I used to love getting high. But, I always hated the subculture of weed. The t-shirts, the magazines, the terminology, the 50 year old women wearing circle rimmed holographic pot leaf sunglasses, all of it. These things felt exclusive, not inclusive to me, and never represented my own personal relationship with the plant. Mostly though, it all just felt tacky. I could never relate to the culture of hippies, gangstas, frat boys, surfer types (even though I ‘m a surfer of 25 years), or the “legalize it” crowd.
Identity is incredibly important for just about everyone as you go through high school and college, and throughout life. I’m not special, I have an identity – a way I perceive myself to be – and it’s by no means squeeky clean. So the fact that pot is illegal never had anything to do with why I could never identify with it. Partly, I think I watched too many of my friends and acquaintances latch onto the culture of pot as a way of belonging, and more importantly, defining themselves. Getting high alone is not an achievement, but rather an escape of sorts, and often a shared bonding experience. For me personally, that was not enough. If I was going to get high, I needed to be writing songs in my studio, or practicing a surfing move, or drawing, or working on a new skateboard trick. Weed on its own was never satisfying to me. I hated sitting on a sofa with a bunch of paralyzed dudes watching a movie with belly full of pizza and carbonated sugar.
Red hairs and resin and stinky smells were never a topic that could hold my attention for more than 30 seconds. The individual characteristics and potency of any given marijuana varietal were never more interesting to me than that of my mother’s tomato plants, or my dad’s rhododendrons. And yet, I listened to my friends hold hour long conversations about a particular color of green or a crystal covered bud they once smoked back in ’89. I just never envisioned myself as a guy that talked a lot of bullshit about a stinky green plant that gives you a headache and makes you pass out every night. It all seemed so esoteric, so microscopic, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I’m not saying that hobbies and interests aren’t a good thing, or even that there’s something wrong with reminiscing, there isn’t. I’m just saying that as a topic, weed is pretty fucking boring. Too often, it’s just all you really have in common.
Let’s face it, the subculture of weed sucks. The clothing and accessories are tacky and hideous. The magazines are repetitive and boring – I could never jerk off to the “Bud of the Month”. Pot inspired tattoos are even lamer than the dolphin on the ankle or barbed wire biceps. The beards, pony tails, , and dreds scream “I don’t wanna work!”… and the hemp tunic wearing hippie chick with unshaven armpits scares me. Weed inspired art? 99% Garbage. And where does all this subculture find a home? Twitter. Twitter at the best of times is painfully mundane, but search “weed” and you’ll be amazed at the amount of nonsensical “smoke weed” twattering that goes on. I under 5 minutes counted like 50 personal twitter profile backgrounds depicting scenes with “buds”, or “buds on a girls ass”, or “buds next to a bunch of blunts”, etc… as if to say “Hey everyone, I love weed!” and “I’m also really smart and good at smoking weed!” And finally, it’s those damn armchair philosophers – they’re are everywhere, waiting to kill your natural buzz with 20 minute long gibberish rants. Uh-oh – here they come to leave some nasty comments!
PS – You’ll notice I mentioned nothing about weed + music. There is far too much incredible music created by alcoholics, potheads, heroin junkies, opium addicts, etc. I Love OZZY, Snoop, Bad Brains, Steel Pulse and all that (too many to list). And, some of the paraphernalia is beautifully designed and inventive, leaps and bounds better than meth and heroin gear.