Popping My Own Bubbles

Jack Herer passed away on the fifteenth, last week. The Los Angeles Times is the only major periodical to cover his death, and that was in today’s obits. I’ve been waiting for the mainstream media to cover and recognize one of our pioneers. I took it as a bad sign that there wasn’t any mention for little over a week.

I believe with all my heart that WEED is going to be legal here in Cali November 3^rd. But maybe I live in my own little WEED bubble. When the media didn’t trip over itself over the passing of Jack, especially with the tie-in of 420 and the vote in November, I got nervous. It would have made a good story, for them.

People forget how Republican California is. Forget about Gov. Ahnold, think Reagan. Of the last fifteen governors of Cali, only four have been Democrats, and that includes Jerry Brown’Jerry Brown.jpgs Dad, twice. We live in a Big Business state that gets really nervous when the cash ends up in Demo hands. Just ask Gray Davis. I mean Enron came after him, shot him with a hypodermic of Texas oil-blood and turned off his lights. Politics gives vampires a bad name in terms of blood sucking.

I am now scared about Legalization, but more-so about having Meg Whitman as my next governess, and she will be, unless her Goldman-Sachs ties become too much. But even then, people don’t care about money and politics. Right now the Teabaggers are more concern with the help that their neighbors in Michigan received than with the Wall Street shenanigans.

Meg has the green light for landing. All she has to do is not do anything stupid, and the contest is hers. Why? Because Jerry Brown is not for Legalization.

Let me explain...

Jerry Brown has stated over and over, that he is not for the Legalization of Marijuana. I personally think that Jerry is old and is living in the past. I think, he thinks that the Voters are going to see him as Gov. Moonbeam again if he comes out for POT. So he’s staying away from the controversy. Big Mistake.

So that’s the first thing Jerry needs to do, come out for WEED, and here’s why.

This state is as divided as the country is now. For Jerry’s sake, we had a Teabag demo in Union Square last week. That space is usually reserved for Flash mobs and guys in parkas with no pants. The next election is going to be as heated and as seen as being an indicator of the New Right. We can’t let Meg win.

Right now, today, no matter how many fake polls they show you, Californians are slightly in favor of Legalization. Just a little over half, like 56 % are in favor of having Kush sold at Walgreens. What Jerry needs to do is come out for WEED and makes this an issue the way the Turd Blossom made Gay Marriage the worst thing that ever could happen to the Union, Federally or Mommy-Daddy-wise. Bring the voters out over a big issue that affects us all, like what would have happen if we would have let those Gays be happy way back in ’06, or was it in ’04. For such a huge issue that was almost going to bring down our country if Gays had their way, I can’t even remember the actual years of that crisis. That false-created turmoil that made a mid-term election so volatile, so potent, the good people left their homes for the polling booth in fear of what could happen if they didn’t.

Jerry Brown needs to get behind the WEED issue or he is going to lose. Jerry, give me a call. I can help.

I spoke recently about Hummingbird Lodge, the Navaho Retirement home I used to work at in Arizona. Part of me loves AZ for the beauty of the deserts and landscapes. There’s nothing like waking and climbing a small mountain in the morning and taking that first hit over the painted sands of the Valley. Arizony though has a, pardon the pun, a dark side. Arizona is a very racist state. When folks at this bar that I frequented on the way home from work found out that I was from California, they gave me a lot of politically correct shit. Like trying to make me say the word, nigger. It was the biggest joke for them. Because it was just word, they said. I pointed out that it is really easy to say certain words when the objects of that particular pejorative isn’t present, and if there is any representation, they’re in the kitchen or too few in numbers to say anything. The bar-folk just laughed at me.  

I will say that the Border States do have issues that other states do not have, but the signing of the law yesterday that makes it legal to stop anyone who isn’t white, went way over board. Yet no one in that states seems to care, I mean no one white.

But this is just the beginning. As Whitey becomes more freaked out, the more the panic is going to set in. I would like to point out that during the campaign for president, John McCain accidently called his lovely wife, Cindy by the C-word, twice. No one flinched.

George Bush’s administration was warned about planes that might fly into our big buildings, and did nothing. Do you think That Obama could ever get those Pasadena’s? Obama is getting blamed for the Viet Nam war. He gets blamed for everything. Especially when the last guy put in a forty-five minute day. Amer’cans aren’t used to seeing someone work hard and trying to actually change things. Like the way we treat each other as Americans.

