Life & Culture

This Is Marijuana, Washington State, 2015.

The other day we were driving up to Sequim and saw one of those guys along the side of the road who twirl the signs, usually advertisements for a mattress or furniture sale. This guy’s sign said “Cheap Weed.” It reminded me that marijuana is just another commodity here. It also reminded me of the night, two years ago, when W and V bought me some.

It was a gift, and when I saw it I thought it was dog treats from one of those boutique pet stores. The guy at the marijuana store had said to start with two brownies, which turned out to be way too much. We spent the first half hour or so asking each other, “Do you feel anything?” “Yes?” “No?” “A little, I think.” It all seemed pretty subtle, so we had our normal wine with dinner, which was our second mistake.

The three of us got into bed to watch Mad Max: Fury Road. Before long the movie began devolving into an ordeal of confusion broken by moments of sheer hilarity, usually at something that probably wasn’t supposed to be funny, like the beautiful concubines who always seemed to be posing for a spread in Vogue. By the time V got up and left the room, we all knew it was going to be a rough evening. I felt like I was slowly spinning backwards through space, the movie a tilt-a-whirl of dirt and dust I needed desperately to grab onto every time it came around. Don’t ask me what it was about. They drove a truck out into the desert and they drove it back, and some other people didn’t want them doing that. I do remember that when they turned around to go back, I thought, “My god, this movie is only half over!” That, I think, will always be my main take-away.

Poor V, it turned out, spent the evening barfing into the toilet. We all felt queasy as hell, which I attribute to the mixture of alcohol and THC. It wasn’t good. Well, W and I did read a bit before going to sleep, and that was nice. I happened to be reading “Un señor muy viejo con unas alas enormes,” by Garcia Márquez, a story about an old guy with wings who washes up on the shore during a storm. I’m not proficient in Spanish, but that makes it all the better. Every story requires some decoding, adding an air of mystery. It’s an opportunity to learn to read all over again.

Posted on May 11, 2017 at 2:31 pm under Life & Culture

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