The Humble Bandana (It Could Even Get You Laid)

[ ]Ah, the humble bandana. Actually it's only humble until you need it. One thing that's been nearly 100%-consistent with me since I was a kid is that I always have a bandana in my pocket. The three biggest words in life are: "You never know." You never know when a bandana might come in handy, but it's really nice to have one when you need it. Mostly it just sits, flat, folded and unobtrusive in my pocket, like potential energy compared to kinectic. You whip that baby out and unfold it and it has power, man. I'm telling you. As a bonus, if you want to make a good impression or if you're in a hurry, with a tad of practice you can pull it out, grab the very corner and crack it like a whip, all in one motion, and it unfolds in all its glory in half a second. It's kinda badass really. [ ]The bandana has many uses. I couldn't count all the ways but I've used a bandana as a sweatband, doorag, bandage, temporary rucksack, window de-fogger, cat shit cleaner-upper (I generally replace it after that particular use), tourniquete, nose-blower, spill-mopper, trail marker, necktie, neck cooler, water filter, attention-getter, sponge, rope, mask...the list goes on and on. Heck, it's a 100%-cotton multi-tool. And yes...it's even gotten me laid, at least twice that I can recall. I got to be friends with a kid who was my neighbor for a while. We bonded over music, and we still talk and hang when he's over this way. He saw my bandana one day and asked about it. I'd just bought a dozen for cheap on Amazon and run them through the wash a couple of times to get out the starch and whatever other Chinese bullshit chemicals and shit might be in the fabric, and I gave him a few. He seemed glad to get them and it was cool for me to pass along a tradition. He's a great kid. I say kid...he's 22. When you call an adult a kid I guess it means you're old. [ ]I laid the rap on him about how you might never need it 364 days out of the year but that one day that you do you'll be glad you have it. I'm sort of a "father figure" to him, as it were. I told him all the things he could use a bandana for, and I ended up with "...and it's even gotten me laid." "Seriously man?" "Yep." Of course he had to hear about that. It's no biggie really...people get laid for lighting someone's cigarette or just saying hello, but being able to rescue a damsel in distress was one of the bandana's greatest uses. Speaking of lighting a cig, I don't know how it is these days because I don't get around much any more, but back in the day, "Got a light?" often translated as "Wanna screw?" Anyway at least twice, once at a bar and once at a party, having a bandana ended up getting me laid. [ ]Say you're at a bar and you're chatting up Betty. Some wasted clown bumps into Betty and she spills her drink down her shirt. What's better...to say "Hang on" and run to the bar and try to get a bar towel, or worse, grab a stack of napkins and leave her standing there wiping herself off, or whip out your bandana in two seconds, right on the spot? That's right...the bandana thing is much better. You become Robogentleman, and try not to look as she thanks you and smiles as she wipes her shirt with your nice warm bandana that's been kept at body-temp. Isn't that great? What happens from that point depends on the winds of fate, or maybe how drunk she is, but in any case it's about the best ice-breaker I know, but it's random...and that's why you carry a bandana even when you don't need it. [ ]I've also found that occasionally if you're wearing your shirt tucked-in, a gal will notice the bandana in your pocket, and sometimes ask about it or maybe even tug on it. Occasionally it means she wants to tug on something else, if you get my drift (gale-force wind-gust actually), and I know you do. It's a great way for someone who may be interested in you but too shy to approach you otherwise, to find an in. It's an all-American thing. It's mom and apple pie. It's familiar and comforting. It's a bandana. I love having one. I love not thinking about it but knowing it's there. Get one and put it in your pocket, and never leave home without it. One day you'll be glad you did.

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Perfect.

The Hypocrisy of "Modern Medicine"

[ ]THIS POST IS NOT GOING AGAINST MEDICAL ADVICE. IT IS NOT INTENDED TO DIAGNOSE, TREAT OR CURE ANYTHING BESIDES LACK OF KNOWLEDGE. HAVE A NICE DAY.{ ]This is a good one, but it's sad too. A couple of weeks ago I met a nice woman in a YouTube chat on a buddy of mine's channel. He and I share the same ideas about things like nutrition, herbs and natural remedies. For starters, if this tells you anything, I'll go on his show sometimes and we'll literally bend over backward and mention a million times that we are NOT doctors, and we are NOT giving medical advice, and so on and so forth, and still nearly every every one of his livestreams gets taken down immediately for violating terms of service, which in this case is "giving medical advice." The last time I was on his show in fact they not only took down the vid but they gave him a second strike, which landed him in "YouTube jail" for three weeks, where he couldn't upload or do livestreams. That's bullshit people. Wake up and smell the censorship. [ ]So this woman and I started chatting and she was wanting to look into some natural things. She's been prescribed a popular anxiety med that starts and ends with the letter "X." She said she didn't really think she needed it to begin with, and she hated the side-effects. She asked if anyone knew of natural things with similar properties, and without really saying anything I told her to send me her e-mail. She told me that at first it knocked her out, but the doc insisted she keep taking it, and then she said that after a few months it seemed to be having the opposite effect than intended.. She's right on the money, and it backs up my observations going back decades, that people who specifically took anxiety meds and/or alcohol to relax actually got way less relaxed as time went on, and yet still again has since been borne out by science (SCIENCE) For more info see; GABA receptors. The brain has a plan to help the body and mind chill on their own, but it's overloaded with stimuli these days, not to mention the cocktail of chemicals in the soil, water and air. One thing's 100% sure, and although doctors used to discuss it back in the 70s but rarely do today, meds can fuck that system right up, and it can take years to recover. I can't say I've never taken meds, and sometimes recreationally, and yes, even the occasional Benzo back in the day, but never anything long-term, ever. My brian granted may be fucked-up as it is, but I wasn't ever going to help the process along by getting hooked on drugs. Anyway the nice lady was having trouble sleeping and her anxiety was getting worse. I mentioned a few things that had helped me relax (knocked me clean on my ass a few times in fact, but I didn't tell her that) and sleep, and about my famous "Chill Tea." [ ]I was out of one ingredient but I sent her a blend with the other three things, plus some Hibiscus flowers and some Clitoria flowers, all to make teas with. I sent her links to everything from neutral sites such as webmd.com, which neither bash nor promote herbs, so she could look into everything for herself. I'd just crammed the stuff into baggies and put them in envelopes with a few extra stamps and luckily they made it. It looked a little lumpy and funky and I wouldn't be surprised if a few people sniffed it along the way. I almost wrote "NOT WEED" on the envelope but I didn't. I got an e-mail from her this morning asking about something. She'd taken a photo of the stuff, in Ziplocs, and showed it to her doctor, who of course told her it was Voodoo and not to even touch it and to toss it immediately when she got home, but she didn't. Bless her heart...she