The 11th annual Emerald Cup cannabis competition & culture celebration was held this past
weekend in Santa Rosa, California; and like thousands of others I bought
tickets online to prevent being in line.
It's one of those events that periodically draw me out of my
hermit lifestyle; the kind that makes me tolerate something very uncomfortable
as a kind of payment for getting to have an experience I want. I've never much liked being in crowds, mobs
even less. Season that with some Vietnam
flavored PTSD, then put it in a wheel
chair which presents my damaged legs &
feet as a target for every passerby ... and you might get some idea of my
perspective. Pay to play!
Being that the VA has yet to deliver on their promise of a
shiny new motorized wheel chair; old ironsides was pressed into duty
once more. With my strapping business
partner and his attractive wife as escorts &
cohorts, we set out Saturday morning to take in the first day of the weekend event.
We got our first sense of proportion when we were still a
couple miles from the fairgrounds venue; when three lanes of traffic were all
trying to merge into the same exit ramp.
I suspect some of them may have already been smoking, based upon the
creative driving we witnessed. Knowing
all these folks were headed to the same event as me made the knot in my gut
twist just a bit. I knew from experience
that if I wanted to enjoy the day, I was gonna have to do something about
that.
The real accessible magic in this life awaits just beyond
the boundary of our comfort zone. It's
where resonance causation allows us to program our experience instead of
just gutting it out. Instead of a
particle resisting the wave, I agreed with myself that this day I would become
the wave, immersing myself into this sea of humanity to see what it might show
me. Feeling the wheel chair would
attract more attention than I desired; I dressed in regular street clothes, and
a leather vest. The only thing
indicating my status as a veteran was a small Agent Orange patch on the
vest. The more obvious camouflaged field
jacket with an assortment of service related patches was rolled up in my pack
for when the day turned cooler.
"The
strangeness of this life cannot be measured"
~ John J. Dunbar ~
Just as I expected; passage thru the entry gate included the
ever present metal detector. As I waited
my turn, secure in the knowledge I had no banned items on me, I watched the
security officer moving the wand professionally all over the person in front of
me. When the officer turned to see me,
he paused in a moment of assessment to recall which of his many rules covered
this situation: then, pointing to the Agent
Orange patch on my vest he says "Oh, you're good to go sir,
besides, your whole chair would set this thing off...have a great time!" I thanked him for the compliment even as some
part of my subconscious mind was making a list of all the things someone could
smuggle into that event in a wheel chair.
Once past the gatekeepers we looked for someone handing out Emerald
Cup programs; but alas there was no such person in evidence, anywhere. There was however a staffer there informing
us that if we wished to enter the vendor zone where cannabis could be openly
smoked and purchased; we'd be needing another wristband. A short while later, after showing our
medical marijuana cards & receiving the
proper wristbands, we ventured into the much anticipated vendors zone. As we passed the zone's gatekeeper someone
pushed in to extend their hand to me...I looked up to see a kind faced middle
aged man, who just said, "Thank you for your service, sir." As I shook his hand and thanked him, I told
him I'd been home a while now, but hearing that never gets old!
We paused there a moment to get our bearings, and a sense of
this vendors zone. There were so many
vendors of all types that their undersized booths were literally wall-to-wall;
sprawled out before us like a marijuana shanty town on the outskirts of Marrakesh . Even though it was still early in the day there
was a good turnout, and as I began perusing the passing faces it was like being
in a river of humanity flowing a narrow course between a winding landscape of
awnings, tents and all manner of temporary structures; including a spacious
community tent complete with living room furniture. In other words an obstacle course filled with
stoned, self-absorbed humans.
You simply wouldn't believe the number of passersby who make
a conscious effort to avert their gaze from the handicapped, disabled & disfigured: as if we're contagious on
sight or some shit. Abnormal, misplaced
fear mixed with superstition.
These near misses continued to occur all day long. As an experiment, I had my friends park me
just outside the community tent and then sent them off to have some fun on
their own for a while. I was parked up
alongside the front of the tent, out of the traffic flow, but not for
long. For reasons unknown, every so often
a group of three or four people would just stop right in the middle of
the walkway to chat as they passed a bong among themselves. This forced those still moving to split & go around them, much like river water
flowing around a rock. Naturally about half
of these re-directed wandering stoners were now aimed directly at my wheel
chair. About one out of three managed to
say "scuze me" as they bounced off me. So I moved across to the other side of the
community tent where it formed a corner with a building. Nice little out of the way spot with a good
view for people watching. Within
minutes I found myself feeling a bit claustrophobic as I was surrounded by a
growing throng of those who found the tent too crowded, so they came out where
the old guy in the wheel chair was enjoying the view and proceeded to deprive
him of it. I released the brakes on my
chair and started moving towards the walkway; and actually had to ask to
be let through the wall of people.
When my companions returned we explored the back row of
vendor booths, a good deal of which was erected on ground now turned to
mud. As we rounded a corner we could see
another wheel chair mired down in the mud.
While we looked for alternate routes, a couple of attendees pitched in
to help the woman in the stranded wheel chair get back to terra firma. Before I knew it, the same folks offered to
help us get me thru the muck; and nobody had to ask them! Here and there, sprinkled amongst the
unconscious & unaware I kept running
into folks who weren't just there for themselves. Like the perfect strangers, who several times
throughout the day, would shove a joint, or raw bud into my hand, then just
smile and walk away! One fellow who
stopped by to say hello wore a contestants badge, and gave me a small sample of
the cannabis he had entered to be judged.