We have to be careful because the power grid is becoming way unbalanced, going towards the other side. We don’t get second chances the way Republicans do. Every candidate that is running needs to be asked about Arizona and what their feelings are about this issue.

We can’t let issues slip away like a forgotten Netflix hiding behind the DVD.

One more thing...

The reason I capitalize the word, WEED, is because it is going to be more correct to call Marijuana, Cannabis, so the Straights won’t get as scared. I like the more in your face style. I have paid a price on many levels for my indulgence. For me, there’s no sugar-coating. It’s WEED for me.

More Later...  



420-Hippie Hill 2010

When the clouds exploded over the Haight with violent rain pounding the windows of my estate late Monday night/Tuesday morning, my first thought went to the Stoners who have been camping along the Panhandle and hiding in the bushes all week waiting for the Big Day to come. I thought about the possibility of no 420 celebration. Then I thought of an early morning bakage, it was another hour and half till 4:20am, maybe I should stay awake and take a few hits at the AM:20 just for old time sake.

But the rain lulled me back to sleep.

I awoke to a ringing in my ears around nine am. Because of the Cannabis Expo, my phone’s been ringing off the hook. I had to do some bizness in the morning. Real work.

When I left the house at around one pm, the ground was still slightly wet but the mid-day sun was drying off the property.

For the past week, shy hippies have been showing up in the Haight. It was almost like the old days when I could tell that the Dead were coming without having to check the papers or the concert listings by the amount of make-shift campers and tribal school buses that were parked along Fell and Oak streets. Today was the same way. Kids in dirty brown overalls have been arriving all week. The cliques along the mouth of the park have swelled. Your average street person is fighting for unreal estate this week as they have to contend with all the out-of-towner-stoners coming for the Big Day.

And now the Big Day is here. April 20, 2010.

To be in San Francisco on 420 is unreal. It is like a Lemmings festival, but in a good way. Depending on the day it falls on, kind of dictates the crowd, but not really. My point, 420 fell on a Tuesday, Jerry helps us when it falls on a weekend.

For the past two days, not only with the arrival of the big travelers, but the locals, Marin people, the East Bay crowd, have been showing up and what?...staying with friends? I don’t know where they stay but they’re not sleeping on the streets and the Haight is busy. Like a homing page only those tinged with THC can hear, minions have been zeroing in on Hippie Hill in Golden Gate Park non-stop for the past few days.

I live ten blocks from Hippie Hill, almost outside my door. As I leave my apartment, the sidewalk is already crowded. Haight St. is jammed with cars like The Strip in Vegas on Super Bowl Saturday night. I hear cabs have to drop somewhere near Masonic and refuse to get close to the Park in fear of being trapped by the feral kids who only understand one thing, Let’s Get High!

It is now Zombieland as we all stumble together, walking slowly into the Park. I am definitely one of the oldest in this particular parade. In fact, of the thousands marching towards the Hill, I hardly recognize anyone from San Francisco. It seems like everyone here is from north of Santa Cruz and south of Mendo. Once I leave from under the Broken Moon Tunnel, the main sidewalk leading to Hippie Hill is jammed with vendors selling...everything. Pipes, food, beer, and Weed.

Then as I split right towards the gathering at the crossroads of the sidewalk, away from the Kid’s playground, the scene is in full swing. Clowns in red fright wigs flash peace signs then pass out onto the dewy lawn. Tanned hippie chicks in small amounts of wardrobe dance in circles, surprisingly, not passing out. There are multi-colored tents dotting the area next to a patchwork of blankets and festival chairs. And I must say... there is a slight smell of WEED in the air.

It is really a beautiful experience. Strangers are talking to strangers. Even though people are selling eighths and single joints, it does seem like everyone is sharing what they have with whomever is next to them.

I had a kid name Andre from Milano who wanted to smoke a joint with me because I let him use my cell phone for a call he needed to make. I told him he didn’t have to, but he wouldn’t hear of it. It was that kind of day. Weed was the currency. It was a way of paying back and giving thanks. Andre couldn’t believe California and that something like this existed, a huge pot party like this in a state park. There wasn’t a cop in sight. Andre in his designer shades and European jeans couldn’t contain the joy, is bliss too strong? Alright, joy that he found in his surroundings.