said she hadn't made any tea yet because she was waiting on a tea ball, but I think she was torn by what her doctor said. [ ]Then she said something I think is pretty amazing, and not to be treated lightly, she said she was going to trust ME. I answered her question but I'm going to have to get back to her again. I have to tread lightly and be careful, and I sure as hell ain't gonna go at it with her doctor, should it come to that, but here's the hypocricy- two of the things her doctor told her not to touch, Peppermimt and Hibiscus flowers, are exactly what's in Celestial Seasonings' Red Zinger tea. It's exactly the same, plus Lemongrass, Wild Cherry bark and orange flavor, only I buy it by the pound for fifty times cheaper, plus it's organic. It's a win-win deal. Her doctor asked what Hibiscus was and she told her it was a flower. The doc said to not even think about making tea with it. Would she tell her not to drink Red Zinger tea? I doubt it. It's the exact same thing, except it's grown with less chemicals. There are no drug-interaction warnings on a box of Red Zinger BTW. Not only is it hypocrisy but it's also ignorance. This is basic stuff. It's not rocket science (SCIENCE). [ ]Ever since high school every doctor I've had or met somewhere I've done an informal surver on, to see where they stand (or stomp) on the subject of herbs. You have to mention it very casually because it's a trigger word for most doctors, and if you just go "What about herbs?" tehy'll ofter start to rant and rave, complete with gestures, about how it's Voodoo, and you're wasting your money. One doctor I had I casually asked "Doc, do you know where aspirin came from?" "Bayer?" he replied. "Good answer" I said. "But I mean where the main ingredient (acetylsalicylic acid) originally came from." "No" he said. "It comes from the bark of the White Willow tree." "Really?" "Yep." He had to look it up for himself but I'm really glad he did. I wish everybody would do that. Fucking Google it, Dylan. [ ]The beautiful thing was that he learned something completely new and different, and my dumb-ass taught him. It opened the door to a whole different deal for him, and most-importantly HE DID HIS OWN RESEARCH. It took every bit of half a minute. Sadly it didn't work so well with another doc, a towering hulk of a man who stood about 6-6, 275, with a lab coat and a serious god-complex. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms and said "You're wrong." "With all due respect, doctor, there's a computer right there if you'd care to..." "You're WRONG!" he repeated. "Yes, doctor." I guess you don't fuck with a doctor who with one blow could put you in need of his own services. [ ]I reckon the good doctor thinks that the way modern medicine came about was that they just got ten million lab rats and a million chemicals and just started mixing shit together to see what would do what, but in actuality it wasn't like that at all. The starting point for medicines was PLANTS, pure and simple, and still is to this day. THEY know that but they don't want US to know. They sure as hell don't tell doctors that. Every now and then you'll meet a doctor who's open to natural things, and who hasn't yet pierced their nose with a bone or use chicken feet for tongue-depressors, and it's a breath of fresh air. And they all say the same thing: "Well, they didn't teach us this stuff in med school." "Of course they didn't" I always reply. Believe it or not I've gotten into some lengthy conversations with a couple of doctors who were interested in finding out more about natural remedies and such, and again my dumb-ass gave them some info, and they were appreciative. [ ]I'm not a doctor, but I can say that I've pointed some people toward some things that have truly helped them, and I have testimonials second to none, but I guess you'll have to take my word for it, or not. I was skeptical at first myself, way back junior year in high school. I'd heard a bit about herbs, and silly me, I thought I could find out more from asking doctors, but they all said it was bullshit. Luckily I was skeptical and had to find out for myself. I've told the story before about how I found out that herbs really were legit, but it's hilarious. Long story short-ish, back about 100 years ago in high school, my friend Rusty and I had a huge Friday night planned. I'd done some reasearch and come up with a recipe for "turbo" Sleepytime tea, and Rusty thought it might be fun to try some before we went out. I made us each a strong cup, and it knocked us both out cold. I woke up the next morning around 6am, still sitting up with the TV on, thinking we'd gone out and gotten so hammered I'd blacked-out and couldn't remember how we got home. I ran to look out the window to see if the car was in the driveway, and realized that the damn tea had completely put out lights out. I couldn't believe it but I couldn't deny it. Herbs work. [ ]I sent this person an image of the Red Zinger label showing Hibiscus and Peppermint, and I bet she'll show it to her doctor. Sadly I'd also bet that her doctor will still tell her not to take it. She probably won't want to be wrong. If that happens, it just shows the smokescreen of withheld information. It's indoctrination at its finest, from day 1 of med school. The industry knows this. If you made billions off of selling meds to help people "get well," would you rather people be sick or healthy? Would you rather they knew that perhaps a 75-cent cup of tea could possibly do what a $5 pill could do, and with NO side-effects? Hell, no. But the info is there, and more importantly so is lots of anecdotal evidence. And did I mention scientific studies? Yep, there's real science (SCIENCE) involved. It's just not front-page news. It would be if the industry TRULY cared about helping us get better, rather than the Almighty Dollar. Think about it. Say what you will about its origin but I say there's a reason there are snakes on the Caudecus. [ ]In a perfect world her doctor might reasses her beliefs. It does happen and you have to start somewhere. If I were a doctor it'd piss me off to learn that I'd been blatantly lied to, not to mentioned owned, by an industry whose priority was supposedly the Hippocratic Oath and shit and not about pure money, but I don't know too who get pissed-off enough to give up the BMW and house in the 'burbs. Welcome to the Beast System. Again the bottom line is ALL medicines came from plants, and still do. Ever take a pain pill? The standard version comes from a plant. We all know that. That's just one example. Speaking of pain pills...got any you can spare, lol? [ ]That reminds me of the late, great guitar-slinger Scotty B. For about the last decade of his life he'd go up to every single person he ever met, young or old, black or white, rich or poor, and say "Got any pain pills?" I always wanted to get that printed on a t-shirt for him. It would've saved him some time. He was shot and killed during a dope deal gone bad, and on a Sunday and right across the street from a church in service, or so the story goes. RIP Scott. Shalom. [ ]I can digress with the best of 'em. Pills, schmills. If you're looking to chill out or get a good night's sleep I can suggest a brew. There are plants that have been traditionally used to relieve pain, including the aforementioned White Willow bark and the poppy, among others, but nothing can replecate the effects of the poppy (opiates). Many plants and meds of course have been shown to help with pain and inflammation, but with many types and/or levels of pain, nothing can get rid of it completely. In the case of opiates most people know that whatever residual pain is left is somewhat-mitigated by the "Don't give a shit" factor and feeling of intense euphoria in some people. The dangers are also obvious and have been gone over many times. There are definitely plants that will give you feelings of well-being and even mild euphoria (and I'm not talking about pot, but there's that), but nothing I know of can replicate all the effects of the poppy. Having said that, some of these things can put you out sure as shit, and for my money better than a traditional sleeping pill. In fact I just gave away the last of two of my chill herbs, and I've located a source of organic extracts, at both 20:1 and 200:1 concentrations, and I really want to try those out. I don't have too much trouble sleeping lately, oddly enough, but if I ever do I'm always glad to have these herbs. [ ]Including Rusty and myself, from the very first experiment with the tea up until fairly recently, no less than half a dozen good people have spent an unplanned night on my sofa. I still make the tea with several of the same ingredients I used in that first batch. There are other things that can be used as well. Some ingredients are redundant and interchangable, and for me it's a matter of finding something that covers all the bases but still tastes good. The extracts are way more expensive by weight than the crushed leaves and flowers, but of course way more potent, and not really any more expensive per dose, and a lot easier than making tea. You can buy empty gelcaps and make your own capsules, or spend yet more money and get pre-made ones or liquid extracts. These particular things have a sedating effect more than a psychoactive effect, although a couple will definitely give a feeling of well-being. Extracts are definitely the way to go for maximum potency. [ ]I've told this story before too but I do remember getting a pretty intense buzz from the tea, and it was fun, for a few minutes anyway...I was out like a light half an hour after I drank it. It was Forth of July about five years ago. Our (my ex and my) dogs hate fireworks, so I decided to get a fresh batch of herbs at the Golden Cash Register and make a batch of tea with beef broth to give to the dogs to mellow them out. DON'T WORRY...not all but most herbs quite unlike for cats, are dog-safe, and gentle but effective. Not only have I researched every single thing I've ever given an animal, but I've gotten everything cross-checked with an excellent vet who's one of the rare ones whose up on both traditional and "natural" remedies. I decided to have a cup myself as long as I was making it for the dogs. [ ]It did kick them back a good peg or two but not like it did me. We were watching TV and hanging with the dogs, and next thing I knew I felt really warm, and I started laughing. It was like a warm blankey had settled over me. None of the herbs are known for raising body temp but it really felt like the room had suddenly gotten warmer, in a good way. It was definitely a buzz and it wasn't at all unpleasant. The last thing I remember was feeling really warm and stripping down to my skivvies, and next thing I knew it was straight-up daylight. My ex filled in the details. She said I was laughing my ass off (sadly a rare thing around her) and I sort of oozed off the couch and onto the floor. I almost remember that but not really. She couldn't wake me up to get me to get in bed so she finally gave me a blanket and let me sleep it off. [ ]The thing is, like the very first time I tried it and passed-out sitting up, this time I slept for six hours on carpet, which, like trying to sleep sitting up, I normally just can't do, unless I'd gone out and gotten completely shitfaced and passed out, and I cannot tell a lie...it did happen once or twice. Funny...the tea put my lights out just as hard as a serious liquor buzz, without wishing for pure death the next day from being hungover. You might not know if your car was still in the driveway the next morning after trying your first batch of tea, but at least your head wasn't exploding and you were cursing the daylight and your mama for ever having you and your first sip of alcohol and everything under the Sun. I don't like a soft mattress but I can't sleep on bare carpet usually. Same goes for sitting up. For an herbal tea to do that is impressive. You have to make it really strong and steep it a while if you want it to put you out, but you can take much less for a gentle relaxation maybe. [ ]One interesting thing I really like is Wild Lettuce. It's kin to Romaine, and quite edible but with a stronger flavor. For years they marketed an extract called "Lettuce Opium," and it was advertised in the classifieds in Rolling Stone and other mags. As far as I know they may still make it. Some people loved it and some people poo-poo'd it, especially since it was called "opium," but as it turned out, here came science (SCIENCE) yet again, and showed that the active ingredient is an analgesic and acts on the opiate receptors, so it's legit, although it doesn't produce the high/ I tried it a few times back in the day and I didn't think much of it, although I tried to get off, but it has validity. [ ]Like traditional meds, some herbs work (or don't) differently for different people. I find that I usually have to take a much higher dose that what's suggested, but it's not a problem. You can't OD on herbs. Well, most of them anyway. A select few plants such as Jimsonweed (Locoweed) will have you tripping your balls off in a very, very bad way and you want to avoid those at all cost, but only complete dipshit idiots who don't give a flying fuck how they get high or what might happen, and can't afford real drugs, would go near shit like that. Anyway I weeded out what didn't seem to work very well and kept what did, and I'm learning new things still. I just found out about the Clitoria plant (how great is that) and it's already jumped to the head of the cless...right up there with Turmeric and Ashwagandha. The tea tastes fantastic, really good, and the benefits are amazing. Speaking of benefits, the "side-effects" of almost all herbs are that, if nothing else they're very powerful antioxidants, and those are very good for us. Among other things they boost the immune system, and that's going to come in handy with all this shit going on around us. [ ]For a doctor to tell someone not to drink Red Zinger or Peppermint tea seems pretty extreme. It's Peppermint. We eat it at Christmas, yet if there are "medicinal qualities" associated with it, somehow it becomes evil? It's Pure-D bullshit folks. Well, it's a small and wondrous world. I had to stop mid-paragraph to take a walk, and I ran into a neighbor kid and ended up talking to him for the last two hours. I met him last year and we've chatted here and there but he works nights and sleeps most days so I don't see much of him. He pulled up with a carful of groceries. I said "Hey man...if it were a year ago I'd offer to help with the groceries, but I know nobody wants to get near anyone. I had a feeling he was cool, and sure enough he said "I'm not scared of that bullshit. Grab some groceries if you want." Bekieve it or not I've never enjoyed helping someone carry in groceries in all my life. Just the act of cooperating with another human being who didn't treat me like I was a fucking biohazard was a breath of fresh air. [ ]He just turned 22 but in about two minutes I could tell that he was wise well beyond his years. His name is Kobe, and I don't know "basketball math" but I'm guessing he may be named after Kobe Bryant. I forgot to ask. He has a great-looking dog and last year I'd given him some of my dog treats. he brought them up and said how much his dog loved them, and he brought up the fact that he appreciated that they were organic. He told me that his mom is a doctor. SHe works at a big hospital in Chicago and volunteers at a clinic. The reason he brought her up with the treats and the fact that they're organic. He said she was into herbs, and he mentioned some really specific ones, like the Clitoria vine I just found out about. I was floored. He told me that she was fully aware of the Beast System controlling medicine and our world in general, and he said