can * nois * seur ( Kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of Cannabis.



On our visit to the Re-Leaf Herbal Center, 1284 Mission @ 9th, we encountered a Sativa with the ominous label G-13. We decided to try a gram before springing for the $50/eighth. It comes on strong and steady, with a long, easy arc. More physical than usual for a Sativa, it is a solid, upbeat high that will definitely transport you briskly through the day.
As it turns out G-13 is a Government Strain. If you recall the feds have been growing marijuana since the '50s for their own clinical studies.
Could be a whiff of corporate cannabis...

We also dropped (literally, since one steps down into the club) into Divinity Tree, located at 958 Geary. DT has a varied menu and knowledgeable clerks. One offering was Chem Dog which was the strain crossed with NY Diesel to create the popular Sour Diesel. However we chose a pale green Sativa with orange threads called The Dream. Again we purchased a gram of the $60/ eighth bud. Upon tasting it arrived in its own sweet time, escalating leisurely like the aristocrat it is. If G-13 is solid and businesslike, The Dream is all heart. Once it reaches its peak it hangs out a while, like renting a villa in Italy for the season. Lush and expansive The Dream is well worth a return trip.

The Third Dimension

As explained in our last session, my NY life was composed of parallel universes. There were my raving partners, Richie, Mike and The Twins. There were auditions and acting class. My links to various Boston hippies and now, a proper job. There was also my wife Joan. Our relationship was feeling the pressure of my hyper-activity. To her credit Joan was never the problem. i was trying to surf the ever swelling cultural wave moving across America. i was also callow, insensitive and overconfident. In short, an asshole.
Another parallel universe was occupied by three friends from my college days; Luigi Alfano, Don Defina and Ray LoFaro. Luigi was older. He hadn't actually attended class with us but he was our mentor in the ways of old-school hip. He was working with Alex De Paolo, a well-known fashion photographer who had an apartment in Carnegie Hall. The pad alone impressed the hell out of me. Luigi was one of the best-dressed men in New York. His style blended the Classic with a subtle bit of gangster. Indeed in his Bronx neighborhood, which boasted a gang called the Golden Guineas, he was feared and revered as a stand-up guy. It seems Luigi's sister came home from work one night and complained that a group of louts, sitting in a car near the subway entrance, had made rude remarks as she passed.
The next evening Luigi was waiting across the street from the subway entrance. Sure enough the louts were parked nearby, typical Bronx bums. ( these days they're heavily armed) And sure enough Luigi's sister came out of the subway and the louts made the usual stupid obscenities.
Luigi walked across the street carrying a baseball bat. He stepped up to the car and without preamble smashed a headlight. Methodically he continued to whack the car with his bat, shattering headlights, denting fenders and cracking windows. The terrified louts locked the doors and watched helplessly while Luigi exacted his justice.
Otherwise he was one of the nicests guys you'd want to meet.
Now i met Luigi through his pals from the Bronx, Ray LoFaro and Don DeFina. They were both fellow students at Manhattan College, a conservative Catholic school with rigorous academic standards. (we regularly carried 22 credits a semester and had to wear a fucking tie and jacket to class )
So when i heard there were two guys on campus who liked Jazz, i introduced myself. After a sociology class i went over to Ray Lofaro. Ray was heavy, and looked a bit like an unhappy lizard. But his laugh was infectious.
"Hey i hear you guys like Jazz," i said.
Ray glared up from his seat. "You like Jazz?"
"Uh yeah..." i replied.
"Who's Chico Hamiliton?" he demanded.
That was Ray.
Don Defina, was much mellower, perhaps because he was tall, thin and good looking. He had the lean body and prominent face bones of a male model. We all began to hang out, occasionally going to a club in the Bronx called the Wee Small Hours which was dedicated to Frank Sinatra. Named after Frank's comeback album, the club featured a mural of The Chairman behind the bar and a jukebox which had nothing but Sinatra. There were also a number of authentic wiseguys around to give the place character.
To a college kid it was the stuff of Bogart movies.
We also shared a great interest in poetry and would constantly write poems trying to top each other. ( sort of like jazz musician's cutting contests )
Jazz and poetry. Sometimes we would go to Birdland and sit in the "bullpen" ( a bench near the bar provided for Jazz lovers who couldn't afford a table-can you imagine any club doing that today?)
When i returned to New York with A Passage To India i looked them up. The three of them were living in a very hip apartment complex on fifteenth street that had a real courtyard and apartments with decent sized rooms. Each of them had their own place and their own life. Luigi was still working with Alex, Don was an apprentice film editor and Ray was in advertising working in commercial film as a producer ( salesman). Our reunion was quite warm. Ray had married Nancy, a nurse while Don and Luigi were still bachelors. They were always looking for pot and admired my stash, so naturally i had to hook them up with The Twins.
The meeting was an immediate hit. The Twins then insisted on Ray meeting Richie and suddenly my two crowds coalesced like nitro and glycerine, blowing up into a significant NY scene.

Next: The Road to Hollywood is Paved With Mistakes

Suggested Reading: The Guinea Pig Diaries by A.J. Jacobs