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


Today i saw the future and its name is Medithrive. Located at 1933 Mission Street between 15th and 16th, the dispensary stands like an oasis on a very dicey street. Sporting a pristine facade the anteroom is very much like a medical clinic, with a registration desk and an extremely efficient registrar named Ariel. The process takes a few minutes until one recieves a stamp for future visits and is asked to sign a copy of the house rules. From there one enters a slickly furnished room with a fine selection displayed on-and inside-the glass counter. The menu behind the counter lists favorites such as White Widow, Chem Dog, Bubba Kush, Blue Dream and more. This reviewer chose the elusive Love Potion ( reviewed 7/29/09)and received a 4 gram eighth from Daniel, the head budtender. As a first-timer i qualified for a gift, which turned out to be sample buds of Blue Dream and Chem Dog. Classy. My eighth also came in an elegant package, something like a silver snuff case with a transparent top. Altogether a well-run club with a brilliant vision. Better wear shades...

Hollywood Be Thy Name

i drove from New York to California in the requisite seven days but it wasn't easy. Eschewing maps i would get directions at various gas stations, a method that worked well until i arrived in Denver and found myself negotiating tight, winding roads on each and every one of the fucking Rockie Mountains, gaping at thousand foot drops. The Eldorado was not built for the rugged outdoors.
Finally i made it to movieland. Of course you can't beat the weather and there's the beach, the hills and...actually at the time there wasn't much else. What they labeled as a "Restaurant" was actually a Diner. All the houses were pastel stucco. The old star's homes in the wrong side of the Hollywood Hills (now prime-time real estate baby) which nested below the badly deteriorating "Hollywood" sign, were Disneyesque. Some were built like castles with fake moats, others with impossible spires and turrets. And there was nobody on the streets.
All of this inspired me to start writing a novel titled, Hollywood Looks As If It Was Designed By Thelonious Monk. It was a satire about a movie star with 500 pairs of shoes and a shoe maid, and her screenwriter husband, both of whom loved to smoke pot and pull outrageous stunts.
In the meantime i needed a place to stay, a car and a job--in that order.

Next: The Big Screen Test