DavidRayDavenport1977

Sitting in the garden with Bruce Banner Hash from PTS, getting reacquainted with a buzz from the past

PTS Solutions Bruce Banner Hash comes damned close to the Hashish we experienced in the old days. It’s got the taste, the scent and the buzz that nearly defined being high for a generation.

Back when I smoked hashish for the first time, sometime in the seventies, Led Zeppelin was a working band. Led Zep wasn’t shy about pot. References were dropped and we picked up on them. Page and Plant in particular were world travelers, going to exotic locations to explore the region, the music and the weed. Or even decamping to a cottage in Wales where rings of smoke floated through the trees.

I loved hashish from the first hit, the spicy aroma, the tart taste and the euphoric high. I didn’t mind it was hard to smoke. Bongs burned through it too quickly. Pipes were a bit better, and if you didn’t have one of those you could make one out of a beer can with a pocket knife. There was also putting it on a thumbtack, lighting it and covering it with a glass. You’d lift the edge of the glass off the table, press your lips to the opening and inhale. It was surprisingly effective, and trippy watching the glass fill with smoke. I even tried rolling hash with tobacco, the British “reefer.” Any method was fine for me.

Why is hashish scarce in southern Illinois?

It always seemed to be scarce in southern Illinois, and by the early eighties it might as well have been non existent. Aside from a few encounters in other countries, I’d not seen it since.

It’s not that hard to make, it just requires a lot of pot and patience. I never felt safe paying for an ounce of weed to try to make something and have it not work out.

In Europe it’s a great product because it’s easier to transport and smuggle than buds or flower. But here in the midwest, where illegal marijuana has been one of the largest cash crops for every state around us for decades, transportation isn’t an issue.

When Cannabis was legalized in Illinois I had a glimmer of hope that it might make a comeback. But over a year into it, I’d yet to hear of it being available. Even worse, any kind of concentrate was frequently being referred to as hash. I worried the original would get swallowed up by the trendy.

I lit it quickly, just enough for a wisp of smoke. It feels familiar rushing into my lungs, the scent wafting up into my eagerly anticipating, hairy little nostrils – the hairs come to attention – they remember this scent. My lips curl into a smile as the taste tickles my tongue. It is in fact, the real deal.

The traditional methods of manufacturing were done by hand, which makes it a premium product. Yet the THC levels, though higher than buds or flower, was noticeably less than most concentrates. So you pay more for a product that isn’t going to get you substantially higher.

Unless you count the variables which are impossible to measure. Which is, Hashish is fucking magical. It’s one of the big reasons Tolkien and the Lord of the Rings took off in the sixties and seventies. Hobbits and hashish blend perfectly.

And what band was most responsible for bringing Tolkien to the rock and roll audience? Led Zep of course.

A surprise on the menu

I didn’t actually need anything from the dispensary, but we needed cheese, which meant going to Harrisburg or Evansville. We didn’t feel like dealing with traffic, so we opted for Harrisburg. Since we were going to be there, I took a look at the menu.

It listed hash under concentrates and I assumed it was hash oil. I was well stocked with that and didn’t click it, but scrolled through the full listing. There at the bottom I saw it … PTS Solutions Bruce Banner Hash. Not hash oil. Hash.

I leapt from my chair, straight up, then came back down and reread it.

The first taste of PTS Bruce Banner Hash

A little over an hour later it’s in my hand, a little chunk broken off and being loaded into the hash pipe. It’s a new hash pipe, as the old one was polluted with various strains of weed. I wanted to find out if PTS Bruce Banner Hash indeed tasted and most important, smelled like the hashish I remembered.

I lit it quickly, just enough for a wisp of smoke. It feels familiar rushing into my lungs, the scent wafting up into my eagerly anticipating, hairy little nostrils – the hairs come to attention – they remember this scent. My lips curl into a smile as the taste tickles my tongue. It is in fact, the real deal.

