How I crossed the bridge from Hateful Dead to Grateful Dead in one sesh.
I was a senior in high school and my roommate was the stereotypical dead head. Tye-dyes, tapestries on the walls, and a steady punch of patchouli in the air. For weeks I tried to get my room reassigned and spent most of my time as far from these dread-heads as possible. Mostly because I could not stand the background noise.
I remember the exact Saturday afternoon when I was alone for the first time and finally did not have a headache. The peace was quickly interrupted by Turtle, the weed delivery guy at my door. I always thought a courier should have a name like rabbit or some fast Sarengeti predator. Anyway, there he was with a delivery for my roomie. Turtle assumed I was interested in handling the transaction and invited himself in.
He presented me with multiple film containers that smelled like wet earth and mold. Showing little interest, he grabbed a bong from behind the couch and packed it with what I now know was mostly seeds and stems. After three or four bong hits, Turtle found the power button to the Onkyo cassette player.
He packed a clean bowl, handed the bong to me and said when this fills with smoke, pull the bowl out and inhale. I had smoked weed a few times but never found it interesting enough to take a second or third hit. After two good sized rips, I found myself reclined in my chair in a loss of time. Turtle pressed play and a huge negative energy came over me with the creaking sounds of the opening to Dead Set. But within a few minutes, my anxiety passed and I felt the music in a way I never had before. Turtle left at some point and I found myself alone with dozens of cassettes of music I could not tolerate less than two hours before.
For the last 35 years, each time I get a new car, the first thing I do is proudly display the Steal Your Face with the state of Maine on it. Truly a long strange trip this has been.
Has cannabis totally changed the way you used to think and feel about something?