Archive for Anecdotes


I recently moved to Portland, Oregon.  One of the many reasons I switched coasts was the word ‘medical’ in combination with ‘marijuana.’

Unrelated: a Freudian mistake made on a friend’s passport:

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Happy 420 and My Interview with The Brooklyn Ink

This morning I got an email announcing that it is in fact National Weed Day.  No duh, right?  Well the sender also happened to like my POTographs and asked if I’d be willing to do an interview.  I guess the cat’s out of the bag now and my name will forever be associated on the interweb with smoking weed.  Read about my thoughts on 420 over at The Brooklyn Ink.

And Happy 420 tokers!!  Hope you’re having a happy day!

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Smoke Series From Prague

As promised, I dug out the sexy smoky photos from a black and white fine art project that was completed while I was studying in Italia.  They’re quite raw, but I think that’s what happens when you’re 21 and trying to be an uber artist.  It started with a joint, but the lucky strikes came onto the set when the smoky stick went out, but I hadn’t gotten all the shots I wanted.

There are a few more to this series, but they’re less smoky and more kissy.  And I don’t really need that trip down memory lane to be sent out into the interweb. Overall, I kind of forgot how scandalous they are and, in effect, I’m kind of impressed with myself.

nic puffing in prague

smoking in prague

a cigarette in prague

smoking in prague

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A Blunt in Coney Island

coney island - wonder wheel

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Yesterday afternoon I called up my dealer and friend to come bring me some of that Pineapple Express and we ended up taking a ride on his bike out to Coney Island with the intentions of smoking a blunt on the Wonder Wheel.  But alas, being the potheads we are, forgot a lighter.  We got off the anticlimactic ferris wheel feeling a bit foolish.  I would’ve at least like to have been scared by the height as I will normally take a roller coaster ride over sitting in that revolving death trap on any given day, but I was not.  The Wonder Wheel is not as tall as it seems.

We found a little smoke shop and a Spanish lady sold us a purple lighter with silhouetted palm trees.  Ironic as there are certainly no palm trees on the city beach that is Coney Island.  A syringe in the sand would’ve been more appropriate.  We found a rock to sit on by the water where it didn’t seem like anyone would bother us.  And no one did.  There were a couple of lifeguards close by, but if they noticed what we were doing, they didn’t care.  And so a late afternoon high was had and we watched the people on the beach and the sun going down behind the pier.

What it felt like were the dog days of summer.  That hot, sultry time of year.  The days when everything seems to slow down a little bit and life seems a little more relaxed and enjoyable.  But, as with the best of everything, they are fleeting and last for a very short time.  Of course, this makes them all the more beautiful.  In any case, better to bask in that hot August sun than worry about the setting of it.

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My Amsterdam, Part I: When Pigs Can Fly

smartshop in amsterdam

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I’ve been back from my travels to the motherland for a couple of weeks now. I wanted to blog while I was there. And then when I got back. But I couldn’t find anything to write! What’s that old adage? “What do you say about something you love?” Well, it applies here. Amsterdam is one of the most wonderful places I have ever been.

Flying Pig Uptown

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This photo was taken in the bar of the first hostel that I stayed at, the Flying Pig Uptown. This is the true live Neverland. The people that work here show up from some random country and just end up staying. They work at the hostel and live for free. I don’t think I met a single person inside of this hostel over the age of 25. Their lives amaze me.