I read J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings trilogy back in the seventies, about the same time I got my first taste of hashish. Hash was a part of the hippie mystique, which faded out during the eighties here in the states. This is one of Tolkien’s original illustrations, the ones that introduced us to the world of Middle Earth.

Sitting in the garden took on a psychedelic tone pretty quickly … the trees came alive, the wind whispered through the leaves, the dappled sunlight danced across the grass. I expected Gandalf to come sauntering up with his staff at any time.

Mostly. The taste and scent isn’t as strong as others I’ve tasted over the years, which likely came from parts of the world where hash originated. But it’s close enough for someone starving for it.

The smile lasted all the way home, and soon I found myself in the garden, ready to put PTS Bruce Banner Hash to the test.

Bruce Banner isn’t a traditional hashish, but it works

Bruce Banner is a sativa strain, with some reporting hints of strawberry in the taste and scent. It’s a bit disappointing in that this isn’t a pure, middle eastern strain traditionally used in making hashish. It’s a modern hybrid, with roots in the Hindu Kush region at least. But for fuck’s sake, it’s named after The Incredible Hulk. You shouldn’t expect authenticity, and content yourself with the taste, the scent and the buzz.

The buzz is right on the money. There’s the burst of euphoria, even after the excitement of hashish wanes. It’s an energetic buzz, which reminds me that some of the most horrific manual labor jobs I ever did back in the day, were made bearable by chewing hash while I did them.

And on the other hand, it was the ideal buzz for sitting in the garden and greeting the hummingbirds which were just arriving after wintering down south.

I was a little disappointed in the taste and scent, as it wasn’t as pungent or identifiable as the authentic hash I’ve had in Europe. You have to pay attention to catch it but it’s there.

Most of all, the wife was happy about it, and even picked up a gram for me as a treat. She doesn’t smoke it, but likely figures it will improve my mood. She’s right, and I love her for that.

I can’t hear the acoustic side of Led Zeppelin without catching the faint scent of hashish coming out of the music. In 1970 they took to the Welsh countryside to a cottage without electricity and spent their days “walking in the hills and nights sitting around the fire plunging hot pokers into cider, smoking hash and writing.”

“Everything’s so fucking green!”

Sitting in the garden took on a psychedelic tone pretty quickly … the trees came alive, the wind whispered through the leaves, the dappled sunlight danced across the grass. I expected Gandalf to come sauntering up with his staff at any time. Instead, it was the wife bringing me tea, which brought forth another upwelling of love for her in my black heart.

The cat followed her outside and she joined me on the patio, providing comic relief. She’s not the bravest cat on the planet, very particular about her appearance. Till she feels the warm bricks of the patio and rolls till she’s coated in grass, dirt and whatever else is down there.

It wasn’t Led Zeppelin I reached for in the garden, but Rush, Fly By Night. The Tolkien estate owes a huge debt of gratitude to both bands, who infiltrated stoned teenaged minds with references to Tolkien’s books, and sent them scurrying to the school library.

By the time the medieval sounding guitar on Rivendell came in, I was caught up in memories. Hash is a great drug for that, for letting fantasies wash over you. It’s perfect for sitting in the garden, our own little Rivendell in our own back yard.

And that’s how I spent my day with PTS Bruce Banner Hash. Getting acquainted, finding pleasure in the little things, laughing at a cat. Seeing all these things I need to be doing in the garden, knowing I had time to do them, and declining because just sitting there, breathing, being alive felt too damned good to get up.

The Particulars

Brush Banner Hash by PTS
THC 40%

Progressive Treatment Solutions manufactures Bruce Banner Hash without solvents. The trichomes are frozen off the flower, using liquid nitrogen, which leaves a fine chief. It’s hand sifted and freeze dried, then hand pressed into bricks using low heat and a brick press.

Where do you get high? Creating a vintage stoner lounge on a budget

Black light hippie room — The room itself has beige walls, a dreary floral border near the ceiling and pink carpet. It became a hippie haven for a little over a hundred bucks.