As the afternoon rolled along more and more people showed
up, and it didn't seem that many were leaving.
We decided to go back out to the common area to check out presentations
and whatever else the Emerald Cup had to offer. Out on the main concourse it wasn't nearly as
crowded as the vendors zone; yet our progress continued to be slowed by a few
other folks who felt the urge to shake my hand, and thank me for my service. That is a whole other kind of high, one I had
not anticipated.
"Unenlightened
self-interest doesn't impress me"
~ George Carlin ~
Realizing we were all hungry, we followed our noses to where
the food vendors were all gathered together; only to gradually see that nearly
all these food vendors offered strictly vegan menus. No lines at any of them! Unfortunately only one vendor
included anything remotely like a burger, &
that was the cheese steak shack which from the length of the line; folks were
mistaking for an iphone store. Thousands
of stoned meat eaters and barely enough cheese steak for half of them - what
could go wrong. So as to not block the
thoroughfare, the cheese steak line had to flow down the street, and I found
myself thinking it looked like a line of ants marching to the food source.
Resigning ourselves to our fate, we installed ourselves at
the end of the line, which just kept growing behind us like a ravenous
serpent. Now things began to get really
interesting. The chow line was moving
agonizingly slow; and to be polite I honored the personal space around those in
front of me by leaving a few inches between us. Before long three people came barging right
thru that small gap in front of my wheel chair as if it was a designated
doorway! I was speechless, which
considering I was also a bit annoyed, was probably a good thing. I just couldn't believe it, even though it
happened right in front of me. Even the
folks in front of us thought it was extremely rude.
Within less than five minutes, the same event played out two
more times, and by the second offender I was more than a little annoyed, as
every time they bumped my feet it sent shards of pain racing up my legs. I yelled at the rude, smirking youth with a
bong around his neck..."HEY! Do I look like a fucking
doorway asshole?" This kid
looks at me like I had some balls for calling him on his
shit...then jogged away laughing. Things
returned to normal in the food line from hell, and sure enough within just a
few minutes two more mindless ones moved to cut thru the line in front of
me...almost as if being directed to do so...until I gave them a dirty look and
just said "Really??!" Duly shamed they turned back to find an
easier way thru the line of starving pot heads.
By this time I was getting stiff &
sore from being trapped in the chair all day, plus it was turning a lot cooler
as the sun raced for the horizon...so it was time to fly the colors and put on
the camo field jacket. Somehow, wearing
a combat jacket covered with Vietnam
patches made all the difference in my little social experiment; as nobody
else attempted to break thru the line in front of me...instead they were all
cutting thru in front of a young girl several people ahead of us. Isn't it funny how the sheeple always want to
pick a weak spot to practice rudeness?
While the camo jacket repelled one kind of Emerald Cup attendee,
it attracted the opposite kind; as I was now seeing more folks stopping to
thank me for my service and shake my hand.
With the afternoon sneaking it's way towards dusk it was
like shift change at the boogaloo factory.
Those who had what they came for were departing, just as more & more younger folks began flowing in,
ahead of the headliner band, appropriately named "Slightly Stoopid." A quick consensus was reached between my
friends and I, that our work for the day was done, and we began making our way
back to the parking lot, which by now was just one huge mass of vehicles as far
as the eye could see.
~ The Takeaway
~
All in all the day was a hybrid experience of diverse
polarities and more than a few reality cramps.
I'd expected the event promoters would have done a much better job
considering this was the 11th annual Emerald Cup: but it was just
an ill-planned hastily thrown together event where the promoters seemingly did
the absolute minimal necessary to get paid.
Like the old saying goes, "Sell the sizzle, not the steak."
Attending this event gave me the opportunity to acquire
cannabis not readily available in this area, including a very potent strain
having 37.3% THC content. For those new to the science behind cannabis;
average street weed has between 13 to 18% THC
content, and the stuff the clubs sell as premium grade has 18 to 25% THC content.
There's a new kid in town, and his name is Chiquita Banana!
Taking inventory upon returning home I discovered that in
addition to my purchases, I brought back over a quarter ounce of cannabis that
was given to me by total strangers. This
energy of generosity wasn't focused upon me...rather, it was
everywhere in the vendors zone that day, and fairly typical of the cannabis
culture in general. The people we encountered ran the spectrum from Oakland
gang bangers to Sonoma county
soccer moms ~ and every one in-between.
The Beatles were right, everybody smokes pot! The sheer numbers of people attending the 2
day event seems to indicate just how big a part marijuana plays in our modern
culture. Sure there were a few rude,
self-important people running amok, but you see that everywhere, every day,
nothing new about that. What made
the day kind of special was seeing how many helpful, generous, & selfless people showed up to help
everyone else make the most of what was there.
A hybrid day, yes indeed as it saw the mingling of two
generations of marijuana users. There
were us relics from 40 years ago, rubbing shoulders with today's counterparts
to counterculture; in all their various
forms and expressions. It was a fun and
rewarding day spent in the pursuit of happiness; and for a time that energy, and
the 37% THC cannabis gave the feeling
that we might just overthrow the enemies of decency after all. Just two days later though; decency continues
to be mowed down along with Australian citizens and Pakistani children.
© 2014 full re-post with permission only
"We are
the people we've been waiting for"
%2BHOPE.jpg)