it by name. Like I said earlier, even doctors who know that aren't willing to give up their practice for it, and she's no different, although she does give of her time at the clinic, and some doctors simply won't do that. [ ]Kobe's dad is a fantastic artist, as is my mom. I showed him mom's Charlie (the dog) painting and he showed me a piece of his dad's art, and it's amazing. I'd have to call it "Folk" or "Outsider" art in that it had a primitive-esque style, but it lacked most of the childlike quality of, say, Howard Finster's work, which I adore. His use of color is amazing, and I could swear I've seen his work before. I can take or leave that stuff but I know what I like. He said he does exhibits in Italy and other parts of Europe every year, so it's possible I've really seen his work. There's a black guy in that style that I really like, and it's possible it's his dad. [ ]But it was his mom who freaked me out. I told him I was just in the middle of a blog post about how most doctors don't know the first thing about herbs or the fact that all medicines originally came from plants and still do, and how doctors mostly have no idea, and tend to vehemently disapprove of herbs. I said that the ones that do know are reluctant to speak about it these days. He said that for almost all her career his mom had casually mentioned herbs to some of her patients. Herbs generally aren't prescribed in this country but she still told people about some things. He said that recently they told her that from now on she was prohibited from even bringing up the topic of herbs to any of her patients, and if she did so she'd lose her license. That certainly drives home what I was just saying a few hours ago. I've studied this stuff for years, but I'm not a doctor. Kobe's mom on the other hand is, and she and I are of the same mind on that topic. [ ]It made my day to hear about his mom, and I know it was good for him too to be able to talk about shit like other dimensions, frequencies and auras and all of that good stuff without automatically being told you're crazy. He looked at me and said "There's something you should know about me...I'm a "Conspiracy Theorist." "I'll go you one better, bro" I said. "I'm a 'Truther!'" We both cracked-up and extended our hands at the same time. Shaking hands with another man these days was another rare treat. We sat on the steps, less than six feet apart I might add (shhhh...don't tell anyone), and talked about angels and demons and metaphysical shit for the next two hours. I was telling him shit that I rarely discuss even with many close friends, and I know it was the same for him. At his tender age he even knew exactly what a true Narcissist is, because he dated one, just like me. We traded horror stories about our exes...stuff the average person just wouldn't be able to get their head around, but we know. Did we run into each other today just by chance, and for him to tell me about his mother, the doctor and herbalist? Perhaps, but I think perhaps not. He told me some crazy shit and you can believe I told him some too. He talks to his mom every day and he says he'll hook us up on the phone one day and I can't wait. It'll be an honor. I'll have to tell her that a doctor here forbade someone to drink Peppermint tea. She'll get it. { ]And there you have it...at least in my opinion. I was talking about the scant few actual medical-doctors who also understand herbs, and lo and behold I heard about one before I finished the post. What'r the odds? I'm trying to tell you, folks, and I'm saying it purely out of love, and anti-bullshit...it's all bullshit folks. It's bullshit. Just ask Kobe's mom, the good doc. It's a small world...batshit-crazy lately, but still very small. I greatly enjoyed the unexpected conversation and camaraderie. Like me he doesn't give a shit about age, color, creed or any of that. I can't freaking wait to talk to his mom. God is good. I met some of my people today and I'm very grateful. Dude even knows about music and 432hz and the healing power of drums and shit like that. Amazing. Find a good doc who knows the whole story, before they all go under gag orders, which BTW should tell you something. Knowledge is power, but the bullshit is rampant. What I'm sayin' has truth. Use discernment, on whatever I or ANYONE says, professional or Average Joe. Look into it for yourself. Be well, and do have a nice day. You're beautiful, and whether you know it or not, God loves you. He really does.

Quote of the Day

"This is the ultimate adaptor. This is not just touching something- it's Dopamine release, and it represents all the humans you know. This is pertnering with everybody you know. This is the 'Precious.'" - Greg Hartley, ex-military and body-language expert, on how we view our cellphones

Quote of the Day

"Smart people look like crazy people to stupid people." - Albert Einstein

Weed Genetics

[ ]Even though my grass heyday was long ago I still like to keep up with what's going on in the world of weed. I've been waiting since the 70s for it to be legalized, which it has been in some states and may be here too in another century or so. If it were legal I'd grow it just because it's a beautiful plant. I still remember visiting my buddy George from California in California back in '75, before there were Budweiser-sponsored helicoptors and such. Nowadays where it isn't legal to grow, plants are topped to keep them short and bushy, but these plants were left untopped. An untopped plant will grow a large central bud called a Kola, which can be bigger than your leg. I visited a farm when I was there. This will sound unbelievable, but I had photos up until recently, and the old guys would verify it, but the average height of most of the plants was 11' tall, and the tallest was 15'. I've seen a few pot plants in my day but never have I been next to a plant that was well over double my height. I had a photo of George grinning and holding a Kola that was bigger than a baseball bat. [ ]I can't remember what kind it was but it was one of the classics, which had acclimatized to the local climate over several generations and obviously was thriving. BTW that guy is still growing, legally, today, and has turned it into a business. He was already a millionaire a few times over in the 70s; he averaged $500K per year, so I can't imagine what he;s worth today. He gives George Mason jars full of select buds every time he visits. Anyway what's mainly kept my interest is all the amazing strains they've come up with by selective-breeding, and the fact that the myriad of strains came from the kinds we smoked back in the day. Sadly the pure forms of those original strains are grown in very limited areas or have faded away, but are forever in the gene pool of the weed of tomorrow. [ ]I might hop on and look at pics of buds every few months (pot porn) and it never ceases to amaze me what they're doing. They've literally got it down to a science (SCIENCE). I couldn't guess how many strains they've developed, and I'm amazed at how potent it is, compared to the levels of what we smoked back in the day. THC content isn't everything though. If I could I'd rather smoke a joint of Santa Marta Gold, or Red, or some Oaxacan over anything else on the planet, and they say that stuff was way less than half the THC content as top-shelf weed today. But in a way they're still smoking those, as their genetics have been passed along. In the case of some kinds, especially Colombian, it was a matter of locale, soil, weather, local climate etc. Even the finest bud back then had seeds, except for Sinsemilla, or "sinsey" that hit the scene in the 70s as a premium product. [ ]While we're on the subject, Colombian was a special thing. It had a sweet, earthy flavor, and the premium stuff would put you into outer soace. Besides soil and the other conditions, Colombian pot was grown near the Equator. It was used to longer days, warmer weather, a