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

Realizing i have been traveling familiar roads ( not without good reason ) it was time to explore a new direction. The Sanctuary at 669 O'Farrell Street in San Francisco, has a discreet, but distinctive sign. Once inside the red door i found myself in a small room with a large dog sprawled on the floor. The folks at The club go by the book, perhaps because its founder is an ex-marine. My host carefully noted my information, writing down my medical code before warning me about resale.
Then the house dog, a sleepy English bulldog called Toro was called to his bed. While cramped, the room has an easygoing vibe and my host explained there is a wide selection of concentrates.
However the herb menu is limited to three or four strains. Displayed on the counter were two Sativas, Casey Jones and J-1, and an exotically scented Indica, Hindu Kush. Having sampled J-12 some time back i decided to see where it all came from.
The dark, purple and bronze leaves seem dusted with silver spider webs, very photogenic. On sampling J-1 proved to be a big, strong Sativa that keeps billowing in a mind-expanding way before it deposits one on the mountain top for an extended meditiation. J-1 is both clear and benign, my one tiny caveat being the $21.90 tag on a gram. However for the very first time i received a cash receipt. My compliments to the uniformed gentleman pictured behind the
counter. A four-star operation.

The Road to Hollywood Is Paved With Mistakes: Part 2

A few words about Heroin.

i stayed well away. Having read Junkie and seen a few strung out characters here and there i knew it was not for me. i wanted to expand my consciousness, not shrink it down to a few surreal dreams. All i saw in a roomful of heroin users was snoring and scratching. Me, i liked to get high and go out into the world.
I also found the heroin scene much too medical, with syringes, sores from dirty needles, ODs, hospitals...very much a drug for hypochondriacs.
But-that having been said, i realized (having seen it go down) that certain people are predisposed to the drug. For one thing it cuts sexual anxiety and social dysfunctions. The drug puts a glass shield between the user and life.
And...what they don't mention is the fact that you vomit ("flip") pretty much every time.
How cool is that?
However The Twins were drifting in that direction, as were Richie and Mike, getting off on weekends. Occasionally they were joined by Jerry Cole or Rick Lloyd ( Boston meets NY)
Another disturbing factor was an influx of plastic Miami Beach lounge lizards with no code or point of view.

As for myself i embraced the sacred herb and whatever psychedelics came by. Through Ray Lofaro and Luigi i hooked up with a couple of TV commercials and a silent spot on The Defenders. One of the commercials was directed by Michael Cimino, who later made the ill-fated Heaven's Gate.
Joan had gotten a job at The Hip Bagel so we spend a lot of time in late-night Greenwich Village.
My own work hours ran from 1pm to 8 pm. Perfect.
Duke, who ran the Bagel, was a great draw. His kitchen was in the center of the room which was like a small arena for his comments, wisecracks and jokes delivered while he served great food and played the hippest of Jazz. Richard Pryor was a regular, as was George Carlin. Milt Kamen, the TV comic, kept hitting on my wife (i gave him The Stare ), Hugh, soon to be Wavy Gravy, Romney could be seen, the conceptual musician Sun Ra often dropped by as did the still unknown Richie Havens... Around that time Chip Monk introduced me to Hugh Masekela a young trumpet player from Africa who was playing The Village Gate. Later Hugh would become tight with Ray Lofaro and the Twins, but that's another story.
At the moment, things were moving faster and faster...

Recommended Reading: Really The Blues by Mezz Mezzrow