I'm baked.
A friend of mine from high school is in town for an art gallery opening over the weekend, and we're poolside, splayed out in 100-degree heat at a gorgeous Uptown hotel. I've got Paul Wall's "Sittin' Sideways" blowing up my iPod, there's not a cloud in the sky and neither of us brought any sunscreen. We're also somewhat immobilized by the effects of a new variation on the "White Widow" strain, which was grown within walking distance of the hotel.
A scene from Hempsters: Plant the Seed shows a traditionally grown field of cannabis.
Woody Harrelson knows more than one way to get high.
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We're both far too lethargic to protect ourselves from the potentially lethal effects of sunshine. Maybe they ought to outlaw sunlight.
The late comedian Bill Hicks used to have a bit where he addressed the campaign against marijuana. It went something like, "You know, we've been fighting this war on drugs for a few years now...and from what I can tell the people on drugs are winning."
Back at the coffee shop, Ace takes it a step further. "Truth be told, we're not fighting back. We're all on drugs, every single one of us. Whether it's coffee, tobacco, alcohol, prescription drugs, pot, refined sugar or black tar heroin, everybody holding this newspaper relies on something to self-medicate or to feel better than they normally do," he says. "We hear about other people struggling with serious long-term addictions to dangerous drugs like crystal methamphetamine or heroin, but we shouldn't feel compelled to declare 'war' on them as people. They're human beings, our neighbors."
Peter chimes in: "Every other commercial you see is for a new drug that, like he just said, exists for no other reason than to make people feel better. And the tag line is always 'Ask your doctor to prescribe so-and-so,' as if the patient, merely by watching an ad on television, might know a more appropriate remedy for their illness than the doctor himself. If we've reached a point where we can basically prescribe our own medicine, why can't we just grow our own pot?"
On any given day, you can jog down many residential streets in Oak Cliff or northeast Dallas and smell the distinct aroma of marijuana. This subversive farmers market is flourishing because of its connection to that coveted demographic: the image-conscious boomer who always pays with crisp twenties straight from the ATM machine. Now that it's held in the same regard as sports cars, single-malt scotch and exquisite jewelry, we shouldn't expect the infatuation to evaporate any time soon.
This is Dallas, where image has always been everything. Green is the new gold.
Editor's note:The author of this story, for obvious reasons, wished to remain anonymous. Managing Editor Patrick Williams contributed to this report.