much longer growing season, and it wasn't triggered by shortening days in the Fall to bloom, like plants grown in upper and lower lattitudes. Those plants are triggered to flower when the days start getting shorter, but in Colombia it's different. You could pluck the prettiest seeds you ever saw from a bud of Colombian and plant it and it would grow like a normal plant for most of the season, but it was hard to get them to do nearly as much flowering as normal plants. It could be done occasionally but it was never the same thing. It might be decent to smoke but it would end up being green, while the native-grown stuff was either brick-red, brown (commercial-grade) or golden. Many times the frost would get plants grown here before they could do much flowering. [ ]There was a mag called High Times that I'm pretty sure is still going. It was a good mag, and speaking of pot porn, every issue had a centerfold with a photo of the juiciest buds available at the time. If they still do that now I can only imagine what they look like. I remember one well...it was Santa Marta (Colombian) Gold. They photographed these beautiful, poofy golden buds in actual Mayan 24K goblets. It said something like "Montezuma never had it so good." I may have added that in but I can picture the photo as if I were looking at it now. I have reefographic memory. It's a thing. Every issue had what they called "Trans-High Market Quotes." People would writ in (yes, snail-mail) with what kinds of weed (and some other drugs) were available locally, and the prices. They'd split it up by regions. I'd buy it here and there in the 80s, and the THMQ illustrated the dewcline of Colombian (RIP Colombian). [ ]It would list the substance, city, price and usually add a comment. It might say "Blotter acid, $4/tab, Cleveland, don't waste your time" or "Thai Sticks, $15 each, Atlanta, a rare treat" or "Mexican reg, $110-$120/lb, Chicago downtown, nothing special" or "Santa Marta Gold, Southeast, the real deal $35/oz" or whatever it might be. I kept up with it from the mid-70s into the 80s. For several years it always said basically "plentiful," but as Disco dawned, followed by the 80s, and with them came lots of cocaine; first powder, then freebase and then crack. The farmers in Colombia, along with out very own gub'mint, quickly figured out that they could make WAY more money dealing blow than grass, so they plowed up their beautiful fields of reefer plants and planted evil Coca plants. It took time for that to be known, and over the short few years when Colombian pot was disappearing, the THMQ would be like "Colombian reg, Texas, $35-$40/0z. Gold or Red, $45-$55/oz, getting scarce." Finally they'd just list it out of respect and tradition I guess, and it'd say "Colombian, gone." [ ]What I think was the first hybrid weed hit around here in the mid-80s. Rumors of the odd batch would fly but it was a while before I actually got any. It was the first "gourmet weed," and it had a gourmet price to go along with it. It was called "Skunk #1." It was a big deal. It came in a vacuum-sealed can about the size of a can of peanuts. It had a generic white label with black letterin, with a drawing of a skunk spraying. The aroma was very powerful and said to be as strong as a skunk, and the name stuck. It had an ounce of Skunk#1 and a pack of papers. It cost $55. I got the can one night at the crazy restaurant. It was after dinner and there were only a smattering of people in the place. I knew it'd be stinky but I wasn't prepared for just how much. I held it underneath the counter, to try to contain the aroma and the great "PSSSSSHHHHhhh" sound it made when I popped the top, but the scent was so powerful and overwhelming that it was like an aromatic genie had been released from a bottle. Within thirty seconds two guys sitting way across the bar tilted their heads and sniffed, and looked right in my direction. [ ]It started in the 70s in California. Some hippies who cared about such things saved seeds from the various high-end strains of the day and planted them. The general consensus is that Colombian Gold, Acapulco Gold and Afghani (probably a gold variety we used to call "hash weed"), but some say that Thai and possibly some Hawaiian were also in the mix. Over several generations the growers crossed various plants until they arrived at a stable strain, one that would breed true with itself without reverting back to the original strains. Whatever it was it was kickass. I was glad to know that while some of the old strains had died-out in their original form, they lived on in the Skunk#1, and everything up to today and forever. Viva Colombian![ ]So Skunk#1 was the wellspring for all the hundreds of varieties today, and once the ball got rolling it took off. [ ]I remember getting online in the early computer days, after I hadn't been keeping up with pot for several years. I searched buds and up popped a photo-collage with thumbnails of all these crazy varieties of weed. I didn't think it was real at first. It looked like exotic candy or something, and it came in rainbow colors, including a thousand different shades og green. There were violet and purple leaves and flowers. I really thought that was fake for a minute or that the plants had been hit by frost, which can sometimes cause purpling, but it was real, and simply a trait that was first noticed in maybe a few odd plants, and then bred to get more purple. There were names like "Blueberry" and "Bubblegum." It sounded like you were walking into Baskin-Robbins 31 Flavors, and it looked like it too. Bubblegum? I thought it was just a cute name but supposedly it smells and tastes like the regular pink bubblegum. To this day I wonder what it tastes like. [ ]That was just the tip of the iceberg. Other varieties were mixed in, but Skunk was the granddaddy. The Blueberry strain was developed by crossing Purple Thai with either Afghani or another Thai strain. It's supposed to be one of the best-tasting and most popular strains. It tastes like...you guessed it...blueberries. I bet it goes good with pancakes. Then Bubblegum And Blueberry got together and begat Bubbleberry (as seen above). That cracked me up...little baby Bubbleberry. I know they were proud parents. Many times a strain is named for its taste or color, but it can be named after a region or a person or a meme or whatever. I think Snoop Dogg gave "Green Crack" its name. If you want to have a laugh, Google hemp strains. [ ]One popular strain is called "Girl Scout Cookies." It sounds a little weird but supposedly it tastes just like its namesake. One variety is called "Sour Diesel," which supposedly smells like diesel fuel, "but in a good way," whatever that means. There's "Blackberry Cobbler." Sounds tasty. Yhere's "Gorilla Glue." It must be really sticky. There's "Strawberry Cough." They say "When you cough, you're off." There's Bell Ringer" and "Trainwreck." I bet they have a kick. Then there's "Dank Sinatra." That's a good one. To illustrate how quickly they're coming out with new strains, I'm hearing most of these just now. There's "Ice Cream Cake." Just the thing for your next Birthday party. There's "Platinum Bubba." Ha, that must be for people like me- rednecks with a shiny, bullshit veneer. There's "Purple Haze." Too bad Jimi isn't around to smoke some of that. There's "Cinderella 99." If the shoe fits... [ ]I'm looking at a page that lists all the available strains and it's just gone berserk. I've seen hundreds of strains with killer names and I'm still scrolling. There must be 150 strains named after food alone, such as "Gelato," "Strawberry Cheesecake." "Pineapple Upside Down Cake" and "Cherry Pie." "Sweet cherry pie." I had to say it. I was glad to see the old familiar faces, and most of the orifinal strains I mentioned above, plus a few I'd forgotten about, are still going, although again they wouldn't be the same as if they were grown in their native countries.
