My chin nodding onto my breast on the #19 Night Bus home, nearly 2AM. I tried recall what had occurred over the last 12 or so hours to bring me to such a drowsy state.
It could have had something to do with the hoard of nine samples from the Kind Seed company’s entrants to the Harvest Cup sequestered in my suit coat.
Synn at the New Amsterdam caf?, had helped me earlier that day sort and access them in terms of aroma, ascetics and taste and W/O Reason had photographed the stoner survivors accessories that came in the bag.
The conundrum of assessing the effects of the varied strains, stumping to the scientific and objective mind, especially, once the effe cts of the ‘BC Wildlife’ has taken its grip and you’ve had your ‘first toke,’ (whether it’s of Jordan of the Islands or Dr Atomic, or whatever number,
you choose from your textured bag of goodies ) You’ll be lost!
#1 fluffy crystals, fruity smelling.
#2 skunky-fruity same time. Indica looking, red hair, dense tight buds.
#3 Lighter green. More sativa looking, smells like seaofgreen’s Swazzi which is a south African strain, (Tea tree oil?).
#4 GRRR.. Smallish nuggs, India/sativa cross? Well cured yet spongy?
#5 Looks like White widow or White rhino, White Shark white somethin.’. certainly ‘white’ and crystals! (The leaves themselves seemed morphed and deformed almost . One of us said “flowery” like Mr. Hanky on South park says . Matt said “Daisy or dandelions” does she luv me or not?) Could this monstrous nugg be the image of GOD were seeking?
#6 was bone dry… too dry, no grinder necessary,dusty Matt said, but a sharp distinct cabbage skunk taste that can even sting the pallet.
#7 This one had faint long hairs on it Synn noticed but betrayed a ‘chlorophyll’ taste, not unlike fresh cut wheat grass. We used to call “Green.”
#8 presented round nuggs with a nasty stalk but a fruity ‘lavender’ like aroma and a dank dark look.
#9 seemed over cured and little dry, but had that sweet apple fruity smell we liked. “>
See, once your through the door of Kind Revolution 314 West Hastings,to pick up your bright orange plastic bag with BC Harvest Cup Spring 2005 t-shirt;
Judges pass printed neatly on a postcard, (that you had better not toss);along with your own blown glass pipe, to wear around your neck,just in case of some emergency where someone has some bubblehash to share).
The glass treasure keepsake came in its own comfy carrying case of corduroy. (Mine was a St. Patrick’s day green, that matched my tie, which was emerald, and my understated professorial earth tones brought up town by a greenly checkered sports coat my best friend from H.S. had couriered in by Noon from far away Tassel so I could look phatt this St Pat’s.)
Lost in the bliss of an Anadamine-high.( Not unlike the effects chocolate when you were a child; or giddiness of puppy love ),you’ll lose track of time; lose track your sorrows; lose track of whatever hurt it was that was no use remembering.
Be they Indica, Sativa, or crossed every which way, like the neuron paths they forge. Comparing apples to oranges; pears to nuts, may end up no more than an arrows shot skyward at a favorite choice, or a ballot paper you thought was: “still OK to b ring in ‘Monday After.'”
The arriving guests were give a contact number to call in addition to their party favor bag and t-shirt to hook up, as clandestine as possible, with their connection in a nearby neighbourhood frequented by students where liberal values generall y prevail. Adding an air of intrigue to the acquiring of the objects to be judged and sampled.
A Bit inconvenient, if you dislike Lattes, but, still, preferable to having to bicycle all over a city to buy your samples from commercial cafes in addition to your judges pass, as elsewhere.
Here in Vansterdam,in one fell swoop, you’d received nine neatly numbered samples.
If you lost or, by some small miracle, smoked all your samples first evening. (If that were even humanly possible) more was on the way over the next few days, in addition to bowls of bud provided for vaporizing and bonging or ‘just rollin’ up’ adde d to the flavors of the bubblehash being passed about. Seed company representatives are always eager with give-aways and souvenirs to win your loyalties.
I waited till 7pm to meet my connection, although I’d been hangin’ around since 3pm. I was in no rush, being there for the duration, come what may.
In fact I kept returning to Kind Revolution to apologize for completely spacing out on the time.
Every time I wandered over to the New Amsterdam Caf?, Synn or pepper haired Italian Ron, Franny or W/O reason and all the rest, would insist on getting me completely blitzed. They are always kind and generous to me, even, when all I have a re candies and HoHos from the BC Marijuana Party coffee table next door to offer. It was delightful to return with my booty and ‘Share The Wealth’ with the supportive regulars of the Sunday club, my rainy days friends. To give back a little bit, by throwing my bud upon the waters. Inside the renovated bank space across the way, the evening activities for the Harvest cup were just beginning. Final preparations still in tow.
