Today hippies, burnouts, college students and losers everywhere will be motivated to do something other than playing Call of Duty Black Ops and running down to area convenience stores for Snapples and bags of Funyons. That something will entail joining mass demonstrations to show the world that smoking weed is totally awesome.
Colorado essentially decriminalized marijuana in 2005 and dispensaries have been opening up all over the state ever since. Some have clever names like “Health Joint” or “Green Room” while others have less imaginative monikers like “Marijuana Store” or “Pot Shop”.
I am indifferent about marijuana and could care less if people smoke it or not. I wish the government would just legalize it (and every other drug) and be done with it. Tax it, sell it and put that money to use somewhere else. Like my pocket.
Kaye: Where are you working from today?
Me: A coffee shop in Boulder. I am meeting with a vendor this morning and he chose this joint.
Me: I cannot wait to be an old man at a coffee shop. These codgers are sitting next to me and have been talking about the weather for the past hour.
Kaye: With their newspapers and their sweater vests?
Me: Well it is Boulder, so gray beards, flannel shirts…
Kaye: …and some LL Bean khaki pants?
Me: Right. And instead of a regular newspaper they are reading an alternative paper. Something that bashes Republicans and the “establishment.”
Kaye: God. Old Boulder dudes.
Me: They are not even cool old dudes wearing a Fedora, walking all slow and talking about losing their buddies during the WW-deuce.
Kaye: Ha! They are just old Hippies. The worst kind of Hippy.
Me: Yes. Because they are old enough to know that their peace-loving, cheeba-smoking rhetoric does not work anymore.
Kaye: Totally. You know what looks good on a Hippy?
Kaye: No. Fire.
Me: Even better.
Wil: This communique may be brief. Damn third world countries and their third world internet.
Me: It is the rebels I am guessing. Monitoring for subversive conversation.
Wil: Could be some Sandinistas. I am in their hometown after all. Birthplace of Sandino himself.
Me: Well in that case, Viva Sandinistas! We love you!
Wil: Nice. Leon is also where that crazy poet gunned down Somoza. There are statues of him everywhere. Rigoberto Perez, I think it was. Cold John Lennon’d his ass. I could be wrong. I have had many Victorias.
Me: Well, when you are a dictator you have it coming. I mean, you have to know someone will pop a cap in your ass.
Wil: Yeah. Leon is like Boulder. Total liberal town. It would be like Pat Robertson coming to Boulder and making derogatory remarks about wheat grass. Some hippie would kill his ass.
Me: Or just try to offer him some really choice weed.
Wil: Ha! Tomorrow I head to Granada because this town sucks. Much like Boulder. I want wear a Somoza Rules t-shirt make a statement similar to your Shut Up Hippie bumper sticker. It might end up worse than someone keying my car, though.
Me: They tend to cut off your head for freedom of expression down there, Willie.
Wil: Man, if prison had air conditioning I would do anything to get thrown in. It is hot down here, Holmes.
Me: Like flames of hell hot?
Wil: Like sweat indoors but do not realize it until your shirt is soaked through hot.
Me: Like your balls sticking to your legs and smelling of old cheese hot.
Wil: Exactly. I stink really bad right now and there is a water shortage so I cannot do any laundry.
Me: You are in the jungle, dude. Fuck it. When we were in St. Lucia showers meant nothing to me. Mostly because after taking a shower I would not be able dry off for three days.
Wil: Good point. But my jeans are especially bad. Alright, I have to get the hell out of this steamy internet cafe because it is making me sweat more and smell worse.
Me: Remember to rubber up.
Wil: Will do. Adios!
In the past two weeks, my former employer’s chief technologist accepted a job offer in Boulder and three members of the senior sales staff resigned (I am still firmly entrenched in the data slaughterhouse gossip circle). I shared anger, pain, jokes, laughs and bourbon with all four of these individuals and am happy to see them make it over the wall. A message to all my people still trapped on the inside: The owl hoots at night. The fat man is dancing with the briefcase. The bell tolls for thee. Vive la Resistance!
With Halloween a few weeks away, here are some helpful links on how to make a Doctor Octopus costume and a fake human head in a jar. Tomorrow the future wife and I are off to the pumpkin patch at Rock Creek Farm in Boulder County to partake in our annual tradition of collecting over-sized gourds and saying things like, “I like this one. It has a good shape and it looks like a squirrel has not chewed the fuck out of it.”
It all starts when the Boulder police department is called in to break up a large block party due to rampant underage drinking (a party in which the City of Boulder gave permits for). Party-goers become angry because their Constitutional right to free assembly has been violated. This is not the moment to think rationally. The time is nigh for angry mob justice. Tip over a car and light it on fire. Throw missiles at authority figures and drunken revelers. Get tazed, tear gassed and shot with rubber bullets. The next day, after being bailed out of jail by your parents, read a dissertation on the evening news about excessive police brutality.
Designer #1: I remember you telling me that you and your girlfriend are runners. Are you running any upcoming races?
Me: We are running the Bolder Boulder on Memorial Day.
Designer #2: Oh, I think I have heard of that.
Designer #3: How cool!
Me: It is a fun race. At the end you get to run around Folsom Field.
Designer #2: That’s where CU plays their home football games, right?
Me: Yes. They added a feature this year where a group of college football recruits will be sexually assaulting a drunk and incapacitated 18 year-old girl on the fifty yard line.
Designer #1: Oh … 10 seconds of silence … So, did everyone enjoy the keynote speaker this morning?
Last night, in midst of an early winter storm, it took me three and a half hours to drive home from Boulder. This drive, mind you, is normally 20 minutes. Apparently, Boulder uses an environmentally friendly alternative to road salt that does nothing to ice when the temperature is below a certain level. The roads out of Boulder were like a hockey rink. During this period of time, I was a seething cauldron of anger. When I got home I wrote this. Enjoy.
The Catholic Church may provide a consequence free environment for pedophiles but it condemns tea bagging. I cannot believe kids get in so much trouble for this nowadays. In the locker room during my high school sporting career, tea bagging was nothing compared to guys pissing on you in the shower or sneaking up behind you and covering your face with a protective cup dripping in ball sweat (a.k.a. the Gas Mask).
Poor Boulder trailer trash. They live in the midst of pounds of bird shit and cohabitate with numerous individuals sporting mullets and driving Cameros with primered doors. I have got two words for these people: rocket launcher. It could be worse. They could live in an African ghetto. Aside from the AIDS, famine and squalor, people are taking shits in bags and throwing them into their neighbor’s yard.