I’ve been testing the waters at my day job lately. “Everyone go and have a glass of wine!” my boss will say, releasing us all-too-late on a Friday evening. “Not me!” I say, “I’ll be rolling a big ol’ J!” I say this because I can, because it’s legal now. In New York City, weed is just as recreational as a glass of chardonnay, or a whiskey on the rocks. All of that teenage paranoia, those purse-stashed eye drops and perfumed closets – not to mention the lives disrupted by carceral abuse – all of that, upturned. Sorry about the last century, folks, the government decided reefer ain’t so bad after all!
While cannabis remains a controlled substance under federal law, President Biden is clearly attuned to the shifting tides of our high-minded nation (and the attitudes of key election demographics). Just before Christmas, Biden pardoned thousands of people charged with minor marijuana-related offenses. There are plenty of hurdles left – he was only able to extend his power to those arrested on federal lands, though he did urge state governments to follow zoot. In states where cannabis has long been legal, legislatures are paving the path for a new weed order. On January 1st, a fresh spate of laws went into effect. Some aim to further codify decriminalization, like California’s restrictions on employee drug testing and Nevada’s increased possession limit. Other laws are hashing out the complex project of regulation. After 10 years of legal cannabis, Colorado is finally requiring “use by” dates on packaging. Oklahoma is later to the party but no less fired up, authorizing a force of “secret shoppers” to investigate compliance in the state’s more than 50 dispensaries.
The map is turning green. In some cases, quite literally. At the Empire Cannabis Club, a large plastic map of the United States hangs behind the checkout desk. States that have legalized recreational use appear in green, along with the names of the laws that lit the match. Yet the allowances of these many measures, bills, and acts vary greatly. The slow burn of full legalization comes in four phases: possession, cultivation, distribution, and retail sale, the final phase having the most filters. New York’s 2021 Cannabis Law decrees that only “justice-involved” individuals – people with marijuana-related convictions or affected family members – are eligible for a Conditional Adult Use Retail Dispensary (CAURD) license, and half of the awardees must be Social and Economic Equity (SEE) applicants. These provisions are meant to prioritize those most harmed by the war on drugs, and seem driven by a spirit of intuitive fairness I’d like to see more of in legislation.
Still, the resulting business is a bit whack-a-mole. Entrepreneurs unwilling (or unqualified) to slog through the approval process have found creative ways to cash their stash. Most any neon-gilded smoke shop will gladly charge you $10 for a behind-the-counter pre-roll, though who’s to say what’s in the J (my scientific investigation yielded harsh vibes and a minor meltdown at the thought of aging; hypothesis: Delta-8). Many shops employ a gift-for-donation structure, gift being grey-market green, donation being non-negotiable. The aforementioned Empire isn’t technically a public shop, it’s a concierge service. As Empire’s lawyer, Steve Zissou (no, not that one) puts it: “This entity exists for one purpose. For the benefit of the club members. To provide them with a safe, tested, reliable product.” His loophole logic seems to take advantage of a provision originally meant to decriminalize street deals.
When I swung by my local Empire a few weeks ago in search of sativa gummies, my club service fee was just $2.50. But I had to give away all kinds of information: my email, my address, my phone number, my date of birth. It all felt very antithetical to the days of ditch-weed, when purchasing pot was an anonymous, secretive thing, done at the doorway or else in the living room of one’s neighborhood dealer. I’ll say it: I miss the beanbags. I miss getting a dude’s number from a friend, and going to a stranger’s house to hear flowery, poetic descriptions of strains in exchange for a complimentary bowl hit. I miss huddling against the wind with friends at the park, sneaking away at Thanksgiving, blowing smoke out of my dorm window just out-of-sight from campus police. I even miss that long drive across the border, back when weed was legal in Illinois but not in my then-home state of Wisconsin. There was a thrill in creeping around, a teenage rush I carried well into my twenties. These days, when I buy weed I am accosted by blinding fluorescence instead of the welcoming glow of a dealer’s lava lamp collection. Dispensaries display product on glass-enclosed pedestals, reminiscent of the Ancient Egyptian Art gallery at the Brooklyn Museum. And that’s just it – our old traditions are history. It’s card, not cash. In Massachusetts, I bought weed in pill-form and was handed a loyalty punch card – tenth nug, on the house. The age of danger is over. But Reader, I used to hotbox.
It’s not just aesthetics I mourn. I crave the ritual, the inclusion in a body of outsiders. I’m not like other girls, I smoke weed (only, I’m just like other girls – I’m going to make you light the bong). I fear that as marijuana usage becomes above-board and commonplace, we will lose that collective magic. The private pleasure of the red-eyed wink. That sisterhood of self-medication. Just as I tend to connect with fellow artists, I am drawn to the stoner’s disposition. For me, toking up with friends has always been an intimate joy. Grass lures us back to nature, away from performance and into the music. Beneath a mandala tapestry, I find myself in a curious and non-judgmental state. Peace, love, roll another doobie: I embrace it all.
With these fine vibes in mind, perhaps it’s good that the Devil’s Lettuce is expanding its reach. For too long, alcohol has held the reins as America’s substance of choice, leading to many a hangover, and more seriously: illness, injury, and death. Personally, alcohol makes me reckless, overly sensitive, and too tired to hang. In light of legalization, dare I dream of a chiller society? No, probably not that either. Ganja’s no angel. Despite the protests of high school stoners, weed is addictive. Friends of mine have suffered from CHS, a sudden, violent intolerance to THC. There are also the obvious respiratory risks and general degradation of one’s focus and memory. Both alcohol and THC contribute to sleep issues and depression. Then again, so does the state of the world.