Maui Wowie" is a long-time classic, and once very exclusive and pricey. There's Lamb's Bread" which hails from Jamaica. I remember getting that from a real Jamaican guy back in the day. It was excellent and it had a firm, almost doughy texture from all the resin glands (trichomes). There was another kind of Jamaican that was around more for a time. [ ]I think there's one or two exceptions maybe but pot is either Sativa or Indica. Sativa gives more of a cerebral, energetic "head" high, while Indica gives more of a narcotic, relaxing, laid-back "body" high. Both will kick you back in the long run, but Sativa will energize you for an hour or two. It's good for problem-solvong and creativity and such. Indica is more sedating from the get-go, and can be effective with pain, anxiety and sleeplesness. They have strains for specific things, like headache, appetite-stimulation, muscle cramps and lots of other things. They even make a strain or two that doesn't even get you high? Why would they do that? Because it contains high levels of CBD, an ingredient that isn't psychoactive at all but has some amazing benefits. Pot is illegal here but they can legally sell that. I was in the tobacco shop a while back and saw some. [ ]I thought it was just another one of those "fake weed" products but as I looked more closely it looked just like real bud. I asked the guy and he said it was CBD weed. He showed it to me and it looked just like some good bud. If this were the old days I'd have bought some and rolled up a fatty and watch my friends turn blue in the face trying to get high. Maybe the truckload of weed I smoked back in the day made me mellow, but that's as cruel as I'd ever be to another person. But seriously I bet with the Placebo Effect I could talk one or two people into thinking they were high as a kite. Nah...that really would be cruel. I'd definitely have some real weed for when the joke was up. Real/fake weed. Huh. If it walks like a duck...oh, what the fuck. [ ]Back in the day we didn't have all the science (SCIENCE) associated with it, but there was some experimentation going on. There was this mad-scientist guy who grew plants in his yard. He'd water some of them with water mixed with different substances, and he got some interesting results. I don't remember most of what he did but I remember a couplr of plants he'd watered with ground-up baby aspirin, for some reason. The plants had an orangish tint and tasted just like artificial orange flavor. He claiomed it'd cure a headache but I never got to test it out on that. We just knew what worked and what didn't, and what the buzz was like. The most common weed was Mexican, and within that there were many variaties ranging from no-name "Mex" to name-brands like Acapulco gold, Michoacan and Oaxacan. There was a famous line from a reefer song by Cheech and Chong that went "No stems, no seeds that you don't need, Acapulco Gold is...PFFFFFTT...AHHHHHHHHhhh...BAD-ASS WEED." Classic. BTW if you've never seen their movie "Up in Smoke" you owe it to yourself, even if you aren't a pothead. If you are a pothead you absolutely have to check out a video on YouTube about a guy who was inexperienced with edibles. He went into a dispensary and bought a reefer muffin. [ ]I'll just say that he was hungry and he wolfed it down before the guy behind the counter could tell him that it was enough for two strong doses and under no circumstances should he eat the whole thing at once. Oops. The guy's a commedian, and a good one, but he didn't make it up. It really happened. The way he tells it should have anyone in hysterics. I'll occasionally see something online that makes me lol, but that had me dying. I can't put a link up with whatever's going on with this blog platform, but you can look it up under "Josh Wolf Medical Muffin Emergency." It's funny as fuck and well-worth 3:15 of your time, if you need a good laugh. I just watched it again and it's got my eyes watering from laughing. If you've made it this far here's a little Easter Egg. You'll have to copy/paste.Medical Muffin Emergency: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkZtm6DlON8. [ ]Anyway some weed would put you on the Moon and some wouldn't get a fly high. Mexican was mostly if not 100% Sativa, so it didn't make you too groggy. It usually had lots of seeds. Most people tossed them but I always ate them, usually plain but sometimes roasted with salt and a dash of honey. I knew they were good for you even back then. I had a friend with a parrot, and he'd let it clean his weed. It was amazing to watch...he'd deftly extract every seed and somehow leave the buds intact. There were all sorts of doohickeys designed to make deseeding easier, but none worked as well as that guy's parrot. He's probably still alive. Maybe the dude too. Polly want a reefer seed? "AWWWWK, yes. Give us a kiss." [ ]The Colombian buzz was harder to explain but it was amazing. It gave you a big body-buzz, like being at Six Flaga. The commercial grade (Commersch or Colombo) could also range from very mild to very strong, and could taste like anything from ancient basement dirt to a sugarless brownie, but the golds and reds were a thing apart. They were like a fine wine, and the aroma and flavor was part of the deal. Colombian was king for the most part, while it was around. It was amazing for listening to music. Both Mexican and Colombian were seasonal, and back then relatively few people outside of California grew it, so supply depended on the time of year. Nowadays they grow it year-round but back then the supply would start to dry up around the end of September, and it would be a couple more months before it was harvested, dried and shipped. Droughts were bad. [ ]Really good Jamaican was a treat. It was Sativa so it had an "up" buzz anyway, but for some reason it'd make me laugh all day long at nothing. It'd also mess with my depth-perception, and no other weed did that, not even stuff that was much stronger. I'd be driving, stoned as a rat on Jamaican and I'd approach a stop sign and stop ten feet short of it even though it looked like I was right up on it. People riding with me would crack up, and since Jamaican made me laugh anyway we'd just be tooling down the road laughing. It was hilarious but I'm certainly glad that weed didn't usually do that to me. Maui Wowie was always available, but at a price almost double good Colombian. It was amazing though. We saved it for special occasions. Then there was the legendary and mysterious "Black Colombian." It only came around twice. When I heard about it I thought it must be weed that had been killed by frost or had really bad mold, but when I saw it it was definitely almost black in color. It was stupid-expensive but it would put you in another world. It was almost too much. I never heard anything about it or where it came from or why it was black, but I smoked it, and it was definitely Colombian. [ ]I've mentioned this before but speaking of Colombian I had a time-machine experience about twenty years ago. My friend Bruce bought a used copy of "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," and pressed in the middle of the book was a long-forgotten joint. Salut, fellow head! Bruce had quit smoking by then so he gave it to me. It'd been in there for years. He showed me the book. It'd been at the bottom of a huge stack of books so it'd been pressed tight. The pages had closed around it making a chamber that had kept it fairly airtight and remarkably fresh. I thought wouldn't it be great if it was Colombian, and to my great delight it was. I could smell it immediately. Just the smell alone took me back. I decided to open the joint and smoke it a pinch at a time in a pipe so as not to waste a molecule. It was the Red variety. The very first toke hit me like a truck, and immediately transported me back to the 70s, and did so several times. That was one of those times when the Universe truly smiles upon you. Thanks, Universe. MOI. [ ]Most people would be shocked to hear how relatively cheap grass was back then. Mexican "reg" was $15 per ounce, or "lid" as we sometimes called it, $40 a QP and $110/lb. Commercial colombian was around double that. It was usually $35 a lid but Santa Marta and such might be a little more. The Hawaiian was $60, and that was shocking back then, but it's all relative...the good stuff truly was "two-toke" weed. You could smoke three joints of regular Mex and not get as high as two tokes of Maui Wowie. Weed connoisseurs were all about the taste and aroma too. Smoking commercial bunkweed that tasted like gym socks and fine Hawaiian that tasted like some European dessert or something was night and day. Speaking of night and day, that basically sums up the dif between Sativa and Indica in a nutshell. Sativa was better for smoking in the daytime, when you didn't want to get too kicked-back, while Indica was better for nighttime, where it would relax you and make you sleepy in an hour or two. In the Bud Greene Band we called Sativa "day" weed and Indica "night" weed. [ ]I don't know what weed costs now, but I'd say it's gone up more than inflation. My friends who live in legal states tell me it's more or less the same cost as from a dealer, or maybe a tad cheaper. Years ago I was aware of it selling for $100 a quarter/oz. I've heard it's gone up and down and so I have no idea, but $110 for a pound of weed was cheap, and if it was good then it was a bargain. You could also get an ounce of the finest Afghani or Lebanese hash for the same price. Try doing that these days, if it's even still around. I used to love