Pooh had his thoughtful spot, and it’s been my experience that most people have a favorite spot for smoking dope. It’s it used to be near, or directly above where the tray was slid beneath the couch. Or the bong behind the chair. If you’re lucky, you get a room of your own. I’m lucky.

Just don’t call it a man cave.

Oddly enough, it’s the bedroom I grew up in, although that was almost fifty years ago. When I moved back in the house, I found my parents had painted the room a nasty yellowish beige color, with pink carpeting. And a lovely, country floral border at the top.

The kind of room I’d never be able to get an erection in.

With just the wife and I in the house now, we’ve looked at what we could do with various rooms. It’s next to my office, and I thought it a good idea to get recreation out of my work space. And get me up from in front a computer.

When I moved back in the house, I found my parents had painted the room a nasty yellowish beige color, with pink carpeting. And a lovely, country floral border at the top … The kind of room I’d never be able to get an erection in.

This was my bedroom till I was about fourteen years old. My main influences in decorating at the time were the Beatles, and black light posters. I still dig both.

The roots of my decorating style

When I was a little boy, I was a Beatles freak. Starting when I was five and they came out with Revolver. Over there by the door is where I had my first stereo, which was actually a mono record player, and where I wore out my sister’s copy of Sgt. Pepper. The wall above the radiator had the poster from the White Album.

Music was always a decorating element, whether posters, album covers, or my first drum set.

In the late sixties or early seventies, a nearby head shop went out of business. Mom and dad took my two sisters and myself to the sale, as my sisters who were older wanted black light posters. I remember my sister got one of two people hugging, and it read “all you need is love.” When we got home and turned on the blacklight, it became two people fucking. Dad nearly had a coronary.

My poster had a longer lasting influence I think. It was the classic War Isn’t Healthy For Children And Other Living Things. My mom and dad bled red, white and blue. Very pro military. And why they bought that for me I have no clue. But it helped to make me a dedicated pacifist.

I also remember having a John Lennon poster, a drawing of him as a knight, which scared the hell out of me. The eyes followed you, especially when you lay in bed trying to sleep. I found a bad copy of it on Ebay for $60, but it would likely still scare me.

“So I set out to create the best hippie bedroom I can muster, on a very limited budget.”

As a teenager I moved into the room where my office is now. By then I was into Tolkien and hobbits, and I’ve managed to track down a Lord of the Rings poster I had as a teenager.

By the time we were teenagers, myself and my friends were strangely obsessed with our rooms. We were forever “redoing” them. Organizing our records. Oh hell, we were fucking nerds. There’s no getting around that.

So I asked myself, if this was going to become the lounge, what style should I, could I afford to decorate in?

Teenage hippie bedroom of course. I need to keep the bed for visitors, and furniture is too heavy to haul down the stairs. So I set out to create the best hippie bedroom I can muster, the ideal environment for getting high, on a very limited budget.

I decided for now, the carpet has to stay. There’s a wood floor under that, but there are a few projects ahead of it. So lighting needs to be dim.

I always wanted a black light room

I love the way they feel, with the colors vibrating off the wall. Watching purple people smile with green teeth and eyes.

For a blacklight room to work you need black walls. I didn’t want to paint, and I have a large collection of black sheets which I’d used when we had a recording studio in the garage. I also have a couple large tapestries, which filled one wall and part of another. Add to that, tall furniture and I had two walls left to cover.

The ceiling in the corner is a bit fucked up, but hanging black mosquito netting over the bed from that spot covers it nicely. And it blocks part of the wall, meaning I’d need one less poster and light.

It took four sheets to cover the space, which might run $30. It’s more economical to paint, but you may not always want black walls. And if you’re renting, it’s a great option.

That left room for five posters, none of which cost more than $12. For each one I bought a blacklight tube, hung them from hooks placed near the ceiling and ran the cords behind the sheets.

I also have a couple lights coming up from the bottom, to help fill out the color. I think those ran about $10 each.

