Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Happy Four Twenty
Rollem' and smokem' folks!
No Uncle Chuck's basement game but Gordon and I plan on getting it going again next year if it works out.
Uncle Chuck's baseball game will be the event of the evening. Should be a good blasting of a night as most of the team blazes a minimum of 1 doob each every single day.
Time will tell whether how messed up they get tonight.
I hope you have a good one!
No Uncle Chuck's basement game but Gordon and I plan on getting it going again next year if it works out.
Uncle Chuck's baseball game will be the event of the evening. Should be a good blasting of a night as most of the team blazes a minimum of 1 doob each every single day.
Time will tell whether how messed up they get tonight.
I hope you have a good one!
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Greening of America
It looks like ole Gordo's theories on the legalization of marijuana are coming true. If you don't recall, it's my theory that the Baby Boomers will be the first generation (since the criminalization of marijuana) to widely partake in the herb. Even if the generation does not, as a rule, still smoke, their experience with the harmlessness of marijuana is a great starting point to its legalization.
But it will be the children of the Boomers who will legalize marijuana. Only this generation has grown up widely using (past-tense included) marijuana with parents who widely used marijuana. It seems to me that when the Boomers' kids are running the show, the old wives tales about marijuana, encapsulated by the ridiculous 1936 film, Reefer Madness, will be finally dead and buried, the old holdovers having literally moved on from this world.
In this week's issue of Time magazine, Joe Klein jumps in on the side of pot smokers. He starts off with the tongue-in-cheek premise that the Boomers should pass a law that allows anyone over 80 to use whatever drugs they like, provided that they also surrender their drivers' licenses. Well, I'm not waiting until 80, but the rest of the article lays out some very interesting points.
First and foremost, its clear that our nation is wasting time and money fighting marijuana. According to the article, over $22 Billion dollars is spent per year on incarcerated non-violent drug-related criminals. We spend almost $75 Billion on policing and courts for marijuana-related arrests. Joe correctly points out that this money could be used elsewhere, like schools and infrastructure OR (god forbid) less taxes.
That doesn't even begin to discuss the tax benefit. A 10% pot tax would yield $1.4 Billion in California alone. That's freakin' staggering.
So, how does this demonstrate the great change I expect? Well, also as per Klein's article, at Obama's recent press conference, where he chose to answer questions from the public, the two most popular questions about "green jobs and energy" were about pot. I don't have any idea what that means...other than the fact that pollsters will have to see that number and act accordingly.
This is a long term plan, naturally. As Klein points out, we are still in an environment where politicians cannot take on the legalize marijuana crusage without being essentially blacklisted. But time is on our side. As the Boomers continue to age and the younger generations move into roles of power, the voices of the Greatest Generation (who were great, but slightly misinformed about marijuana) will fade. Instead, we will have people running the government who have smoked marijuana, whose parents have smoked marijuana, whose kids have smoked marijuana. Oh, and Social Security should be going bankrupt any day now. Seems like we need more tax revenue. $10 packs of cigarettes are fine and all, but I'd be glad to pay $100 for a pack of 20 joints.
But it will be the children of the Boomers who will legalize marijuana. Only this generation has grown up widely using (past-tense included) marijuana with parents who widely used marijuana. It seems to me that when the Boomers' kids are running the show, the old wives tales about marijuana, encapsulated by the ridiculous 1936 film, Reefer Madness, will be finally dead and buried, the old holdovers having literally moved on from this world.
In this week's issue of Time magazine, Joe Klein jumps in on the side of pot smokers. He starts off with the tongue-in-cheek premise that the Boomers should pass a law that allows anyone over 80 to use whatever drugs they like, provided that they also surrender their drivers' licenses. Well, I'm not waiting until 80, but the rest of the article lays out some very interesting points.
First and foremost, its clear that our nation is wasting time and money fighting marijuana. According to the article, over $22 Billion dollars is spent per year on incarcerated non-violent drug-related criminals. We spend almost $75 Billion on policing and courts for marijuana-related arrests. Joe correctly points out that this money could be used elsewhere, like schools and infrastructure OR (god forbid) less taxes.