The Real Cheshire Cat

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This was the house cat of the Piggies. It’s difficult to tell from the photo, but this cat is the largest cat I’ve ever seen. Though I’m not a cat person, I’d also say it’s the coolest cat. Ever. All he did was sit on a bar stool sipping drinks when no one was looking, or laying on one of these huge pillows stoned from all of the smoke fumes waiting for someone to come give him a rubdown. This cat seriously has the life.

flying pig uptown bar

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The people living and staying in this hostel were some of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. Even those who didn’t work there seemed to lead a transient life. The bar downstairs was the central location and I spent many hours sitting here very high and drunk. On this particular night I had eaten a space cake for dinner followed by many beers and joints. Needless to say, the bar always looked this blurry.

flying pig uptown

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I cannot for the life of me remember this dude’s name, so we’ll just call him California. We both arrived on the same day traveling alone. He was so comfortable here that he would walk around the hostel without shoes on — not very hygienic, buddy. He wrote a lot so that he wouldn’t forget all of the crazy stuff that happened. I preferred the “Let’s get shitfaced and NOT remember” route.

flying pig uptown

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This is Shauna from Scotland. She has been at the Pig for a year. Out of everyone I met and talked to, I probably had the best conversation with her. Though I couldn’t tell you a damn thing that we talked about, I walked (stumbled?) away with a very intellectually satisfied feeling. People definitely like to conversate in Amsterdam.

flying pig uptown

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Rule #5 is from Australia. I really like to make friends with bartenders. Mainly because they will chat with you and then leave you alone for awhile. Perfect company. He also knew how to roll a sick inside out joint with a finale of burning off the extra paper. My kinda guy.

flying pig uptown

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This one of my favorite photos from the trip. It captures the rapid conversations (from the motion blur) and intensity in which people listen (when they want to). This image is what it really felt like sitting in this bar. Everyone was there to make friends and have a good time. I think it’s a very unique thing to have so many laid-back and open-minded people in one room.

If ever you are in Amsterdam, I highly suggest staying at the Piggy. At least for a couple of days.  As much as I loved it there, after 4 days it felt like I might turn into a pile of goopy mush that you’d have to spoon off the floor.

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The Definition of My Life

defintion of pothead

Please just go head on over to Urban Dictionary and give this entry a big thumbs up.  Once you realize the glorious qualities of pot, you realize that it absolutely does make life significantly better.  It’s like seeing the world through hazy, rose colored glasses.  It’s just a happy and peaceful place to be.

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#1 Candidate for Medical Marijuana

#1 Candidate for Medical Marijuana

I’ve been meaning to write a post for a while about my good friend from high school, Tara. A couple of years ago she was diagnosed with Chron’s disease. Since then she has been in and out of hospitals being diagnosed, misdiagnosed, and worst of all, not diagnosed at all. All through this, she has been in a whole lot of pain and discomfort while trying to remain – and doing a damn good job – happy and unfazed.

My circle of girlfriends from high school have become huge advocates for the cause by running marathons, half-marathons, triathlons, and even taking full-time jobs at Team in Training. (In fact, this photograph was taken about a year ago in Albany, NY at a Team in Training event to raise money for a couple of my friends running the San Diego marathon.)

However, as wonderful as all of my friends are in helping to raise money for research for Chron’s, this does directly relieve the pain that Tara is in. This is an excerpt from an email she sent to all of us a few weeks ago:

I am all hooked up with wireless at the hospital now, so I will keep you updated with some emails. Maybe I will make a webpage and blog about it or something. Oh the things you can do with all your free time as you’re hooked up to an IV pumping white liquid food into your body. The rest of this may be too much for some to handle, but I love talking about my colon, so consider yourself warned.

There are not many medicines available for Crohn’s. I have had almost all of them, one of which I had a severe reaction to. The next downside is that of the medicines that are left generally work for a brief period of time until it all begins again. For a normal person, I am sure you are thinking, “Well, do it and deal with it when it comes again,” but I have really begun to question the quality of life issue.

You see, before this I had not been feeling well for a few weeks, went to the ER in Albany and Watertown and was sent home. Mind you, I had a severe UTI at the ER in Watertown, which my surgeron saw when she looked at my labs from SMC, and the doctor failed to even mention that, so I suggest not really going there.

I had a day between the ER in Watertown and coming to Cuse, and it was a day from hell. I was in the bathroom just about once per hour, got no sleep, and was in immense pain because of the Crohn’s on the outside of my little bum bum. I was jumping in the tub to soothe it after every bathroom trip, needless to say I think I owe Pete’s parents (her boyfriend) some cash flow for their next water bill.

