Hempfest

I went today to Hempfest, the annual Seattle gathering of pot-smokers and their advocates that two of the speakers I heard yelling into microphones claimed is the largest pro-Cannabis rally in the world; it brought home to me that unless laws against pot are intended to limit sales of hand-dipped ice cream cones and hand-blown glass bongs, then they’re probably not doing much—at least in terms of preventing 16-24 year-old boys from using marijuana.

This is the third year I’ve gone; and each time it has made me sad over the glorification and ghettoization of using cannabis; the legal and moral norms against pot-smoking force (or at least enforce behaviors that lead) people to develop a group mentality that is vaguely (and not so vaguely) criminal. So, you get these groups of red-faced and sneaky-eyed later adolescents and very young adults who huddle together when they could, if those norms did not exist, be valuable and contributing members of society.

Just like me.

To prepare for my trip, I consumed 1 teaspoon of some bud butter I had made earlier this week for Jen to take to Burning Man and me to have on hand.

That was just about the right amount for an afternoon at the fair. It made the bike ride there—through traffic that, had I been in a car, would have made me nuts—increasingly interesting and probably kept me at the event a good deal longer than I would have otherwise stayed.

Some perfect stranger gave me a small unlit joint of what looked and smelled like pot; I didn’t quite know what to do with it, so I rolled it up in a dollar bill that I put in the festival donation bin.

I did my part for the economic case for legalization and purchased a consumer product I have been very curious about: the herbal vaporizer.

First test results are still coming in, and so far, I’m not sure what to say.