That doesn't even begin to discuss the tax benefit. A 10% pot tax would yield $1.4 Billion in California alone. That's freakin' staggering.
So, how does this demonstrate the great change I expect? Well, also as per Klein's article, at Obama's recent press conference, where he chose to answer questions from the public, the two most popular questions about "green jobs and energy" were about pot. I don't have any idea what that means...other than the fact that pollsters will have to see that number and act accordingly.
This is a long term plan, naturally. As Klein points out, we are still in an environment where politicians cannot take on the legalize marijuana crusage without being essentially blacklisted. But time is on our side. As the Boomers continue to age and the younger generations move into roles of power, the voices of the Greatest Generation (who were great, but slightly misinformed about marijuana) will fade. Instead, we will have people running the government who have smoked marijuana, whose parents have smoked marijuana, whose kids have smoked marijuana. Oh, and Social Security should be going bankrupt any day now. Seems like we need more tax revenue. $10 packs of cigarettes are fine and all, but I'd be glad to pay $100 for a pack of 20 joints.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Let's burn one
Ok so it's been a while since I posted anything at all. Not by accident either. I'm meeting with some friends tonight. In fact, Nolan is coming over as well. He was really the inspiration for this blog to begin with. I wanted to just tell it like it was, say what I wanted without fear of recourse. Well I have done that for the most part, and will continue to do so when the time is right. I'm a bit sad that I won't be able to enjoy Uncle Chuck's Basement Game this year on 04/20. My ball team has their first game of the season that night. Season opener with beers and a shit load of doobs is too hard to pass up. If it rains and the game is cancelled then obviously I will be there. I know that others will be there, and of course I will register. Maybe people will be kind enough not to steal my blinds so that I can play a few hands at the end of the night? I am not even sure if others are interested in us organizing it again? Who knows. I'll have to talk to Gordan Greene about that one. Hopefully it happens again, I know Change100 will want to defend her title.
Time to burn.
peace.
Time to burn.
peace.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Nancy Botwin
I picked up a fresh stash a week ago. It was one of my weirder purchasing experiences.
I usually get bud from my bud, Brown. Brown and I grew up together and we're practically brothers. He gets from some unknown source, and I get an ounce or a half ounce every once in a while to stock up. It's not that he hides his source, I just never thought to ask.
It's the perfect setup, except I have to get Brown the casheesh in advance since it's a tidy sum, about $200 for a half, $400 for an ounce. Brown is not a dealer. He's more of a...subsistence dealer. He sells to friends only enough so that he can smoke for free. Because of this, he doesn't have the cash to lay out for my ounce. I have to get him the money in advance. And Brown lives about an hour and a half away by various trains. Lovely.
Usually, I time my purchases to coincide with social events. If Brown or my birthday is coming up, or a poker game, or a BBQ, I just bring an extra $400 for Brown. Then I only have to go to his place once to pick up the stash.
Pot heads are usually VERY unmotivated, with one exception: the effort they'll take to get more herb. It's with this in mind that I called Brown to see if I could get a restock on Monday. It was a Thursday. I figured I could work a way to get him the dough, and then on Monday, I'd drive to pick it up. I was at the last of my stash, actually down to harvesting the small tin of roaches, for their resin-drenched, half-burnt herb. It's an acquired taste. Regardless, I knew I had enough to last me well into Monday, but probably not much beyond.
Naturally, nothing goes easily. Brown was also at the end of his stash, but he couldn't wait for Monday. Shit. He was going on Friday night to pick up the stash. Did I want to come?
Hmm...If I go, I gotta meet the dealer. It's not that big of a deal, really, but dealer's can be very hit or miss. Let's be honest. Our best and brightest usually don't aspire to low level marijuana sales. But if I didn't go, I wasn't getting my ounce, and if I get my ounce, I don't need to deal with this shit for a long while. Ah, fuck it. And off we went.