Of course there were college kids with their bongs that you needed a step ladder to use. Earth mommas my age danced in peasant dresses holding the hands of younger women that I thought might be there kids. Pot; The Next Generation.

And it wasn’t even Two O’clock yet...

I left Hippie Hill a little before Four. It didn’t make much sense to hang out any more. IT’s not like anyone waited to smoke until it was 4:20. Plus the people just kept on coming. It was funny to watch the homeless tribe that usually occupies that area. On non-420 days, I’ve hung out along the green park benches of Hippie Hill, talking to the street kids for stories or just to check in on what’s happening in my backyard. Today, it was like the homeless that live in that part of the park, were the host and hostesses of the event. Big smiles of recognition went out to street freaks that see each other every day but now are celebrating in their huge, mammoth rumpus room of a park-den and making sure all the guests are happy just like Dede or Danielle downtown.

Now here’s the drag and the two reasons why I left. Number one, there were too many people. B, 420 is changing.

Four years ago I saw the end. At that 420 you could still move around. There were circles of people, mostly only occupying the space of the actual Hippie Hill with only a few people and tents along the low lands. Freaks floated and dropped into circles, sharing smoke and smiles. There were cops on the borders for crowd control and to show whose still boss. In the last few years, it’s grown considerably. Not that that is a bad thing. Weed is more popular than ever and will be legal soon. It is the Way of Things. If you read the papers, someone very astute said this might be the last non-legal 420 for San Francisco. It’s all changing. It’s all happening.

Next year I can see a Ben and Jerry’s getting involved. 420 is never going to be like it was. Corporate sponsorship is around the corner. You can’t have that many people in one place and not have someone not try to figure out how to make the most money from it. If WEED is going to be legal soon, it has a lot to do with the economics of the times. If we didn’t need the tax money, our chances for legalization wouldn’t be as good.

Capitalism works both ways for today’s Pot Head.

At 4:20 I think I was yelling at Chris Matthews for being so Chris Matthews. I had a huge rocket of Durbin Poison burning. I knew it was 4:20 by the shouts and the applause I could hear from the Park. We all celebrate in our own way. The celebration went on late into the evening.

As I watched couples lean on each other leaving. Young boys so baked that they couldn’t talk except smile hello followed their buddies in a chain gang with arms on shoulders for guidance. Costumes bled and faces melted into the night’s fog.

I thought I might be seeing the last of something special.

I remember the first Earth Days. Back in Minnesota, there were only about twenty of us planting trees and doing walks for mankind. I remember someone made a t-shirt in art class, a silkscreen of a green Earth. We all laughed. This is when it was still legal to litter. Its funny how things start out so innocent.

 I know it’s just going to be just a matter of time before we open our calendars to the date of April 20^th   and it will be highlighted. By the Man.

Peace out.



I'm Still High

Hold it...pause...let it out...Phheeeww...What a weekend...

The International Cannabis and Hemp Expo was not only a raging success, but it was the largest gathering of THC-laden tribes that has ever been assembled in one place. Where to start? Huge shout out to the Guys at D-Tree. While East Bay guys gave me crumbs of tiny purple nugs in tiny snuff container, the D-Tree Boyz gave away boulders exceeding almost two g’s, and killer. I heard that D-Tree and a few others, gave...Gave away a pound of bud each day of the Fest to the attendees in the 215 area, where consumption and distribution was allowed. This past weekend, you weren’t allowed to sell Weed, only give it away. We can’t let Meg Whitman anywhere near this state. How great is that?

Okay, there were three sections with some 120,000 square feet taken up by all things Weed. Again, total transparency, this writer is selling one of the coolest products ever and was not only attending the trade show as a journalist but also as a greedy capitalist too. But what better way to really see the convention then as a participant?

I was in the All Ages area. We’re all alone on the North Side of the Cow Palace. On the South side were the 18 and older area, then through that was the 215 area, where smoking and displaying of herb was allowed. Thanks again to all my friends that I saw while checking out booths who said to me, “Try some of this Blueberry Kush, I think you might like it.” Think Costco, you’re walking by the columns of Q-Tip towers and someone gives you a toothpick with a piece of white meat on it with the words, “It’s on sale...” Now imagine the same walk-by only being handed a nug in small baggy with the dispensaries name written on it. Fun, huh? Makes for a nice swag bag for chillin’ at the end of the night. It reminded me how I was as a young kid at Halloween. Remember when you’d separate in piles the good candy from the bad, finding that special candy bar, going, “Oh yeah, now I remember that house. They had good candy.” It was that kind of fun. I stashed so much literature, samples of balms and edibles, brochures, just like any other convention. I still haven’t hit that purple shit from Richmond.