hash in the day. I ate it on gigs, at over triple the amount that would make most people get so high that they thought they were never going to come down, and literally swore off drugs for life, if God would let them return to Earth. Eating a gram was way too much for many people. I'd eat three or four grams. The thing is I'd keep a pinch between cheek and gum like chew, and it'd slowly dissolve and get into my system over the course of several hours rather than all at once. Still it was a savagely-powerful buzz, and I remember some nights at 3am after a gig we'd be up partying until dawn, and I'd be so high I could barely speak, and all I could really do was laugh. Good times. [ ]I should mention the best weed I ever got. My first year in college a guy had some Michoacan. I remember everyone was tripping at first because it was $20 a z, or $5 more. Today that'd be a laugh but back then it was a bit of cash, for a sack of weed. They guy was really apologetic but told us to try it and if we didn't like it he'd buy it back, which is unheard of. Once we took the third toke nobody ever said another word about price. It wasn't the strongest by far, but what was amazing was it's consistency. From the first toke to the last, and a LOT in between, it got us just as high as the first time we smoked it, and that's never happened before or since. After a while you get a bit "jaded" to the same pot, which is why it's good to mix it up. Depending on the genetics and type and potency, the effects from one strain to another can vary widely. It still works fine but switching to a new flavor usually hits you in the face a lot more the first few times you smoke it, but that pot was the same from first lid to last. That still blows my mind. It tasted like chocolate. If I could smoke and somehow find some of that I'd be happy with it forever... [ ]I almost forgot to mention the legendary (and spooky) "Batshit Weed." We grew it out in the woods along animal trails. It was Colombian Gold seed. Again it wasn't the same as if it had been grown in Colombia, but in this case something unexplained happened, and somehow that pot was a whole 'nother Universe.. We'd heard that bat guano was the best fertilizer, which I still believe, so we went into a cave where bats roosted and scraped a bunch up and planted the plants in it. True to form it was September and it had barely started to flower, which makes it that much more unreal. All I can say is that it was too much for me. It was almost like tripping hard on acid. As many times as I smoked the finest pot in the world or ate enough hash to kill an elephant I still can't believe I'm saying this, but I couldn't smoke it. One night I was driving stoned, which ordinarily I adored, but that night I was gripping the wheel until I had white knuckles. I was hearing "voices," and they were "demons" talking amongst themselves about how they could take control of the steering wheel and make me crash. How about that shit? On weed. To this day I still don't get it. I have no idea how it got so mind-bendingly strong...the bat guano, the genetics, the weather...maybe it was Satan himself, but I have no idea. For the only time in my life I tossed perfectly good weed out onto the highway. Nope...I still don't understand that one. [ ]As untethered to the planet I sometimes got on pot, there was only one other time that I was almost too stoned to enjoy it. Luckily I didn't hear voices that time but it was intense, and again a huge surprise. I was going to a baseball game in Atlanta with my ex. Since I couldn't smoke in the stadium I figured I'd make a batch of green cookies. I didn't have nearly the amount of weed I usually used, but the saving grace was that I had leftovers from several different kinds of weed, and mixing different kinds always gets you tremendously stoned. I made my "magic Butter" and made a small batch of cookies. I wanted to gauge how strong they'd be the next day so I ate some of the plain butter, and I got blasted. I was tripping in fact. Luckily I was home but I was high as a kite. I tried to get to sleep but that was futile. My body was buzzing like crazy and it was like being on nitrous oxide...I was hearing sounds going "EEYOINGOINGOINGOING..." With the lights off it felt like the ceiling had dropped down and was pressing down on my chest. I knew it wasn't real of course but I coulld literally feel it. I felt like I was inside a huge bouncy ball going up and down, to the point that I was getting dizzy and I had to turn the light on to make it stop. That night I had to sleep with the light on and I felt like a little kid. At least I could laugh at myself, and I knew damn good and well not to let my girlfriend eat too many cookies. Or me either. But I did anyway. [ ]The next day was hilarious. The drive was a bit over two hours and I decided to have a cookie for the road. I had a digital recorder to record the crowd noise to maybe use on a recording project. I needed to change the batteries but I needed a tiny screwdriver for the battery compartment and I couldn't find one. I realized I'd have to stop at a Home Depot or somewhere on the way to Atlants, and the cookie had kicked-in already, and I was off like a rocket. We pulled into the parking lot and had to park a good way from the store. I was so high I literally thought I might not be able to speak, no joke, and I thought that if I couldn't find it on my own I'd have to engage a human, and I didn't want to have a clerk say "May I help you?" and not be able to say a word. The whole way across the parking lot I kept saying out loud: "Small slotted screwdriver, small slotted screwdriver, small slotted screwdriver" over and over while my girlfriend cracked up, and rightly so. I was so stoned I almost had to relearn the English language, or at least get in a little practice. Luckily I found the small-slotted-screwdriver isle right away and I didn't have to talk to anyone. [ ]The game was incredible. The grass was greener, the sky was bluer, the hot dogs smelled hot-doggier...I was completely immersed in the experience. It was really intense but really enjoyable. There were a couple of slight problems. I had cottonmouth like a motherfucker and I wanted some water, but nobody came around with any. The stadium was fairly sloped but as high as I was it was greatly exaggerated. I felt like if I even stood up I'd tumble down the steps and onto the field, so for the first six innings or so I sat firmly-planted in my seat, and I was wishing it had a seatbelt. Finally before the seventh-inning stretch I managed to slowly make my way down the steps and to the refreshment stand, but I wish I'd been tied-off with rappelling gear. Also they had a couple of security guards with dogs, and they walked in front of us at one point. I found out later that my girlfriend was so high she thought they were drug-sniffing dogs, and would sniff-out the cookies in her purse, which we didn't need anyway. That's funny. [ ]Since this is a history lesson for weed, and some people are interested in that, I should mention the famous "Paraquat Scare." I don't remember exactly when it was but I guess late-70s/early 80s. With funding from the gub-mint and Budweiser (I wonder why...) they started a project to eradicate weed from the air, so they loaded tanks on helicopters and went around spraying a powerful and very toxic herbicide on weed fields. Since it was so toxic and didn't just kill the plants, they were sending a strong message that smoking pot laced with Paraquat could fuck you up, and it could. They made a bloody fortune selling "Paraquat test kits." Most people were scared shitless, which was the point, and everybody was testing their weed, if not quitting and turning to beer (get it?). What people didn't realize, and certainly what they didn't tell you, was the thing at the very heart of the issue- it killed the plants. If you got a normal-looking bag that was healthy and fresh and not brown, dead and crumbly, it were perfectly okay. I actually saw a batch that had been sprayed. It was yellow and it crumbled to dust. The guy was an asshole and an idiot for trying to sell it, but people were afraid of smoking healthy weed that hadn't been touched. Looking back I see that it was just another psyop and yet another excuse to profit off of people's needless fear, but that's how it goes. [ ]Well, it's been fun reminiscing (as the Little River Band, or the "Little Reefer" band as we called them used to say) and checking out all the new reefer strains with the incredible names. I could talk about those for another hour and tell a million great reefer stories but I won't right now. The reefer industry has come a long way from the days of Skunk #1. There's strains that old hippies wouldn't recognize as pot even, but I'm sure they'd get a kick out of the names. There are SO many pot stories...like the time I took my buddy Rusty flying in a glider plane and got him so stoned beforehand that he nearly shit himself, or the time I bought an authentic bottle of hash oil in the early days of eBay, where it was deemed legal because it was encased in Lucite and therefore unaccessible, and the bidding went sky-high but I had plenty of money, and people bid from all over the world until everyone dropped out of the race except for me and the Museum of Hash and Marijuana in Amsterdam. That was fun and they ended up sending me a nice congrats message. I could go on and on but I'd better bust out. I got the munchies. You know what they say...it's always 4:20 somewhere. Smoke 'em if you got 'em, and have a nice day.