Of course you have to block out the light, but that was easy. The large tapestry covered the double door to the bathroom, and there are no windows in the hallway. Mom had a surprisingly tasteful set of curtains on the remaining window, thick enough to block most of the light. And it matches the bed spread.

The problem with sheets on the walls is they don’t make a nice even line. It looks sloppy. But mother had a bunch of red, white and blue bunting, and one strip covered where the sheets met the ceiling nicely.

And the American flag was a hippie decorating tradition. In fifth grade, I had a drawing teacher, a high school student. He was a freak. He gave me three posters. One was Candice Bergen in a bikini. The other was Keith Moon of the Who, and Vivian Stanshall of The Bonzo Dog Band, dressed as Hitler and Eva Braun.

The third was from Easy Rider. Peter Fonda’s gas tank was painted like an American Flag, and he had one on the back of his jacket. It’s a testament to my dad that he let me keep it up.

There was never any question about Candice Bergen.

The dresser works as a bar for the lounge. Not needing a bartender, you don’t need anything on the other side of the bar except a mirror. A good flat space is essential for doing dope related tasks, and to have a safe place to sit the bong so you don’t keep knocking it over.

The essential bit of furniture for the lounge

I turned on the black lights and turned off the overhead light and the room came to life. I looked to the other side of the room, thinking I might do the same there, and saw the lights and posters reflected in the mirror on the long dresser and had an epiphany.

It looked exactly like the view of a tavern from the mirror behind the bar. The dresser is about seven feet long, about the right height for sitting at in a chair. And it’s good solid wood, like a good bar.

I grabbed a chair and slid it in front of the newly christened bar, and it fit like a glove.

You need a flat surface to get high. It certainly helps with dab rigs, a place for your drinks and your weed. And to sit the bong on so you’re not constantly kicking it over. I anticipated, rightly, a fair amount of drinking taking place here as well.

Had to have a bar. But I only needed one side, the side you sit at. There’s no bartender, so all I need on that side is a mirror.

I’ve spent countless hours watching myself in the mirror of one bar or another. It’s a handy thing to have, to visually check for clues that it’s time to stop. Now I get to do it with a purple face and green teeth.

Bare Bones make vintage style camping products, like this tiny lamp. It’s ideal for putting out a little light to see what you’re doing, without blinding everyone else.

Another essential … tunes

My first record player was a Zenith. It had been my parents. It had a tiny speaker, a turntable, volume and tone control. Then I got their next reject, also a Zenith. An Allegro system, and graduated to separate bass and treble controls. Along with an eight track.

For the moment I have a computer hooked up, but the operating system is old so Apple Music doesn’t work on there. But YouTube does and I have Bose speakers hooked up to that. Plus a portable Bluetooth speaker so I can send tunes from the phone.

I’ll soon be getting an Apple TV and screen from downstairs in here. With that I’ll have access to all my music, videos and whatever else I need. I miss the big speakers … bass heavy enough to make your guts rumble. But I’ve learned to live with bookshelf speakers and a subwoofer.

Lava lamps and plasma balls are dirty cheap now. And are still just as fun to stare into when stoned as they were back then.

Accessories

A typical teenage bedroom was decorated in large part by record albums. Even if not consciously on display, they were usually scattered around. I only have a handful of albums left, after having jettisoned the collection when I moved to New York twenty years ago. The ones I do have are essential though … Aqualung, Dark Side of the Moon, The White Album.

My friend Rango had my copy of Abbey Road from when I was a kid. Worn out, but an original. And my copy of Ringo, his best solo album. They now sit where they sat fifty years ago.

A hippie bedroom needs a lava lamp, which I already had. And there’s a plasma ball as well. The overhead lights are black light bulbs and red bulbs. The only white light in the room is a tiny camping lantern from Bare Bones, which I carry outside as well. There’s also a black light tube on the bar.

We picked up a cut glass lantern from Pier One last year, which was likely designed to hold a candle. A long strand of Christmas lights work better though.