There were two stages with speakers but I was working my booth so never heard any of them except one guy from, I think, New Leaf newspaper. He was good. He educated the crowd on what to expect in terms of opposition with Legalization this November. All the usual bullshit ploys that the other side is going to use. “Do we want our pilots flying stoned?” No, I prefer my flyboys looped on booze. Call me old school. Seriously, he was passionate and informative.

On the most sad note, there was very little mention of Jack Herer’s passing. I saw pictures of Jack posted on some booths. Some Earth Momma who had her daughter, Quarry, slinged to her ample chest, was displaying a Polaroid of Jack holding Quarry in his lap to anyone who wanted to look. It was sweet.

On the positive side, as far as I could tell, for the four days I was there. Friday was load-in. Saturday and Sunday, the days of the show, and Monday was load-out. There was not one speck of trouble. The only problem was that some douche locked the keys to his convertible in his trunk. It wouldn’t have been a big problem, but he had parked in a no-parking zone, thus blocking the entrance and exit to the loading area. This pissed off us vendors; the general public never saw a thing. That was it.

Big shouts out to Bob Katzman and Diana Colvin, the organizers. Did just a fantastic job. Bob was unbelievable. A total picture of Satori and corporate bliss in jeans and a suit coat. I saw the leader of the trade show hit up a huge spliff for the cameras when asked how he was handling the whole scene. Bob just exhaled a belly of blue smoke and said, “It all seems pretty cool, yeah?” The newsman had no choice but to nod yes.

Then there was sweet Stephanie who directed traffic and got you papers, she was the go-to person of the show, and did I mention, sweet?

Big Picture;

For a weekend, the papers said there were some 15,000 people who attended the Expo. Hippie Hill is going to get 20 grand worth of freaks today, so I think their figures were light. But be that as it may, there were a lot of stoned people of all ages, creeds, sexes, and to be fair, some that were actually sober and had no intend on smoking or anything Weed related, but wanted to see where the buzz was coming from. And the smoke...

At the turn of the last century... millennium... I was working in the computer industry. We had a product that was a portable computer-mpeg player with a built-in GPS that played commercials in taxis and cabs so that when you drove by the particular club or restaurant, it played the ad for that venue. We were on the cutting edge. The bleeding edge as it was called in those heady upstart days.

I had that same feeling over the weekend. I was once again ahead of the general curve. I met a guy who will grow your plants for you. He does anywhere from one to twenty-five for patients. There was an insurance company that would insure your crop. There was a big ticket item. A mobile grow lab, all self-contained and thermo-sensitive proof. I think it cost like 18 thou. Not to mention all the dudes like me who had a product that went with dope but only as a gag. A guy was selling a mouthpiece that you stick the joint into and there was a tiny rod that went up the ass of the joint, creating a great air-flow hit. Okay...

The guys next to me were starting Union 13. Protecting all things Weed, from growers to dispensaries, and all those trades in between who need representation. Y’know, when you need union help, who ya gonna call? Union 13, that’s who.

To sum it up...There’s no going backwards now. We just had our first legal Marijuana trade show. To think I’m bitching that the free Weed I received from a booth was too small. I guess that’s the real deal.

As a kid I couldn’t wait to do Halloween on my own.
Going out into the night with my buddies dressed like pirates without cares and watchful eyes. Gathering the experience where you learn to carry a mammoth pillow case instead of a flimsy paper grocery bag to haul away your booty. Then after years of being out on your own, you become jaded and cynical. All of a sudden the Snickers and the Milky Ways mean more that the icky Dots and anything orange looking. I would take my Halloween candy and separate it into what I was willing to share with others and what I was going to hide in my bottom drawer, just for me. The stupid stuff, I’d give to my little brothers and mom. The good stuff, if I doled it out just right, could last till December. That was the way it was with my swag bag. I got home Sunday night and separated the whole weekend in piles. Once all was triaged the way I liked it, I dug in.

I couldn’t write yesterday.

It was the Bestest weekend ever...

Happy 420...

See you at Hippie Hill, rain or shine...