Great Nicknames: Box Magnet (rewritten from another blog)

[ ]I've had some nicknames in my day. The longest-running is Doctor Octafer, which is still in use. I can't remember them all...and certain ones like "ShithooK" or "Dickhead," which I admit I've most-assuredly deserved at times, probably aren't registered like the more fun ones are. "Billy Bullshit" is a personal favorite, and comes from soon after the Octafer one. The Generic Band was playing a gig at the Nick and our master-of-ceremonies Scott Leader was introducing the band. We were best buds but when he got to me, somehow he forgot my name. He was looking back at me and we were both cracking up. Finally he said "On drums...Mr. Billy Bullshit!" We all lost it laughing. I don't get to use that one much but on my Facebook page where it says how to pronounce your name, if you click on it it says "Bil-ly Bull-shit." I doubt anyone's ever noticed but I think it's hilarious. [ ]The next nickname didn't last but maybe a year until the band broke up, but it was a good one. This is actually two stories that revolve around the same random guy...a kid we met briefly at a gig at a frat party in Colombia, SC. He was a "pledge," a first-yeat frat brother. Occasionally they'd make them help bands move equipment, which was always nice. One of the pledges that showed up to help was noticeably grinding his jaw. I called it "chewing air-gum." He was really working that jaw, and I doubted he'd done enough coke to get that geeked that early in the day, so I figured he was doing X, which he was. [ ]It was Halloween and it was going to be a huge party. All but one of the other guys in the band were planning to dress up and trip on acid that evening, but I thought some X might be fun. Instead of asking him outright I said "Dude, what's your favorite letter of the alphabet?" "X" he said. "Thought so. Think I could get a tab?" I asked. "I'll see what I can do" he said. "I really appreciate it man. Can I give you some money?" "No, I'll have to look around a little." "Okay, 'preesh" I said. "Happy to try" he said. [ ]We set up and then farted around and went and had dinner and a look around the town. A couple of the guys had brought costumes, sort of, and at the last minute I decided to do my default sad-clown (Emmett Kelly) face that I've done a million times on Halloween. I had to borrow some makeup from a couple of gals, who watched transfixed as I turned myself into a clown. Girls love that shit. Anyway we did the hurry-up-and-wait thing, which we dealt with by smoking a bowl or two. We were excited, and so was everybody else. We'd played another Halloween party for a frat there the year before. They'd done the place up to look like a cemetary, with cobwebs and blacklights and ghosts in sheets and shit. Oh and plenty of sororiety sisters. It was a sauna that night too. They had a huge kitchen and that's where we went to toke-up on the first break. [ ]Like usual I was sweating, and when I took my t-shirt off I saw a stack of cotton aprons, and grabbed one to dry off. "I dare you to wear just that" said O', out of the blue. I couldn't refuse a dare like that so I stripped naked except for an apron. It covered my goober but not my skinny ass. We didn't trip that night but I did a drum solo, and hipped the people who hadn't noticed already that I was almost naked, and in the middle of the solo O' came behind me and fanned me with a towel. Yep...that's why you learn to play music. Anyway the kids knew us and were primed for a fun time. [ ]I had a feeling the kid who was X-ing would come through, but I hadn't heard from him before we started playing. The other guys had semi-dressed-up and they'd dosed, but I was holding out for the X, and hoping I'd see the kid on the first break. I didn't, so before the second set I decided to join the other guys, and I put two drops of 25 on my tongue. It was chilly that night but when you have 250 or more warm bodies packed into a room and grooving and dancing it turns into a sauna in five minutes. I'd sweat like a whore in church no matter if it were Summer or WInter. I set up right next to an open window so I could be as cool as possible. [ ]Since it was Halloween and we were tripping I guess and for whatever reason I did a drum solo. Most times the only solos I ever did were when the other guys would gang-up and slowly drop out and MAKE me do a solo, but anyway this night I was doing one. The solo started around half an hour into the set, so the acid was starting to kick-in. I was seeing purple ripples like in a pond when I'd hit a drum, and layers of colors and patterns flew from the cymbals. I was really having fun. Whether or not the solo was any good I have no idea, but it was fun. [ ]Halfway through the drum solo a movement in the window caught my eye. I looked over and there was a hand sticking in, with a blue tablet in the middle. Dude had come through. I was already tripping pretty good, but I decided WTF and kept playing with my left hand while my right hand picked up the tab and ate it. "Thanks man!" I said. "How much do I owe you?" "Nothing" he replied. "We love your band. It's on the house" "You sure?" "Sure." "Much appreciated man!" "We appreciate you! Have fun. Catch ya later." Off he went into the night. I never saw his face. Or knew his name. [ ]Back to earlier in the day. After I'd broken the ice about the X and he realized we were just regular guys he started talking to us about what it was like being in a band. He obviously knew there was a lot of work involved, so we told him a bit about things, and how much fun it was to get to travel around and see new places and meet new people, and hopefully give them their money's worth and then some. We told a couple of crazy band stories and he and the other pledges were into it. Dude got quiet for a second and then he said "Um...do any of y'all ever...you know...hook-up with any females on the road?" As if it were well-rehearsed (the sign of a good band), all four guys sort of made a frowny-face, pointed to me and said, in unison, "HE does." It was classic. [ ]"I see" said the kid. "'Box Magnet,' eh?" I'd never heard that term before and it cracked me up. The other guys died laughing too and started calling me "Box Magnet." I didn't brag too much about my extra-musicular activities in the band, although it was hard to really hide them, but I have to admit it was a proud moment, and I loved the term. "Box" of course is slang for a certain part of the female anatomy. I'd never heard it paired with "magnet" before, and it had a great ring to it...Box Magnet. I immediately thought it'd be a great name for a band, but it really sounded more like a comic-book hero in an animated cartoon, with lots of scantily-clad women with nice, perky cartoon-breasts. At the start of every show the announcer would say "BOOOOXXXX-X-X-X-x-x-x MAGNET-MAGNET-AGNET-GNET-NET-T-T-t-t-t." In every episode Box skips saving the day and goes straight to getting the girl. Anyway for a while my nickname was Box Magnet, or just "Box." [ ]Box Magnet...I like it. The law of attraction...literally and figuratively and every whichaway. I can dig it. Box...a word for one of the best things in the world. Magnet...one who attracts it. I can dig that too. Box Magnet...it's fun to say and there'a a certain energy when you say it. It's a strong phrase. Had it stuck, "Box" wouldn't have been a bad nickname really. It would've been a conversation-starter for sure. Hey, I've been called worse.