, not even with tips, but that's what we are lining up at the door for.

But I am still game, regardless. I am now considering a similar job with a better firm, with a slightly better wage. Have an interview all set up for next week with The Farm in Boulder. Still fifty miles, still driving the grandpa car. Does working for a better business appeal to my vanity? Does a bit more bucks make the sting of the drive go away? You bet. So does a 40 percent discount on products in-house and employer paid health care. Can’t dismiss health care. What I am seeing is that my altruistic, romantic ways of looking at the industry are taking a side chair for the moment. I am looking at the industry as that, an industry. I am not looking at it through purple haze colored glasses, but rather through the eyes of man who still believes in the transformative powers of cannabis but who also knows that he has to make a living.

Next week I may be able to sip once again on my Magic Flight Launch Box again, free from the worries of pee tests. I may finally be able to do my tinctures, to eat a bit of edible. So much investment, so much product, so little time! To partake in the joys of working in the cannabis field is what I have been striving for. Who knows where it will lead. As my partner says to me, do this, either get on with it, do something great or get it out of your system. My years of toiling the fields of information have prepared me for this. For entry level work. For the joys of sharing the good news of cannabis.

Salud!