Writer with partner in crime Vicki, in front of Madison Square Garden before concert.
Back in the day, you smoked pot. Or really crappy homegrown. Or maybe even oregano. You felt high anyway, not knowing any better.
Back in the day, the weed was often dry and crispy, with sticks and seeds and all sort of shit in it. Maybe even an occasional spider’s nest. Not all boutique-y, the way it is now.
Back in the day, when you finally got your hands on good pot, your impressionable young brain got a little too high. Suddenly you were practically tripping – floors melting, spaceships flying, small bald men speaking in a hurried whisper – the works. Friends had to be talked down. Occasionally slapped in the face.
Back in the day, when you kept the joint for too long, it was called “bogarting.” (Was Humphrey Bogart known for hogging a joint? “Pass it again, Sam.”) We also called it “head smoking.” Like “Stop head smoking that, man. Pass it.” This could be applied to drinking the entire 7-Eleven Big Gulp (which was referred to as “head gulping”).
Back in the day, smoking weed the traditional way wasn’t enough; you had to kick it up a notch sometimes by giving your friends a California shotgun. Three people were required: one friend would blow a ton of smoke in your mouth and another would pick you in a Heimlich-type position and hold you there for a good, long while, while you held your breath. Once you were released, you would fall or pass out and we’d laugh. Brain damage may have occurred.
Back in the day, you smoked pot before high school to make it more palatable. But paranoia would creep in and you were sure every teacher was going to bust you. Sometimes they did bust you and you had to leave school, where you’d go to the woods and hang out with the other busted stoned kids.
Back in the day, you were part of the “burn out” crowd and that wasn’t so bad. It was better than being a nerd or a jock. You wore flannel shirts and your hair hung over your eyes. You mumbled a lot.
Back in the day, you heard Pink Floyd for the first time and thought “Finally, someone understands me.” It was also the perfect trippy music to listen to while high.
Back in the day, you were forced to smoke “sick weed” for two years, guaranteed to give you a headache. That’s all the dealer had and it was a small town. (Of course, not smoking it wasn’t an option.)
Back in the day, you wore a roach clip in your hair, with multi-colored feathers hanging from it. Practical and fashionable. (Secretly, you wish they’d come back in style – you’d so wear one.)
Back in the day, a friend’s mom decides she wants to try just a little of your weed. She asks for a “remnant” instead of a “roach” which sends you and your friend into a fit of laughter and will for years to come. A remnant. Ha…
Back in the day, you could get a joint for a dollar. Sure, it was probably a pinner. But a good deal nonetheless. The pre-rolled aspect was handy as well.
Back in the day, you smoked pot in a circle with your friends where everyone would laugh convulsively over practically nothing. The type of laughter where you struggled to breathe. Good, painful laughter. You miss that most of all.
Vicky and I laughing about nothing in particular, circa a long time ago.
Beth Mann is a popular blogger and writer for Open Salon and Salon. She is also an accomplished artist with over 15 years of experience, as well as the president of Hot Buttered Media. She currently resides at the Jersey shore where she can be found surfing or singing karaoke at a local dive bar.
Contact: maryjane {at } freedomisgreen.com