It’s not like the movies

Thanks to HighBoldtage for the link – my first! – and thanks to Redheaded Blackbelt for the welcome and the cookies.  To be honest, I felt a little sheepish reading those responses – sorry neighbors, but you already know what it’s like up here, and you know it’s not like the movies. And sure, nothing is like the movies, but like most people who’ve had a relationship with marijuana, I’ve been left wondering about where it comes from with nothing to satisfy me but phony Hollywood visions and the scare stories that come from today’s propaganda industry.  I know I’m not alone, there, either.

Like I said in my unwelcome notice, I moved here from L.A., in part, because I’ve been curious about where weed comes from ever since I first discovered it at the age of 14.  I spent a big part of my life out of the state of California, where the best weed I could get came from a compressed brick of ditchweed that had been smuggled across the border from Mexico in a tire or keestered up some poor mule’s ass (god, I hope that’s not true).  So I know how fortunate I am to be in the presence of California’s Gold (sorry, Huell).

I love this state, and the northern half has always been my favorite part.  Forty years ago, back when Northern Californians were trying to remind the rest of the country what wine should taste like, people in the same general area were growing weed of the same general caliber.  And even though people all over the state – and beyond – are still smoking it, no one seems to have any sort of realistic notion about its origins.  Which is surprising when you understand just how much of this local weed ends up in L.A., how many columns in newspapers (remember them?) are used to report on it, how many politicians campaign on it, and how many film and tv execs make their money off phony notions about it.  It’s maddening – these media types sell the public a bill of goods about weed so they can make enough money to buy and smoke the weed that they don’t know shit about.

And “factual” sources don’t add much to the picture – see Redheaded Blackbelt’s recent post on the explosion of magazines centered in L.A., focused more on showing pics of bikini-clad ladies covered in bud than offering real information.  Not to be outdone, the L.A. Times recently published a first-person expose of the marijuana industry in the city.  This was in 2009, a full 13 years after the passage of Prop 215, and well after the 1,000th dispensary had opened its doors in the city.  Crack reporting, right?  Anyway, in typical fashion, the writer of the piece wouldn’t cop to actually toking up.  After leading his readers through the process of looking for a sympathetic physician, procuring for a prescription, visiting a dispensary…nothing. Because it wouldn’t have been news worthy to report on the act around which the entire article was written.  Nice going, newsies.  Glad to have supported your dying industry for so long.

So you can see why I find this part of the world so fascinating.   I’m interested in finding the reality behind the mythology, but I’m going to smoke the bud that comes my way.  Because, L.A. Times reporter, that’s the point!  I bet even Huell Howser knows that.  I mean, he didn’t get that loopy by accident.


4 Responses to “It’s not like the movies”

  1. 1 Tj
    January 26, 2010 at 6:29 pm

    Hey, good writing. Welcome to Humboldt.

  2. January 26, 2010 at 7:21 pm

    Thanks TJ, and thanks for not taking the “unwelcome” post too seriously.

  3. 3 Mr. Nice
    January 26, 2010 at 11:42 pm

    It comes from the Humboldt Fairy.

    Naw, just playing. It comes from Lake County and shit. You are in the wrong spot. This piece hasn’t been dosia-central for 20 years. Even Mendo is kicking our ass. Humboldt barely grows enough to supply 73rd Street in Oakland. Even then, nobody really wants our tweeds anymore. They want OG Kush and Granddaddy Purps and shit. They think that organic outdoor stuff is regs. It does taste like fish emulsion sometimes… lazy bastards. Flush your plants out guys.

    Nowadays Humboldt weed gets sent to bumfuck nowhere spots where it can compete with straight up bammer. You read that that Organica person was popped for half a load in Iowa or whatever it was. Or Utah or some shit. Maybe that was two different cases. Either way, that’s where shit gets shipped to.

    Our East Coast hookup is fucked up too. West Virginia and Kentucky and whatnot hook up weed out there now. They got some kinna hillbilly mafia going in Seattle too, fucking up the shipments out there, giving B.C. all that bread.

    For real, people don’t even want to pay the standardized and universally agreed upon $3,000 an elbow anymore. This season I heard $1,900 for some shit. Fucking nineteen bills. Not even country cut. Some manicured Humboldt County old-timer sunshine sativa shit for $1,900. What the fuck?

    You came too late. 20 years ago, you could’ve seen the shootouts with CAMP and shit. Peeps coppin a squat in the woods comin up on some massive trees, growing football-sized buds, charing top dollar and buying up former timber land. You arrived right in the middle of the white boy Jah Dread indoor grow house period. Where hillbillies have turned from plastic tarp and PVC pipe to underground bunkers and diesel generators. Nothing to see here really. Even the genetics here are starting to suck ass. Every good strain I’ve seen in the last two years has come out of Hawaii. Meanwhile, people here are still stuck on Mendo Purps or Grape Ape or some other tired ass wack shit.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Legal Disclaimer:

This blog is for entertainment purposes only. We neither engage in nor endorse any illegal activity; any and all indications to the contrary are purely fictional. Purely fictional.

%d bloggers like this: