A Superficial View of Five 420-Friendly Events
Weed and people coming together doesn't always make for a pot party.
I've been writing about weed since we launched The KIND last November. I've been consuming it for much longer. The consumption often goes down alone. Other times, I'll enjoy cannabis, in some variety, with my friends and peers. #nopressure
In search of stories, sources, #content, concentrates, and even just for fun––I'll attend events with sometimes hundreds of other 420-friendly people. I've been to art shows for high-end functional glass (expensive bongs). I've been to, and coined the phrase, (you're welcome!) the "Dopest Weed Party in L.A."
On the other end of the THC-infused spectrum, I've listened to how cannabis helps veterans cope with post-traumatic stress disorder. I've spent Friday mornings with other pot journalists, sipping coffee and getting schooled on the role women will play in shaping the executive weed world. One of those women took me to a music festival in "the future." I've spent Saturday evenings with dispensary owners in blazers, sipping wine, while discussing the pros and pitfalls of California's Proposition D and other marijuana laws.
I even tried watching a cannabis entrepreneur summit online once. The virtual conference was described as a way to break into the emerging industry. In reality, it was the actual opposite of what it is (allegedly) to, "Netflix and chill." Such is the life of an Internet weed writer in 2016. I'm no longer a pothead, or a social smoker, or even a cannabis connoisseur. To be frank, at this point: I'm a straight up weed geek. And these are my people.
The first Compas Sesh I attended was shut down by the host venue. The second one was the birthday party for the hostess of the Los Angeles-based celebration of all things cannabis culture. Compas Sesh requires attending patients to donate an item to charity for admission. The philanthropic pot gathering has become known as "L.A.'s Dopest Weed Party." Again, you're welcome!
The Four-Twenty Games
The organizers of this touring event have a stated mission of "de-stigmatizing" the modern cannabis user, and re-thinking "lazy stoner," stereotypes in the mainstream. The first one held in Los Angeles began a half hour late.
The High Times Cannabis Cup
The cannabis community's legacy print mag will always claim the renown of having inaugurated the weed event of all weed events. Earlier this year, The KIND sent a few correspondents to the So-Cal cup in San Bernardino, California. After uncovering personal epiphanies and taking part in hours of excessive dabbing, they all returned home high and in one piece.
Image via shellyfromcali
elevate LA's Prop WE
The name of this event might be more fitting as a title for a fire mixtape, but "elevate LA's Prop WE" was actually a fundraiser for the L.A. Citizens Task Force on Medical Cannabis Regulations––a group made up of cannabis industry executives, and other weed-world insiders. The task force says, "Our goal is simple: to end prop D in L.A. and bring the city in line with the new state regulations."
Proposition D (a/k/a The Medical Marijuana Regulation and Taxation Ordinance) caps the number of legally operating dispensaries in Los Angeles at 135––a fraction of the storefronts currently pedaling medical pot in this angelic city.
Back in the here-and-last-Saturday-night: Once you trade in the fitted caps and XL tees for blazers and high heels and the dab bar for a dessert bar––Prop WE (and most money-raising "mixers" in the industry) is both simultaneously the complete opposite and exactly the same as an event like the Cannabis Cup, or Compas Sesh. Both are put on by people who hope to make money on legal weed. Both are attended by people who enjoy consuming legal weed. And dessert bars.
Image via Matt McDonald
Weed Comedy Shows
Stop trying to make weed comedy shows a thing. Essentially, "cannabis comedy" is just another example of a thing that is made remotely more enjoyable because of weed––soooo, basically every fucking thing, ever––being co-opted by brands, or people who define themselves as "personal brands," within mainstream marijuana culture.
Every weed comedy show I've attended follows a similar arc: The first comic is a huge stoner, which is why that comic is opening for other potheads in a dispensary, in the Valley, on a weeknight. The jokes this person tells aren't so much jokes as them telling the crowd how many times they've dabbed that day, which, actually, gets the most applause the whole night.
The second and third comics are usually somewhat known on the Internet, but don't smoke much pot. If they do, they consider themselves pros, which, same, so. Their jokes will usually involve something about being scared by dabs, how their mom smokes more than them, a regurgitation of their Tweets from that week, a story involving edibles-gone-wrong, how easy it is to get a weed "prescription," and heady references to pop culture discussions and current events that the crowd is, you guessed it, way too fucking stoned to handle. Stop it. You're done. Enough.
The headliner, will usually either smoke no weed at all, or will build a set based on the fact that they're cool with weed, but "just can't handle it" or "gave it up a long time ago." I have also been to weed comedy shows where the headliner left before their set, based on how shitty the previous sets went.
There are of course exceptions to this rule. But if you're trying to make a name as a pot comic, please don't.
And if you're trying to hit up some weed parties in the near future, I'm low-key in need of a +1 sometimes, so, hit me up.