A breath taking graffiti mural presented itself on the right hand side of the huge open hall welcoming you to the 2005 Harvest Cup. I caught a picture with its artist posing:
The renovated bank building was unique in that the ceiling must have been two stories high making you feel that your tokes would rise up to the heavens and even those with asthma would have no problem with your Blunt Cigar smoke the fans so powerfu l and ventilation so though rough above.
It you did look up to the ceiling you might repeal for in two corners or the gigantic space are two brightly coloured traditional Chinese flying dragons ready to swoop down and devour your high hopes.
Scattered about the great hall and various tables, lounge areas and mo re intimate settings were the early birds to the harvest festival.
Many had bought beer tickets next door in order to try a draw of an ancient prohibition style taps for Pil or Pale Ale.
The entertainment commenced with announcements from Chad on common sense tips like: “Don’t smoke pot in gas station parking lots on the North Shore; Use your patio to toke at hotel; Don’t carry all your strains with you… stuff like that.”
The two girls and their couple of buddies who took the stage to sing raunchy favorites and blues classics we all enjoyed were mesmerizing and sexy. I took photo after photo of them and everyone at our table was singing along.
It seemed impossible not to sing along to the standards which tugged the old nostalgic heart stings awesome that the two obviously young women should be so astute to even know such oldies but goodies what’s more to sing them with such dedication an d soul.
I remarked to her that she was surely looking more beautiful and working harder than last time I had seen her, which she quickly balked at.
I had to ask Scotty who she was, obsessed as I was by her, only to learn that, indeed, ‘the best ones are always taken’ and the strong assertive woman was married to the equally strong pillar of the cannabis community Daryl.
Still, one cannot help but admire her hard work and dedication to the cannabis crew and soft drug tourism in Vansterdam.
Then there was the Hemp Fest lady, tirelessly doing her Hemp Fest/Green Cross Promotional thing from Seattle.
This incredibly enthusiastic and beautiful couple called out to me midway through the evening: “Flash!..Flash Gordon… can we get a picture of you?
“We see you on Pot-TV.Net and the magazine, just like standing there in the background… We always see you it’s like our, ‘Where’s Waldo.’ There’s Flash!”
The amazingly nice couple even had a picture still on the memory card on their digi cam, un-erased since august 2004, of their Last visit to Vansterdam and Marc Emery in the Zen Garden the day before he was off to a Saskatchewan to serve a 92 days for passing a joint at a student civil liberties rally during the Summer of Legalization tour.
They said when came back next day, the whole mood of BCMP HQ had changed. The pretty bookshop girls were crying and everything. It was the saddest thing…
Now! They had returned for the Harvest Cup and were overjoyed at the prospect of seeing Emery again tomorrow and having a picture once again at his side.
In fact. Today they did, as did another couple, whom I met that same evening from far away Missouri whom, once again, recognized me from my writing on the www.cannabisculture.com main page, and Newsha wks shows on Pot-tv and hoped for an introduction to the patronly Prince of Pot,Marc Scott Emery,for the first time who got a souvenir shot as well.
After a spectacular “Stoner Black Light dance show “led by the talented girl from The Rock, who would always graciously pour my coffee half price at the Amsterdam with Rasta raven red locks all raised up, braided like a Jamaican girl.
She sadly will be going back to Nfld. for a while after this jaunt,to reacquaint herself with the Maritime brogues and half sayings that never leave your heart and soul.
Those ol’ Irish, pseudo-biblical, expressions: “The pot calling the Kettle black”, calls her back to breath the Atlantic air, perhaps just to hear the wisdom again at her grandmothers knee with new and older ears, or dance a jig again, which drew her back to guide her open heart in this new fangled age.
She spun a phenomenal number of neon hula hoops, impossible to photograph, her troupe moved so quickly, each receiving a crescendo of applause after their difficult routine. The people at my table oohing and awe-ing marveling at her adept movements.
I finished off the evening with a Pilsner Ale and a Californian fellow, with a bit of a drawl, but, one hell of a nice smile, who looked you directly in the eyeballs when he told only and best damn way to indoor outdoor with green housing. Like an the odd number of people you get high with at these functions; at a certain point there’s ‘a peak’ where you bond kinda .