After work on Friday, I took my $400 and hopped on the train to Brown's place. When I got there, one of his buddies, Lou, was hanging out. Lou is a funny guy and I was glad to have him around, but it was classic Brown. If you are hanging with Brown, Brown rolls deep. He always has someone with him and usually, you don't know about it until you show up.
We hung out for a bit before deciding to pick up the stash. Before going, we naturally took some bong hits. In the car, we smoked a bowl or two. Truthfully, I don't usually smoke in cars. I find it to be too risky. But somehow with these guys, it's standard issue and I don't think twice.
So, I ask, where is the dealer's place?
Out East, Brown replied. About 50 minutes.
Mother fucker.
I had already had a long day of work, took the trip out to Brown's and now faced a two hour round trip, only to get on a train to head back home for another hour plus. Motherfucker. I must really love weed.
About 50 minutes later, we arrived at the house. It was a non-descript two story house in the suburbs. It looked like every other house on the block in shape, if maybe not for the siding.
As I got out of the car, I asked Brown for the first time, Hey, who is your dealer?
He said with a smirk, Nancy Botwin.
Right now, half of you people just had a moment of recognition. The other half don't know what I'm talking about because they don't watch the TV show Weeds on Showtime. At the time of our arrival at the dealer's house, I was in the second half.
Nancy Botwin, I asked. Why does that sound familiar? Looking back, I probably recognized it subconsciously as the main character from the show Weeds. I saw maybe two episodes of the show four years ago and about a year ago, the show was all the rage in every Entertainment magazine, so I probably picked up some recognition of the name. But at the time, all I thought was that I might know this person, this Nancy Botwin. Maybe she went to school with Brown and I. I have a terrible memory, especially with names. I didn't want to make an ass out of myself.
Do I know her? I asked Brown, entirely seriously.
What? He looked at me like I'm retarded. You don't know Nancy Botwin?
Uh. I dunno. Do I?
Shit. I guess not.
What?
The door opened. It was, as best as I knew, Nancy. And she was hot.
I definitely never met Nancy before. I would've remembered her. She had a tight body, maybe 5'4", rail thin. Her hair was long and a soft color brown. Motherfucker. Nancy fucking Botwin was hot.
Not that that meant anything. I just like the view. Gordon Greene is a committed man. That, and I have no game.
I just hung on the couch, lightly making drug dealer-buyer small talk. I was high and looking around the house. A baby's blanket and toys were on the floor, but the baby was obviously sleeping. This pixie of a chick had pushed out a baby? Somehow, that made her more hot. Sorta.
The house was bugging me out though. It felt...familiar. Like dejatwo. I kept dancing around it with Brown before just asking straight out. I wasn't sure if I had actually been there, or been in a house with an identical layout (I use to hang out in the neighborhood and the house layouts were all identical in some areas), or if I was just on a head trip.
Hey man, this place feels familiar.
Hey, have we been here before?
Dude, did we play poker here? Why do I feel like I played poker here?
All of his answers were quizzical stares. I am not a retard.
It was probably 10 minutes more of idle chit chat, looking over a big bag of bud and pretending like it mattered what quality it was. If I had gone through all of that effort for the herb and found out it was ditchweed, I'd be disappointed, but I'd be buying.
We were about to make the buy when I heard the door open. A voice boomed in, Hey guys! The voice sounded familiar. It was Pete, another one of Brown's many random friends. Like Lou, I had hung out with Pete on a handful of ocassions, usually when I expected to hang out solo with Brown. Brown rolls deep. I had specifically hung out with Pete on one ocassion after Brown got me invited to a BBQ/poker game. It was at Pete's house. This very fucking house. For the last 20 minutes, I thought I was insane, but sure enough, Brown was the short bus on this one. Motherfucker.
We hung out for another 20 minutes or so, moving to another room to sample the wares. I was tempted to pick up some pills too, but I'm not a pill popper, I just play one in my head. Instead, I spent most of the time stealing subtle glances at Nancy's maternal ass. There was nothing maternal about it from my vantage point.
