One Dab Over the Line at a 'High Times' Hash Oil Convention
One moon rock hit leads to too-high times and a cargo-shorts revelation.
I had a feeling one of us was going to get way too high, but I assumed that it was going to be me because I’m a lightweight in the weed department. If I were to make an alcoholic comparison, I would say that I limit myself to one glass of wine. All I need is one puff and I’m criddlin’ in a corner staring at my fingers for hours. I’ve gotten much better with experience, but I’m still very wary of partaking in unfamiliar foliage. And while I did smoke some weed at High Times' 2016 Cannabis Concentrates Cup and enjoyed a pleasant high, I did not need a chill room as I had feared. No, the one who got too high was the veteran stoner, my wife, Tania.
Danny Danko of 'High Times' leads an outdoor discussion about Ph levels, soil temperature, and—oh my god it’s so fucking hot out here, what the hell are you doing? Wait, is that Fernando Valenzuela?
As soon as we arrived at the event and got our wristbands, we ducked into one of the two giant Quonset huts to try and escape the 110-degree San Bernardino heat. The indoor section was relatively cooler than the outside. There was little respite. Indoors, temps were still in the high 90s. We sweated out a lap around the building, marveling at everything and anything marijuana related. A young lady approached us and invited us to her booth. She gave us a card that promised us a free joint. I had already grown weary of the trade-show vibe. Everybody was trying to sell us something; so I wasn’t really paying attention to her until she said something about “a six-foot bong challenge.” Wait. What?
“Yeah, it’s a six-foot bong,” she said. “If you can clear the chamber in one hit, you win a bag of joints.”
“Where’s your booth at?” I said. I had to see this.
We approached Jay’s Concentrates cautiously because Jay’s Concentrates was relegated to a dark corner in the back. It wasn’t so much a booth as it was a table and a sign: “Jay’s Concentrates.” A joint hovered over the name in case you didn’t catch the double meaning.
Jay, from Jay’s Concentrates, modeling his six-foot thunder stick.
“Hey guys! Welcome!” said the woman behind the table. Her name was Salia. I know because she gave me a business card. The man behind the table, who I assume was Jay, also greeted us warmly. They started talking marijuana at us. I have no idea what they were saying. I couldn’t hear anything over the rumble of the massive air conditioning units and the blaring reggae. I just nodded until they gave us joints. Thank you.
While Salia explained the six-foot-bong challenge to me, Jay described his moon rocks to Tania. Salia and Jay were very friendly. When Jay noticed that we were losing interest, he offered us a bong hit of his moon rocks. According to Jay, his moon rocks are the gnarliest moon rocks on Earth because he dips them longer, or harder, or something. Jay could tell I had no idea what he was talking about. He went and got one of his moon rocks and cut it in half for me.
I am filled with joy when I see people combining drugs and competition. It’s just so ridiculous. Salia, from Jay’s Concentrates, sparks a bowl for a competitor in the six-foot-bong challenge. He was awarded a bag of joints for his efforts.
“Oh, it’s like a marijuana Scotch egg,” I said. “Like a bud, wrapped in sausage, and deep fried.”
Jay stuffed a moon rock in a bowl.“Here. Have a hit.”
“Thank you,” I said, “that’s very generous, but maybe a little later.” Jay seemed crestfallen by my refusal to sample his wares; so I pushed Tania in front of me. “Here. She’ll try it,” I said.
Tania could probably do the six-foot-bong challenge. She doesn’t have a problem clearing a big bong hit. The problem was that Jay packed this bong hit with a generous helping of moon rocks. Tania is the youngest of four and her three older brothers made sure she grew up with proper weed etiquette: always clear the bong. And so Tania cleared Jay’s bong of its moon rocks.
“Moon rocks caviar is arguably the strongest form of cannabis on the market,” we later read on greenrushdaily.com. That’s probably why after we thanked Jay and left his booth, Tania seemed a little disoriented. All she could say was, “I just need to stop talking.”