In spite of recent op-eds shared within my circles, I do believe sobriety is a virtue. As I ramp up to write and sing more in 2024, there are so many reasons for me to cut back. But now that weed is highly accessible, I’ve found it harder to resist. Cartoon-eyed leaves spy me from every lamp post; the skunky clouds have multiplied. In this dank era, it’s important to include weed in the sobriety conversation. How are we using it, and why? Are we looking to cut back, and what support do we need? Perhaps most importantly, if “California sober” is alcohol-free but still on the smoke, can “Wisconsin sober” denote the opposite? (Sorry Bucky, love ya.)
The show High Maintenance aired on HBO from 2016 to 2020, long before recreational cannabis was legal in New York. The show’s unnamed protagonist is a weed dealer exploring the city on bike. Through the nature of his business, he meets magnetic characters in snapshots both subtle and rich. It’s my favorite kind of television – a series of realistically-written vignettes offering insightful windows into the human experience. There’s a lot of love, and a lot of truth. Great acting, too. In many ways, the show does for me what weed also does, suggesting a new perspective on the everyday, a funnier, more vivid lens, a network of emotional connections I hadn’t noticed before. Early in the first season, a dog escapes his ineffectual owner to live on the streets with a Tompkins Square bucket drummer. Another episode details the journey of an ex-Hasid named Baruch, who hosts a Shabbat dinner for friends across the spectrum of orthodoxy and ends up at House of Yes. Perhaps my favorite episode (so far! no spoilers!) is one in which I recognize myself. In season two, episode five, we follow Jules, a freelance artist who has recently kicked her weed habit. After a long day at work (and a wistful glance at her bodega’s bowl display) she’s ready to break her streak. An urgent samba soundtrack accompanies Jules’s desperate search for a fix, which eventually leads her to her ex. The two have a soft, familial relationship, and Jules confides that her current partner thinks she’s an addict. We later see a sweet moment between Jules and her girlfriend, in which Jules has clearly accessed a freer, more creative side of her personality. The trouble is, the girlfriend doesn’t know she’s stoned. What I like about this story is that it avoids both moralizing and romanticizing. We see the good and the bad, the high and the comedown. We understand why.
The forbidden smoke break is no longer forbidden; our old routines have been set ablaze. As us potheads come out of hiding, my hope is that we wield the green torch carefully. An alternative, a treat, a tool for perspective sharing, not just another way to cloud out the world. What does marijuana usage look like outside of crime, outside of shame? In Oklahoma, secret shoppers are being hired at this very moment. In New York, the Department of Taxation and Finances is cracking down on Zissou and the ganja gold rush. Still, it’s clear: legal weed is definitively in for 2024. And when the high wears off, there’s work to be done.
There are many instances of weed wordplay in this piece. First person to guess the correct number in the comments (or suggest a really funny one I missed) gets a little gift, no donation necessary.
Today’s Emoji: 🍃
Like, duh.
The Gossip
I know, I know, I have fallen woefully behind on my advice column. I have soon-to-be-announced plans to restructure my approach to this Substack in 2024, and delivering blunt, funny, and occasionally occult-informed advice will be a priority. Submit away, and your blind faith that I will answer your queries in a timely manner is appreciated. In the meantime, here are two quickies:
My (recent) ex wrote me a letter explaining why they dumped me and I wrote a very emotional and beautiful response that I’ve been told is too kind and not useful because they (my ex) don’t deserve my emotional process and I’ll only end up getting hurt again. BUT I’m losing steam in caring if I write a response or not so do I just send the beautiful and dumb letter? Also it’s hard to be mean – Anonymous
Let’s get this out of the way first: in most cases, one should not send a romantic resignation explanation unless the dumpée requests it. Maybe it’s useful if you wish to stay buds with your ex and there are a few things you need to address to maintain a friendship, but that would need to be a very carefully-written letter indeed. It doesn’t seem to be either case in your situation, so I agree with your friends that your ex unduly hurt you.
THAT SAID, it sounds like you take pride in your response letter (used “beautiful” 2X) and found it healing to write. Was that enough?
I’ve often engaged in post-mortems with exes (rebounds, beware), and the emails I’ve received during these times have touched and surprised me. Like it or not, our situationships have a special way of seeing us. I’ll also add that it’s almost always beneficial to leave things on good terms. Considering my most soured relationships, it’s the ones I’ve ghosted or insulted in the end which haunt me the most. Don’t listen to your friends and engage in a battle of who-deserves-what – prioritize your own instincts here. If it makes you feel good to help your ex feel good, send.
However, if it’s something else you want (compliments on your writing, another chance, a nicer letter in return, a revival of the drama), delete.
Met a person on an app. Started sexting. Ended up being a catfish who tried to extort me for money. They said “I’ll ruin your life by sending your nudes to everyone on your Instagram.” I was like bestie, I am perfectly capable of ruining my own life, thank you very much, and blocked them. – Anonymous
I don’t know what you’re asking here, but yes, I would have advised the block as well! Obviously there are legal avenues (the Cyber Civil Rights Initiative can help you out there), but certainly no amount of blackmail money would have guaranteed deletion of all digital files. Disengaging and blocking is an excellent way to reclaim power after such a gross violation.
Also, I hope you’re doing okay. Sextortion can trigger a complicated pain, especially for liberated, body-positive people. When my own ~boudoir shoot~ was leaked, I had to confront my free-the-nipple feminism denial before accepting that I felt really, really hurt, scared, and shamed. I want to affirm that karma is coming for that scumbag catfish. My DMs are open, and the CCRI is there if you need it.
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