I always keep an eye out after Halloween for these little revolving lights. It’s a colored light inside a many faceted shade, and makes a molten light show on the ceiling. I still have three from years ago, and could use a couple more. The effect, particularly the blue ones, is of being underwater. With the reds, it’s kind of like being under water when a volcano is erupting.

And of course, you need incense and incense burner. But that’s an article by itself.

Does it work?

The bed is a popular destination when people visit the lounge. It’s a great place to lay and stare at the revolving lights on the ceiling, and let your mind wander. And because cannabis seems to hit you harder in here.

Weed goes right to your head, because you’re in a time capsule. It’s the room you always wanted back in high school, when you got your first bag of weed. I like to think that part of us lives on, down inside us. And when we get old enough, or get a chance to do it, why not dig your freak flag out of the closet and fly it. Even if it’s behind closed doors.

Speaking of which, I do need love beads for the doorway.

I have my own memories in this room, so I’m biased. It’s an over all healthy development. I use to try to do too many things. I don’t think I stopped from 1990 till 2020. Then one night I sat down and didn’t do anything. And it felt amazing. Now I have a place to sit and not do anything. We need that.

And from that, memories opened up. It’s how I remembered where the stereo was. Where my shelves were that my models sat on. Scale models of the Beatles of course.

And how it felt to be ten years old again. All in all, I spent a little over a hundred bucks. And I got memories returned to me from it, and you can’t buy for any amount of money.

How To Smoke Dope Without Coughing Your Head Off

“What kind of stupid shit are they going to come up with next?” Rango snarled as I finished my hit. “Making fucking rules for how you can and can’t smoke pot.”

“Actually,” I said, exhaling and feeling the buzz creeping over me, “it works. Look! No cough!”

It’s not like someone who knows teaches us how to smoke pot. There is no manual given out when you start. Coughing is part of learning, and the sayings … “cough to get off” or “if you’re not choking you’re not toking” do more harm than good. It makes it seem like coughing is a part of the process.

Actually it’s a sign you’re doing it wrong. And that you’re damaging your lungs and throat, as well as giving yourself a headache if you’re not careful.

A little science to go with your bong hit

My question was if you even needed to take it into your lungs to get high. So I finally looked it up. Turns out you do, but not for as long as you think. Or as much.

The goal is to get the smoke against the insides of your lungs, where it can be absorbed. Packing your lungs with as much smoke as possible doesn’t do what you think. There is only so much surface area to the inside of your lungs. Once that’s filled, the rest goes to waste when you exhale.

In the process, if you hold it in your lungs too long, that gives the tars and other nefarious substances time to settle through the haze and into your lungs. The trick is to get it in there and out of there as quickly as possible, but keeping it in long enough for your lungs to absorb it.

How long do you need to hold it in? About two seconds.

Think of it as the same effect of adding whiskey to coke, only you’re doing it in your body, rather than the glass. Throwing up whiskey and coke is a lot better than throwing up straight whiskey. Particularly if you’re passing it through your nose.

Once you got it, dilute it

When you’ve got the hit in your lungs, taking a breath does two things, both beneficial. First, it pushed the smoke deeper into your lungs, which gets you higher, but also takes some of the harshness away from your throat and the upper part of your lungs. That’s where you’re most likely to find a cough springing from.

Second, it dilutes the smoke with oxygen, so it’s smoother on the exhale.

For a disgusting but fair comparison, think of it as the same effect of adding whiskey to coke, only you’re doing it in your body, rather than the glass. Throwing up whiskey and coke is a lot better than throwing up straight whiskey. Particularly if you’re passing it through your nose.

Cannabis smoke, or vapor even works the same way. Diluted smoke or vapor comes back up much easier than a blast of the straight shit.

Do a little more often for the same buzz without the cough

Those of us who came of age when weed wasn’t so strong and only cost $30 an ounce learned to take huge hits. With the right bong, you could get and hold the equivalent of a joint in a single bong hit. Several times throughout the course of an evening.