They will say things like; “We should publish that book together!” or; “We should do a screen play!” or; ” Let’s go for a car ride in Stanley Park or the Drive.”; or ” I’ll take you out to eat…” Then, about a half hour later, you’ll say: “So, did you say you wanted to get goin find something to eat?…” and they’ll be like… “Whah??? I think,I’ll just sit a spell?”
I took my Cafe buddy, Vancouver Film school prot?g?’ Ian, who’s specialty has been editing and hopes to use his talents to further the pot movement, out for a leisurely lunch at the Pacific food fair of some ‘Montreal’ poutine from ‘New York’ fries.
For two hours today, my watch said 2:20 pm and I believed it!Until finally, Chad and Scott interrupted giving away bong and door priz es to announce it was 4:20 PM and to come pick up Sample #10 to evaluate it.
Decidedly, #10 had a “butter rum” taste or was comparable to a ‘butter ball’ turkey smoked and roasted on an chipper Autumn day, maple leafs falling at your feet.
I’m in a cyber caf? on Seymour and Pender paying like $11.00 to type and print this $10.00 story. I hope not missing my supper of wild salmon, roast beef, gravy and chicken wrapped in bannana leafs)
Many have been coming and going from the great hall-like space. Its hard to fill that place.
The crowd’s been sparce till this point, so,its pretty damn easy to win a door prize and easier still to ask for a toke of Bubblehash or Volcano vaporis or hit.
I’ve appreciated the croissants,hot coffee,fresh juices, and fruit cups all day.
Told Scott that they had my favorite thing next to Cannabis there: “KAWFEE.”
The talented Reeferman,Russell Bennett, and his wife and co-writer, Ms. Gillian Stevene-Guille,from the Reeferman One Man Show, is going to be performing a private performance before an “All High Audience of Harvest Judges.” of his award winnin g show for the guests.
They have kept the now classic script with popular references to as fresh issues as “Million Dollar Baby”‘s brush with euthanasia.
Russell even improvised paranoia at the lights of a passing emergency vehicle on Hastings outside the secure building as if on cue and part of script perfectly.
After the lights came up on the reefermans performance, it was revealed that Scotty had gone over to the Emery camp and invited the crew for the Friday night gala event.
Until recently, over the last few years, the majoriy of those worker bees whom had worked both for the Blunt Brothers consortium and Emery’s enterprizes.
After the great Blunt Brother’s cafe arson, facing the specter of unemployment,rallied together under thier own flag to first establish a bulkhead across the street at ‘Kind Revolution’ and then gathered artisans and dedicated activists together to rebuild the abandoned bank building next door into the Largest seed bank building ever.
Emery helped judge the trivia questions for prizes and then met up with the talented charismatic young magician John Warren, whom is of the old school of magik.
A ‘shamanesque’ entertainer,in that he uses folk and urban legends,common parables and jokes but, modernizes them, presenting a story;a tale and a moral, to go along with his slight of hand, at which he is expert.
I had been pressing John to make himself and his talent known to the community and he went as far as to introduce himself to the organizers of the event a book a show for Saturday Evening at 6:30 PM.
Marc Emery, upon meeting the lad, was not going to be content to wait till next day for a demonstration and urged him on with his coin and rope tricks.
With Emery at his side, a crowd soon began to mill and then swarm about. Flash’s of cameras taking precedence.
I was out of batteries so availed of a Tourist to take some shots of the two in action, as, well more than 40 gathered around the buffet table, now a podium for the charming court jester and pleased Prince.
Once his performance was through, I took his hand to congratulate him but he gave me a brisk and sincere hug to thank,Me! for having so encouraged him, although the fine performance he gave had been his and his alone.He showed me both $100.00 and other bills that Emery and his grateful audience had insisted on tipping.
As late as the hour drew, nearly 11pm or twelve.When those more ‘mature’ of us, are usually calling wisely for cabs, the night was just beginning…
Taking to the stage, as if it had always been their own, was not Jim Morrison resurrected, as may have appeared at first, but, a Doors cover band, most popular around here with the hacky sacking Hippi-Hop-Hardrock-Satori-Boarder/Skate-boi set. www.satori.com www.ONELOVEFAMILY.org
The www.theunknownSoldiers.net, whom have played venue’s like Under the Dam before, doing their Doors cover band tribute.
The photo’s I took with borrowed batteries, were blurred by the shear vibrations from the speakers and the wild fluctuation of the lighting which had also been exceptionally well done by Scott Woolard during Reeferman’s Performance: www.barellhouse.com (Digital Studio/Live Sound)