Stoners Don't Have To Forget



I used to work at Navaho Retirement Home in Arizona, after work I drank at a local watering hole in the center of Scottsdale. This bar was more than your usual place to come for drink, you went there for spirits. One of my drinking partners was Jack Herer’s wife’s sister, I’ll call her Lonny.

I got my first Jack Herer pipe at a High Times party in Vegas around the year 2000. This double trajectory hitter is still my favorite for hash and other exotics.

One night at the bar in Scottsdale, Lonny, her husband, Dougy, and I retreated to a parking lot behind the bar for a few hits. When Lonny saw my Jack Herer, she flipped, the jig was out and for the rest of that stony night, I heard all the Jack Herer scoops I ever wanted to, and then some.

If you not familiar with Jack, you don’t know the movement.

There’s an old Vulcan saying, “It took Nixon to go to China.”

It took a Green Beret to catch America’s attention. I never met Jack; saw him a couple of times. Jack Herer was an American hero. Willing to stand up when the hesitant dedicated ones were still trying to get off the couch.

I took a few hits off the ol’ Jack when I heard the news of his passing yesterday.

Then there’s the news about Dennis Peron. He had a stroke I hear.

The Cannabis Expo is not going to be the same without them. Hey Dennis, I’m not writing you off, just saying you’re going to be missed at the event.

I can’t say this enough. No one’s free until we’re all free.

As we celebrate Weed and Hemp this weekend, let’s remember who can’t be with us today. And remember some of those who can’t make it, who should be here, aren’t.

Let’s change perception. Stoners can remember.

Have a great Cannabis Expo!!!

Trade Show of Our Own

Come with me
And you'll be

In a world of
Pure imagination
Take a look
And you'll see
Into your imagination
We'll begin
With a spin
Traveling in
The world of my creation
What we'll see
Will defy
Explanation

If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Wanta change the world?
There's nothing
To it
-Mr. Willy Wonka

I really like the movie, “League of Our Own.” There are so many good parts, let alone quotable sections, (Crying? There’s no CRYING in Baseball!) that its one of those movies that when playing uncut on cable I’ll watch fifty minutes of it or so, just because it’s that good.

What I also like about the movie is how it taught me about the role women literally played in baseball and their historical significance. When the women walk through the Hall of Fame, THEIR Women’s Baseball Hall of Fame, the look on their eyes is priceless. Part astonishment that a place, a hall like this could exist commemorating something that otherwise might have been forgotten and a certain smile unable to hold back the pride of doing something first and without fanfare. Can you imagine finding a museum with your likeness held up high for the world to see as an innovator? In a way it’s like battle. You do something unexpected that you weren’t sure you had it inside you, but in the heat of the moment, you rose to the occasion. That’s why those women in the movie when their Hall of Fame open with the ribbon-cutting ceremony, the old players swarmed into the exhibit. They wanted to touch, feel, relive those moments that meant so much to them and now, was located in one central area. The look of recognition they had with each other as they relived moments from the photographs. Usually those silent nods to each other only come from individuals who have come together as a group to overthrow a bigger conflict.

Can you imagine?

I might be overstated the case a little, but I am so excited for the International Cannabis and Hemp Expo happening this weekend at the Cow Palace, here in the City. Not just because of all the booths with cool stuff and free swag. Not just because there will be a smoking lounge for the card carriers. Not just because my buddy, Josh from the Northlands might be there with his outrageous Sour Diesel. Y’know why I am so excited? I’m going to be with my people.

Granted living in San Francisco, you really don’t have to hide your smoking, but I still do.

I don’t smoke weed at my girlfriend’s parent’s parties. I don’t light up at work events unless it’s at my work, where it is encouraged.

I sense walking around the Cow Palace with thousands and thousands of stoners, is not only going to be fun, but I imagine it to be liberating. Think of it being one big collective bong hit that all goers are going to partake in and let it out to the cosmos as if to say, “Watch out, World, our time is coming.”

We will be like little red-eyed Energizer Bunnies, all recharged, ready to take our message to the masses.

“We’re Stoners. We’re Here. Get use to the Smell!”

It’s going to be a wild and fun weekend. If you’re wandering around, I’ll be by the California Grow Mug booth. Stop by and say, “high.”

WakeyBakey	Cindy99
Standby	Blue Dream
Crave	Dragon’s Breath
Upstairs	Granddaddy Purple
Tasty	Grape Kush
Happening	Orion’s Belt

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