With the above science in mind I can see why. We never got the effect of most of the weed we smoked.

Here’s something to try. Fire up and inhale for two seconds. If you’re smoking a bong or dab rig, light it, fill the chamber, take a quick breath then inhale for two seconds.

Then inhale a bit of fresh air. The fresher the better, ideally close to someone you love.

Hold the hit for two seconds, then slowly release it.

If you coughed, you either got too much, or held it in for too long. Adjust the recipe to find your sweet spot

Fire up and inhale for two seconds. If you’re smoking a bong or dab rig, light it, fill the chamber, take a quick breath then inhale for two seconds. Then inhale a bit of fresh air. The fresher the better, ideally close to someone you love. Hold the hit for two seconds, then slowly release it. If you coughed, you either got too much, or held it in for too long

But it’s not the same buzz!

Correct. We learn to equate the head rush, or even the pounding in the head that comes with a big hit or coughing spell with being higher.

When that happens, the level of oxygen in your blood is likely going down temporarily. That’s not high, that’s hyperventilating. And once your oxygen level evens out a few seconds later, you’re no more higher than you were before.

It’s an illusion, albeit an effective one. But do you really need an illusion to make you high, especially when the process that causes the illusion is bad for your lungs?

If you want that effect, as soon as you’ve exhaled stand up real fast. That often provokes the same thing, without the dangers. Except of course, hitting your head on the coffee table if you do it too quick and topple over.

When that happens, the level of oxygen in your blood is likely going down temporarily. That’s not high, that’s hyperventilating. And once your oxygen level evens out a few seconds later, you’re no more higher than you were before.

“We’ll fuck me it works!’

Rango begrudgingly tried it. Then tried it again. He’s coughed on damned near even hit for the past five years. He’s even taken to doing that percussive, through the nose closed mouth cough people do while holding a hit. I’m not much better.

And suddenly we’re getting high without coughing. He’s still getting high enough he has to lay down on occasion. And my buzz isn’t suffering either.

And after forty something years, for the first time, I don”t have to cough to get off.

Quickie Review: CrescendO from Nature’s Grace and Wellness gives a welcome Indica kick in the pants

A bud of Natures Grace and Wellness CrescendO Review — Smooth and tasty, CrescendO gives a creeping, ultimately intense cerebral high, alongside a mellow body buzz.

CrescendO lives up to its name. It builds. The first hit might leave a person wondering. Is that it? It tasted gassy, a bit like pine, but oddly refreshing. It was almost like quenching your thirst with something that had a hint of lemon about it. Then the buzz really hits.

And no cough. It’s amazingly smooth for a cannabis that often reaches 30% THC.

The second hit brought on a mellow rush, a warmth spreading through the head. A minute or so later I feel the first rush of energy. My step feels lighter whilst walking down the hall. Five minutes later a smile spreads across my face and my head begins to clear.

Mind and sensations seem to move faster than the stimulus. I’m loving hearing Painting Box by The Incredible String Band, but it feels like I’m a line or two ahead of the music.

A bit later I find myself scraping up what was left in the tray for a third hit. I didn’t need a third hit. I wanted one. ISP is still playing in the background but I can’t focus on it. Instead, lines and couplets jump out at me yanking me back into it from time to time and the smile grows wider. Multiple trains of thought are going on at once, and I’m not following any of them.

Part of it is the placebo effect. Sometimes you get the buzz your preconceptions lead you to believe you’ll have. In this case I had read a review before smoking, mistakenly identifying CrescendO as Sativa dominant. As those tend to provide a bit of pep, the mind takes over and finds energy.

“Multiple trains of thought are going on at once, and I’m not following any of them”

There’s no work pressing so I’m working on organizing and cleaning the office and the lounge. The tasks I set for myself mostly completed, I add a couple others, finishing none. But totally fine with that. I mean progress is progress, right? But on a downside, I’ve gone downstairs twice now for a cup of ice to go with a Sprite, and can’t seem to remember long enough to get to the kitchen. Something else comes up.