“Do you need to barf?” I asked pointing to Bernie Sanders who was sitting in a chair with his face in a plastic barf bag and two medics standing nearby. Tania did not need to barf. She needed to “stop talking,” which I took to mean, “Let’s go sit down somewhere and shut up for a minute.”
Bernie Sanders after his first dab.
Unlike me, Tania can handle her shit in these situations. She came down to a relatively normal level fairly quickly. I knew she was better when she became fixated on the way every one of the male attendees who passed in front of us was dressed: Every single male was wearing cargo shorts, a tank top, and a backpack. It was rather uncanny. Every dude, other than me, was indeed dressed like this. Given the weather, I’m not sure what alternative anyone really had. Tania, however, was infuriated by the costume. She especially hated the cargo shorts. “It’s like someone put 1999 in a bucket and spilled it all over the floor,” she said. The backpacks were equally puzzling. “What do they even have in there? Why does any adult need a backpack? Do you have your homework in there?” While I myself wear cargo shorts on occasion, I was curious about the backpacks.
Then Tania had an epiphany. “It’s like an ICP concert!” she said. “There are Juggalos everywhere!” This was not strictly true. I didn’t see anyone wearing clown makeup, for instance, but a strain of Juggalo DNA certainly ran through the population in attendance.
“How’s that saying go?” Tania asked. “’Not all Republicans are racists, but all racists are Republicans?’” In reality, it took more than a few tries to get that right, but it was just the beginning of her struggles. “So if all Republicans are Juggalos,” she began. “Wait. Hold on.”
“Oh are you trying to rearrange that to make it about Juggalos?” I asked. I wasn’t as high as she was, but it took the two of us a couple of tries to finally get it right. We eventually hammered it out:
“Not all stoners are Juggalos, but all Juggalos are stoners.”
I was surprised to see this guy because I thought we all decided these things are stupid?
“Perfect!” I said. We were very proud of ourselves. At the time, I felt like that was a perfect summation of the event. “Can you write that down for me, please?” I asked. My hands were busy with the camera. I was trying to take pictures of some dude with ear hoops so big that a golf ball could pass through them.
She struggled to arrange the ten Juggalo words in the proper order in my notebook while battling a fit of giggles caused by her own incompetence. After crossing out everything she wrote a couple of times, she gave up and said, “If I write ‘Republican Juggalos,’ you’ll get it, right?”
I like to imagine that Big Bud sounds like Duff Man, except that Big Bud can’t complete a sentence because he’s always erupting in a fit of hacking and coughing. Maybe that’s his super power, he just coughs on you. (This costume must have been pure torture in the heat.)
Fulvic acid, non-ionic surfactant, trichomes, root mass—yeah I have no idea what any of this shit is, but it looks cool.
If I were to order anything from the Queens of the Clouds, I would have gone with “The Loaded Dawg,” which apparently is a hotdog wearing a backward cap, high tops, and smoking a joint.
This was the VIP section at the Cannabis Cup. No wonder Lil Wayne stormed off.
High art. Trying to make a buck.
This was the haze on just day one. I’m curious what it looked like on day three. (Note the backpacks and cargo shorts.)
This lady is holding a bowl of Whoopi’s nuts. Actually, I have no idea what she’s holding. They look like nuts? It’s just fun to say “Whoopi’s nuts.” Always nice to see a high profile celebrity like Whoopie Goldberg putting her name behind a line of medical cannabis products: www.whoopiandmaya.com.
This was weird. Some loud, hyper fellow led this large crowd of ding-dongs through the trade-show area like a pied piper. Tania gathered that he was recruiting them to peddle his wares with promises of free weed and schwag. Seemed sort of predatory to us. Not everyone in attendance had the best intentions.
I’m not sure how anyone with a booth outside could handle the heat, but if you bought one of these hemp sacks and pulled it over your head at least you wouldn’t see how hot it was.
I’m a sucker for any inanimate object that is stoned. Totally high taco wearing a sombrero hat and pooping chiles? Why isn’t this a show on Adult Swim?
Did you think there wasn’t going to be a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube joint at the Cannabis Cup?