We picked up the herb and returned to the car. On the way back, Brown and I had an esoteric conversation in which he argued that he lost money by taking me along. I, on the other hand, opined that Brown was a dumb motherfucker if he expected to see a dime from me. As I kindly reminded him, I usually pay extra so I don't have to go out to bumblefuck and deal with this shit.
That seemed to win the debate.
In the end, by the way, it was worth it. Nancy sells some fine buds.
I usually get bud from my bud, Brown. Brown and I grew up together and we're practically brothers. He gets from some unknown source, and I get an ounce or a half ounce every once in a while to stock up. It's not that he hides his source, I just never thought to ask.
It's the perfect setup, except I have to get Brown the casheesh in advance since it's a tidy sum, about $200 for a half, $400 for an ounce. Brown is not a dealer. He's more of a...subsistence dealer. He sells to friends only enough so that he can smoke for free. Because of this, he doesn't have the cash to lay out for my ounce. I have to get him the money in advance. And Brown lives about an hour and a half away by various trains. Lovely.
Usually, I time my purchases to coincide with social events. If Brown or my birthday is coming up, or a poker game, or a BBQ, I just bring an extra $400 for Brown. Then I only have to go to his place once to pick up the stash.
Pot heads are usually VERY unmotivated, with one exception: the effort they'll take to get more herb. It's with this in mind that I called Brown to see if I could get a restock on Monday. It was a Thursday. I figured I could work a way to get him the dough, and then on Monday, I'd drive to pick it up. I was at the last of my stash, actually down to harvesting the small tin of roaches, for their resin-drenched, half-burnt herb. It's an acquired taste. Regardless, I knew I had enough to last me well into Monday, but probably not much beyond.
Naturally, nothing goes easily. Brown was also at the end of his stash, but he couldn't wait for Monday. Shit. He was going on Friday night to pick up the stash. Did I want to come?
Hmm...If I go, I gotta meet the dealer. It's not that big of a deal, really, but dealer's can be very hit or miss. Let's be honest. Our best and brightest usually don't aspire to low level marijuana sales. But if I didn't go, I wasn't getting my ounce, and if I get my ounce, I don't need to deal with this shit for a long while. Ah, fuck it. And off we went.
After work on Friday, I took my $400 and hopped on the train to Brown's place. When I got there, one of his buddies, Lou, was hanging out. Lou is a funny guy and I was glad to have him around, but it was classic Brown. If you are hanging with Brown, Brown rolls deep. He always has someone with him and usually, you don't know about it until you show up.
We hung out for a bit before deciding to pick up the stash. Before going, we naturally took some bong hits. In the car, we smoked a bowl or two. Truthfully, I don't usually smoke in cars. I find it to be too risky. But somehow with these guys, it's standard issue and I don't think twice.
So, I ask, where is the dealer's place?
Out East, Brown replied. About 50 minutes.
Mother fucker.
I had already had a long day of work, took the trip out to Brown's and now faced a two hour round trip, only to get on a train to head back home for another hour plus. Motherfucker. I must really love weed.
About 50 minutes later, we arrived at the house. It was a non-descript two story house in the suburbs. It looked like every other house on the block in shape, if maybe not for the siding.
As I got out of the car, I asked Brown for the first time, Hey, who is your dealer?
He said with a smirk, Nancy Botwin.
Right now, half of you people just had a moment of recognition. The other half don't know what I'm talking about because they don't watch the TV show Weeds on Showtime. At the time of our arrival at the dealer's house, I was in the second half.
Nancy Botwin, I asked. Why does that sound familiar? Looking back, I probably recognized it subconsciously as the main character from the show Weeds. I saw maybe two episodes of the show four years ago and about a year ago, the show was all the rage in every Entertainment magazine, so I probably picked up some recognition of the name. But at the time, all I thought was that I might know this person, this Nancy Botwin. Maybe she went to school with Brown and I. I have a terrible memory, especially with names. I didn't want to make an ass out of myself.
Do I know her? I asked Brown, entirely seriously.