An hour later I have some semblance of order on my photo studio work counter, a project I hadn’t identified as something I was going to do today. Also, the weed paraphernalia is clean, with the exception of the nail which is still soaking.

I’m wanting to smoke more. Not that I need to, but because it’s fun. I refrain. I’m starting to feel a bit of an energy drain. The energetic buzz combined with physical activity wears you down twice as fast. And kicking back and being mellow feels twice as good as usual.

I resist temptation. I answer a few emails. I take a quick stroll the garden and back inside, the munchies hit. Peanut Butter on an Ezekial muffin. The muffin is good, very healthy. But I choose Peter Pan Honey Natural because, well I’m a Peter Pan fan damnit. I think a lot of us would like to be Peter, just as he’d like to be us.

The fact that I think that is a testament to CrescendO, because at the moment I thought it, it seemed profound as fuck.

After the peanut butter, the eyelids begin to droop. It’s warm up here now, and warm downstairs as well. I always knew I’d nap today, so why fight it? It’s always a question … will the buzz outlast the nap? I decide to give it a try.

I might have slept ten minutes, but lay there for the better part of an hour. Finally I gave up on the nap, fixed a cup of tea, had another hit of CrescendO and sat down and wrote pretty much the whole article in one, forty five minute sitting.

And had supper singing in the pot when the wife came home.

CrescendO has intense Indica tendencies. More so than many of the others I’ve smoked. It’s not the weed that makes you sleepy. That comes from being a bit sleepy to start with, and not having the energy to keep up with the buzz. It would be a great weed for going for a hike in the forest.

The Particulars

CrescendO from Nature’s Grace and Wellness
THC: 27.3%.

God Save The Kinks

You seldom get to meet your heroes. If you do, it would just be a quick handshake, a smile for the camera, a few blubbered words which they’ve probably heard a million times before. They already have the joke to come back with for you to tell your friends later.

That seems awkward to me, so I always pass up the opportunity. I watched Donovan sign autographs after a show once, stood about ten feet away and just watched him. When the line would thin out he’d catch me, smile and go on to the next person. When he was done he looked over at me, smiled and waved and was off. That was fucking Donovan. He knew what I was doing and was cool with it. I got more from that encounter than if I’d stood in the line and got the autograph.

I was late coming to the Kinks. But when I did, I was all in. They were the first to go psychedelic. The first band to burst out of the speakers with a truly heavy guitar. The first to delve into alternative sexualities, years before they figured out how to live up to their name with Lola.

The British bands were different. They wrote songs. Americans jammed. Songs take craftsmanship. It’s hard to write lyrics that capture a bit of the universal psyche, is catchy and makes you wanna shake your butt.

They were the first to go psychedelic. The first band to burst out of the speakers with a truly heavy guitar. The first to delve into alternative sexualities, years before they figured out how to live up to their name with Lola.

Banned from America, Ray Davies wrote himself into a breakdown, as barred from the biggest market in the world, to survive you had to have hits. So they became exquisitely British. Waterloo Sunset, from 1967 has even frequently been tossed around as the most beautiful lyrics in the English language.

It was in a video from that era, the very early seventies … he was wearing a velvet jacket in a performance, and I thought that was about the coolest thing ever. Years later, I saw a velvet jacket in a JPeterman catalog. Black. I coveted it, but I couldn’t afford it. Then after Christmas came the half price sale.

It’s my lucky jacket. There’s something about it. I had a guy come up to me in a restaurant once and asked if he knew me. I didn’t. He asked where I was from, I told him, he thought I was being cagey, but was polite and fucked off. A few minutes later he was back. “By know you, I mean, are you famous or something?”

It was the jacket. I’ve had other variations on that theme. A velvet jacket draws peculiar glances.

