WELL, OREGON: We did it.
We wrapped up the first year (actually, six months) of regulated adult-use cannabis, and it went... just fine. No one lost their mind and put a baby in the oven while tucking the turkey in, or took a toke and then decided, "You know what would be great right about now? Some sweet heroin." People in our state weren't exactly ignorant of all things weed prior to Measure 91, after all, and the overall response seemed to be a charming mix of amusement, curiosity, and relief. The panicked concerns of prohibitionists did not come to pass, and we went on with our lives just fine, thank you very much, albeit with a slightly increased appetite, and a deeper appreciation for just how trippy our hands can be.
There were a few missteps that I witnessed firsthand, however—namely people overindulging in dabs, then quite literally passing out and falling to the ground. This isn't a fatal matter, but it doesn't make the canna-consuming community look our best. I budtended one event where a tree trunk of a man—6'6" and 300-plus pounds if he was an ounce—took a lung-busting hit, upon which his eyes rolled back completely into his head and he simply fell backward, stiff as a board. I ran to check on him, and when his eyes fluttered open, I asked, "You okay, man?" His response was a weak, "Worth it. Totally worth it."
This is not me throwing shade. Pothead Paul Bunyan wasn't the only one who made some questionable choices since July 1. Far from it. Here, help me shove what's left of my dignity into this wood chipper with my second annual "Stupid Stoner Moments."
Marijuanakkah Phase Two
Last year, I recounted my brilliant idea for the retelling of Hanukkah, which would involve an oil lamp that burned hash oil instead of olive oil, using a—that's right—Marijuanorah. This year, I actually took the time to call a menorah distributer back East, and ask if they could fashion me one that would run on hash oil. The customer service rep paused after my request. "I'm sorry. If I understand this right, you want us to make you a menorah/oil lamp hybrid, that will burn... what was the term you used?" "Uhhhh... hash oil?" I answered. What followed was the longest silence I have ever experienced during a phone call. Followed by a click. Which is fine. It still stands as a great idea, and I'm trademarking it right now.
Heart of Glass
Glass is fragile. It breaks easily. Many pieces of equipment I use have fragile glass components, and they are expensive. So it stands to reason I would invest in hard-sided carrying cases with deep foam inserts. Not duffle bags with dish towels to wrap said glass pieces. That would be very stupid, and result in several hundred dollars of broken glass pieces. Spoiler alert: I am a stupid man, who helped support the glass accessories marketplace with my aforementioned stupidity. On the upside, it helped me craft new, loud swear words. So I got that going for me, and that's nice.
Rosin Is Not Resin
We did a photo piece this year ["He Hath Rosin," Feature, July 1] with my alchemist friend and Green Bodhi honcho John Bayes, where he showed us how you can make a solvent-free concentrate in moments using a hair-straightening iron. He calls it "rosin." It's great—you should try making some.
So I was excited to try something another friend, David, called "live rosin" recently, made from whole plants, not just trim. As is his way, David loaded me up with a serving best described as a glob—a lima bean-sized portion. He prepared what looked like a glass clarinet, and handed it to me. "I've never heard of 'live rosin,'" I said just before taking a deep hit. He looked at me. "Dude, not rosin—resin. It's way stronger."
That's the last thing I heard before I expelled a cloud that made me cough so hard my knees buckled. The coughing continued, and I continued my unscheduled appointment with the floor, luckily with my hands breaking the fall. I saw stars, and broke into a super-attractive facial sweat.
Worth it. Totally worth it.