What? He looked at me like I'm retarded. You don't know Nancy Botwin?
Uh. I dunno. Do I?
Shit. I guess not.
What?
The door opened. It was, as best as I knew, Nancy. And she was hot.
I definitely never met Nancy before. I would've remembered her. She had a tight body, maybe 5'4", rail thin. Her hair was long and a soft color brown. Motherfucker. Nancy fucking Botwin was hot.
Not that that meant anything. I just like the view. Gordon Greene is a committed man. That, and I have no game.
I just hung on the couch, lightly making drug dealer-buyer small talk. I was high and looking around the house. A baby's blanket and toys were on the floor, but the baby was obviously sleeping. This pixie of a chick had pushed out a baby? Somehow, that made her more hot. Sorta.
The house was bugging me out though. It felt...familiar. Like dejatwo. I kept dancing around it with Brown before just asking straight out. I wasn't sure if I had actually been there, or been in a house with an identical layout (I use to hang out in the neighborhood and the house layouts were all identical in some areas), or if I was just on a head trip.
Hey man, this place feels familiar.
Hey, have we been here before?
Dude, did we play poker here? Why do I feel like I played poker here?
All of his answers were quizzical stares. I am not a retard.
It was probably 10 minutes more of idle chit chat, looking over a big bag of bud and pretending like it mattered what quality it was. If I had gone through all of that effort for the herb and found out it was ditchweed, I'd be disappointed, but I'd be buying.
We were about to make the buy when I heard the door open. A voice boomed in, Hey guys! The voice sounded familiar. It was Pete, another one of Brown's many random friends. Like Lou, I had hung out with Pete on a handful of ocassions, usually when I expected to hang out solo with Brown. Brown rolls deep. I had specifically hung out with Pete on one ocassion after Brown got me invited to a BBQ/poker game. It was at Pete's house. This very fucking house. For the last 20 minutes, I thought I was insane, but sure enough, Brown was the short bus on this one. Motherfucker.
We hung out for another 20 minutes or so, moving to another room to sample the wares. I was tempted to pick up some pills too, but I'm not a pill popper, I just play one in my head. Instead, I spent most of the time stealing subtle glances at Nancy's maternal ass. There was nothing maternal about it from my vantage point.
We picked up the herb and returned to the car. On the way back, Brown and I had an esoteric conversation in which he argued that he lost money by taking me along. I, on the other hand, opined that Brown was a dumb motherfucker if he expected to see a dime from me. As I kindly reminded him, I usually pay extra so I don't have to go out to bumblefuck and deal with this shit.
That seemed to win the debate.
In the end, by the way, it was worth it. Nancy sells some fine buds.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Another reason to QUIT
Marijuana Linked to Aggressive Testicular Cancer
But not all are sure that adolescents' use of cannabis causes cells to proliferate.
By Alan Mozes, HealthDay Reporter
MONDAY, Feb. 9 (HealthDay News)—Smoking marijuana over an extended period of time appears to greatly boost a young man's risk for developing a particularly aggressive form of testicular cancer, a new study reveals.
In fact, researchers found that men who smoked marijuana once a week or began to use the substance on a long-term basis while adolescents incurred double the risk for developing the fastest-spreading version of testicular cancer—nonseminoma, which accounts for about 40 percent of all cases.
Read the rest HERE.
But not all are sure that adolescents' use of cannabis causes cells to proliferate.
By Alan Mozes, HealthDay Reporter
MONDAY, Feb. 9 (HealthDay News)—Smoking marijuana over an extended period of time appears to greatly boost a young man's risk for developing a particularly aggressive form of testicular cancer, a new study reveals.
In fact, researchers found that men who smoked marijuana once a week or began to use the substance on a long-term basis while adolescents incurred double the risk for developing the fastest-spreading version of testicular cancer—nonseminoma, which accounts for about 40 percent of all cases.
Read the rest HERE.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
100 pushups?
How can I accomplish this? Is there a system that's involved? Do I just go for it and see how many I can do the first time?
Time to get fit.
Time to get fit.
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