At some point in my 30s, probably while I was running a vacuum cleaner, it occurred to me that one can view the whole of human history as a mission to do less work. Every invention of the modern age with which we’re surrounded — the vacuum, the automobile, the coffee maker, the disposable diaper — was meant to free us from drudgery of some kind or another and allow us more time in which to slack off. Laziness has been the driving force behind progress in every realm.
As the laws restricting marijuana have begun to change, there’s a new pot etiquette to consider. How do you navigate parenting within a legalized state? What do you bring to the neighbor’s potluck? For answers, we spoke with two cannabis connoisseurs from Colorado: Brittany Driver, who writes about parenting and pot for The Cannabist, and Jane West, proprietor of Edible Events Co.
When everything is legalized — here and everywhere else — guys like me will be done. I serve a purpose because the laws are backwards. I started selling in college. A friend of mine was getting four ounces at a time, and I would sell an ounce and keep what I made in profit. You make more money by selling it in smaller quantities, but you also take on more risk, just because you’re dealing with more people. Now, I’m a professional — I’m a publicist — and I don’t sell directly to customers. But I’m happy to go out of business. I want to be able to buy weed legally and enjoy it legally.
The people who move pounds and have made a career out of this, those who don’t go legit and open stores — they won’t go out of business immediately. When I went to California — back when you needed a medical card — we still went to dealers.
It’s a Saturday morning a few months ago. I’m in Atlantic City, sitting on a folding chair in a medium-size conference room at Bally’s, along with maybe 75 other bleary-eyed semi-note-takers. I’m here for day one of a four-day horticultural seminar — cost: $995 — in which the only plant that will be discussed is marijuana. The event is being run by Oaksterdam University, a college in Oakland, California, that behaves like it’s in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. (Sample course — “Methods of Ingestion: Vaporizing 8701.”) Oaksterdam, founded in 2007, has only been raided by federal agents once.
Among the first speakers is a handsome young New York lawyer named Adam Scavone who specializes in deconstructing the incomprehensible mishmash of local, state and federal laws that govern pot consumption in this country. “Let me ask you a question,” Scavone begins. “Are there any law enforcement officers in the room?” Four very silent seconds pass. “All right, good. That doesn’t mean there’s not. So just keep this in mind. We don’t know who might be here.”
Two local politicians — er, pot-iticians? — stand at the forefront of the movement. State Senator Daylin Leach (left) has co-sponsored legislation in Harrisburg both to legalize medical marijuana — a bill that passed the Senate — and to legalize pot outright. (See Leach’s hilarious appearance at ThinkFest below.) City Councilman Jim Kenney (center) has recently fashioned himself into a millennial folk hero, championing gay-rights legislation and marijuana decriminalization that saw passage in September. Michael Bronstein (right), of the Bala Cynwyd political consultancy Bronstein & Weaver, is helming a nascent pot lobby called the American Trade Association for Cannabis and Hemp, designed to persuade states to pass cannabusiness-friendly legislation.
We want to know your thoughts on relationships, sex, marriage, soul mates, and the state of love in Philadelphia right now. Results of this quick, anonymous poll will run in Philly Mag. So go ahead … tell us everything.*
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These days, it seems like the only 76ers highlights available are when the other team does good things. That’s what happens when you’re in the second consecutive year of a tanking strategy that totally won’t alienate fans.
The only thing left to do? Remember the good old days.
Sunday, for example, was the 30th anniversary of the legendary fight between Dr. J and Larry Bird. Here’s the video:
LORI [president, cross ledge investments]: It was my first time ever on TV.
ALI: I’m not usually here [at home in Bryn Mawr] during the week. I have an apartment in New York. On Fridays I get on a 9 p.m. train from Penn Station, and I pull up at 10:50 p.m. in Bryn Mawr. And I usually leave Sunday night again. It’s great. It’s like date night all the time.
LORI: A fair amount of events that Ali’s involved with come up during the week. I certainly don’t go to all of them, but if there’s one that’s important, I’ll run up for it. And it becomes date night. Read more »
SUZANNE: We’ve been married for 72 years. You need a wonderful love — and a super sex life. But when you get up in your 90s, sex becomes a wish. So you need a sense of humor. You have to realize that bad things are inevitable, so if you can learn to appreciate the good things, and use humor to get through the bad, you’re going to be pretty okay. He can make me laugh. Even now, we remind each other every night how lucky we are to have each other. And we never go to sleep without a kiss.
RALPH: With each other, that is. [laughs]
SUZANNE: What’d he say?
RALPH: That’s the sense of humor.
SUZANNE: And saying “I love you.” In addition, we share a banana. Someone once told us that the potassium in bananas would help prevent leg cramps during the night, and we found that advice has been very good. We’re at that point where it’s not “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” That might have been true some years ago, but today it’s different. It’s appreciation of every moment you have. Read more »
“I wish you were going to Vegas,” says the girl in the bright orange tank top. There’s something both infuriating and admirable about her tone. The way her declarative statements bend upward in pitch, as if she’s asking a question, reminds me of Valley Girls in the ’80s, and Paris Hilton. But this hot mess clearly doesn’t care what anyone around her thinks. If she were on a reality TV show, I’d say good for you — be yourself, screw the haters. But we’re on a SEPTA train bound for the ’burbs sometime around 6 p.m., and just seconds ago, the conductor made an announcement that we’re sitting in what’s known as the QuietRide car. Even if you’re not a regional-rail regular, you can probably figure out what that’s supposed to mean. Orange Tank Top and her male companion — who, in clear violation of some hipster-slacker ethos, is rocking both a backpack and a messenger bag — drone on, oblivious to both the friendly reminder and to the fact that no one in the entire car is talking except for them.
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