As of right now, I am not running to the bathroom nearly as much, but there has been an increase in blood which is no good. So now we sit, we wait, we hope that the meds kick in and heal my rectum, but if not, that’s ok, too. It will be weird, hard, frustrating, difficult, etc. if I have to have a bag, but I have also looked a lot online about young people saying they were glad they did it, they wouldn’t change it, so I know I could definitely rock one.

Gotta think happy thoughts, “sunshine and butterflies” I believe is the saying. So I will keep you all posted as to what happens tomorrow. Hopefully we will have some more answers as I hate having it all in limbo not knowing what will happen.

This is coming from a 22 year old girl. If it were me, I would be much more cynical, angry, and sarcastic. What is dumbfounding to me in all of this, is that she has no access to a decent pain reliever. Obviously pot isn’t a cure, but to take her out of literally having a pain in the ass is enough of a reason to smoke her up. So come on, New York! Legalize it already.

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Weed = Instant Friends

Cocoa Beach

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Last week I left cold, gray, wet New York for a sunnier, warmer, palm tree filled Cocoa Beach (Florida). The first few days I was down there were spent trying to get my head screwed back on straight. I think I get seasonal depression because every time around this year, when the gray days never seem to end and just roll on one after another, I start to feel a bit hopeless. It took all of a day and a half of sunshine for that to go away.

I spent the majority of my time hanging out with my family drinking margaritas and going to delicious seafood restaurants (my father just retired and I tagged along on an old folks family vaca) . However, by the last couple of days I was itching to get back to the land of normal twenty somethings and away from the Bingo ladies, but not necessarily back to the cold.

On my last day, I was taking a walk down the beach by myself and amidst the sea of 55+ and 10- age groups, I spotted a couple of guys surfing. One of them noticed me and, I imagine, was flabbergasted to see someone relatively young that he didn’t recognize (I’m pretty sure this beach town is small enough that you’d know just about everyone in your age bracket who lives there). We made enough eye contact so that when I was on the return portion of my beach stroll, he motioned to me to come over and chat.

After we introduced ourselves and as his buddy was coming out of the water, he asked me if I smoked weed and if I would like to go smoke a blunt with them. It’s a very strange thing and something I don’t fully understand when someone can immediately sense that you are a pothead, or at least enjoy the green stuff. So naturally, I went and smoked with them (excellent weed, by the way).

In the hour that I hung out with them, we became friendly enough that I was invited over for dinner. I love restaurants, but I was a bit tired of them since I eat out the majority of the time in New York, as well. Home-grilled fish sounded amazing, as did the promise of more weed and a night of hanging out with a couple of very cool — and attractive — guys.

After easing the tension my plans brought about with the family (“But, how do you know they are ok? What do they DO? Are they in school? But, you’re by yourself!” — I couldn’t just come out and say to my super Catholic family, “They smoke weed. They’re totally chill. Lay off!”), I left for a night that will go down in my personal vacation history.

I had a delicious dinner that was cooked exactly the way that I cook for myself, read: ingredients that are as fresh as possible and cooked to enhance the flavor of the food itself, no drowning it in sauces. In fact, days later I still can’t stop thinking about the food; it made me remember how much I like to cook. Other than the food, bong hits and beers were plentiful, and these guys (and their two friends that showed up) were extremely laid back and easy to get along with.

Basically, I had a very good last night of vacation. So good, in fact, that I am now questioning my choice of geographic location. I really love New York, but the weather sucks 85% of the year , the people are high strung, and the boys, as my cousin so eloquently put it, “are like girls with dicks.” No offense to you New York boys, but WHY are your jeans tighter than mine?

I attribute this night to none other than the shared appreciation of Mary Jane. Without her, I don’t believe I would’ve felt such a strong sense that these people are my kind of people. So thanks, MJ. You pulled through once again.

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