A few years later I’m walking through the square in front of the Abbey in Bath, England. I look ahead, there’s a couple strolling towards me. The guy is wearing a fur cap. He’s looking at me, at the jacket and smiling. He might have been remembering having one like that once upon a time. It’s Ray Davies.

We keep walking towards each other, and I’m tempted to say something, but his eyes go from the jacket to mine, and he smiles, the gap toothed smile. I smile back and we walk on.

Genius is a word that’s overused when people write about him. But he found a way to rhyme consortium in a song. And he wrote and recorded this song, then held onto it for fifty years, before finally releasing it. When he, and his audience was old enough to get it.

That’s patience, and that’s genius.

Doing bongs back in the day

U.S. Bong advertisement in Rolling Stone magazine, sometime in the early eighties

Amongst my friends in high school, there was a great debate. What was the best way to smoke pot? There was the joint of course, ubiquitous. At times we all rolled one, those of us who could. I barely could. It was a pain in the ass, and you always had the feeling, watching all that smoke go off into the air from the lit tip, that there had to be a more efficient way.

There were hash pipes, and I still have one of mine from back then. That’s what I graduated to after joints. You could even put a bit in the center chamber and smoke through it, in theory making it stronger.

Then came the steamroller, a bowl on top of a glass cylinder. It was potent, but harsh. And easy to break, thank god.

I was an early adapter for bongs. The first time I smoked out of one, it was made from a deodorant container. I made one from a radiator hose, attached to a bay food bottle. A couple fittings from the hardware store created a stem and bowl. It worked pretty well, but I was almost busted when my mother notice a black ring around my mouth one night when I came home.

So I went to the nearest head shop to buy a real bong. If you lived in Carmi, that meant going to Evansville to either Folz City Boutique or Karma Records. Folz City was funkier and had a longer pedigree, back when places that sold things like this, as well as black light posters was almost underground. They carried everything from the underground magazines, to essentially counter culture books, plus albums, posters, incense, clothes and god only knows what else.

They mainly carried ceramic bongs, in a dizzying array of designs, and a few acrylic models.

Ceramic bongs could be made into any kind of style … you could smoke from a smiling Buddha. Or you could go for the technological marvels from Toke International, with a built in tray. Decades later I’d find myself in possession of one with a tray, and in the shape of a dragon. It wasn’t mine, I was just custodian for a short time, but it had its charms.

It worked pretty well, but I was almost busted when my mother notice a black ring around my mouth one night when I came home.

Things like that seem cheesy now, but let’s face it. The whole hippie movement and those that came after were flakey as hell. That’s what made it so great. When you look down at the dragon, encircled in smoke, you have to laugh, because it’s a stereotype, yes. But because it still looks fucking cool.

I had one of the acrylic models. They were oddly shaped, a single chamber with thicker rings near the bottom – bulbous – and it had tubes. Two that came out from the water to the top of the chamber. It didn’t work all that well, and shortly leaked like a motherfucker.

Then came U.S. Bongs which solved the bong problem for me. Thick acrylic, sturdy tubing and the wooden bowl which came off, rather than using a carburetor. That was an innovation at the time and is now standard.

They showed that you could mass produce bongs, and market them at scale. Apogee followed, with a bowl that you pulled out using a wire handle. Good bongs, simpler than U.S. Bongs.

Then came the backlash and the IRS drove U.S. Bongs out of business. By then I’d downscaled, and couldn’t even tell you what kind of bong I had for a decade or two. And then none, as I dabbled in having a straight mind.

Now it’s glass. It’s everywhere, and it tastes the best. By virtue of tasting the least of all. And I keep it clean. No more having to fumigate the house because the bong tipped over.

I still have a hash pipe. Had it for so long I can’t begin to remember where it came from. And there is a non descript acrylic bong around here someplace, that saw use for over a decade.

I eventually learned to roll. From rolling tobacco. But I haven’t rolled an actual joint in years. Though I do on occasion buy the pre rolls.

I still prefer a bong. Because it’s smoother, easier on the throat, and I love the ritual involved in it.