Hello Bloglin. What? You thought I went away? Nah, I’ve been right behind you this whole time, watching and scheming my next move. Sometimes you gotta shut the fuck up, put your head down and go to work if you want to say something. Now, I mean something different.
Today I have something for you. It’s a video I directed for LA’s Ballerina Black for their track “NTSB”, in support of their new ep, Injureless. Don’t rush it though. First, get really really high. No, get really really REALLY high and watch it. There you go.
Happy belated 4/20 motherfuckers! I meant that with love. Sorry, I’m really high. That’s not true actually I can’t smoke weed anymore it makes me think the government is watching me. Which they are. In honor of everyone’s favorite green plant, Vice and Wavves threw together this sweet lil’ video game called Weed Demon. It’s like Paperboy but instead of throwing the last vestiges of a dying business onto people’s doorsteps in a pantomime of a more innocent America, you’re dealing drugs.
Much more emblematic of our time, dont’cha think? Play as Nathan or Stephen as you bike (or skate) through the ‘burbs, the city and more, all the while avoiding various beasties designed by – yup - Мишка in collaboration with our friend Dennis Chow AKA GlamNation! Does this mean we can put video game studio on our resumes/business cards now? I submit that it most definitely does. So light one up and get your jollies with Weed Demon!
It’s 9 AM, and I’m in my bed typing this out. I’ve got pillows and blankets, and I’m warm and comfortable. I actually bought this bed with money that I earned trimming this year. I guess, implicitly, I sleep on a bed of peace. Kinda cool, but when I think back on it, this bed was 7 or 8 days of working 10-14 hours. A week of trimming peace equals out to a comfy cozy bed to sleep in. In another year this bed might have equalled out to 2 or 3 days of work, which is nuts when you think about it. The trimmers are by no means the last point in the distribution chain, in fact they’re the first point where money is changing hands after the crop has been harvested. And so, if you look at how the trimmers fair, you can get an idea for how the whole industry is doing.
If you’ll remember I last left you at fixing breakfast on my first full day at my frist trim scene of the season. I wound up spending roughly 5 days at that spot before the work ended. In traditional form we waited around on our last day while scene bossses were coming and going until eventually they called us over. In typical fashion there was a ledger where we were shown numbers for how much peace we trimmed each day (in grams) and then cash changes hands whilst thank yous are said, and respects are paid. We left from the first scene after sundown, and slowly crept back down the mountain on winding, and often imperceptible roads. When you’re driving away from a scene though the speed with which you flee never really matters, as the overwhelming sentiment is one of relief. Although in this moment the relief would be brief. We got back late, passed out, and then got back on the road at 8 the next morning.
That’s a door handle, and it’s not dirt on it, that’s all hash from hash-covered hands repeatedly opening and closing the door.
We left early because we had a long ride. Our second scene saw us venturing out of the Emerald Triangle, and in fact out of California altogether. This is where we saw the best peace of the season, and likewise some of the best-grown peace I’ve ever seen. In fact I wouldn’t hesitate to say that the gentleman in charge of this particular operation was nothing short of a master cannabis grower. While the first scene wasn’t terrible, a sentiment that the year’s harvest was off had begun to proliferate throughout town in Arcata. However when we arrived in Oregon that couldn’t be further from the truth. On the day we got there and set up tents and worked less than half of a day I trimmed just about a pound. It looked like we were about to settle into the kind of work that people myth about. But as luck would have it this is also where the decline began. The first and second days consisted of much passive agressive behavior towards us, and it was apparent that for whatever reason, the welcome we had been extended was no longer valid. On the third day we decided to pack up and head back to Arcata and chalk this one up to the oddities of the personality types that come with the line of work. And just like that we were back on our way to Arcata. Bare in mind though, all this bouncing around, starting and stopping is very costly, and seriously diminishes the profit margin. So, 5 days after we had returned to Arcata from our first scene we were back again.
This time around we had a lag for a few days before we were able to find the next scene. And of course the lag is mostly filled with trepidation. Every day that passes unworked is at least $200 being deducted from your projected totals for the season. If you aint cuttin, you aint stackin cash. And that’s the motive here. But, thankfully after a lot of asking around we were back out again, and this time the scene was in town. It’s not uncommon for folks to have a large grow on a mountain an hour or two out of town, and then process everything in town. And so in this instance we were showing up to someone’s house every morning around 10, and hanging out till midnight or so.
Ahh, the munchies. How I loved you. Though I no longer smoke weed (a handy case of cannabis-inspired anxiety put that habit to bed about two years ago), the aspect that I without a doubt miss the most is the munchies. Eating, as for most cool humans, is already one of my favorite things. That a leafy green plant could take the foods I already loved and take them to a totally new level was astounding from the first time I hit a bong.
The trip to the fridge/pantry/deli post-blaze is of the utmost importance, lest you have to venture back out to satisfy a powerful craving of an item sadly forgotten. After all, everyone has that one specific item that they just must have, even if it’s something weird (I knew a kid who swore by cough drops, but hey, it’s his high). Nevertheless, there are some foods that definitely fall in the “munchies” umbrella, and I’ve tried to collect the best here. I avoided items that required using the oven or stove because fuck that, as well as sit down restaurants. I’m sure getting baked out of your skull and eating at The French Laundry would be awesome, but that’s not really achievable for everyone. So, without further adieu, here are the High Five. Man.
Honorable Mention: Whatever The Fuck You Have Laying Around
This, really, is the beauty of the munchies. There are no rules! I considered putting this at number one, but decided that was probably a cop out. Nevertheless, some of my favorite munchie memories are of totally random shit, usually combined with peanut butter or Nutella. Or weird leftovers, like beef stroganoff or stuffed cabbage. Got cheeses? Grind’em up over that shit and hit it to the microwave son!
Fruit cups? Slurp’em down like there’s no tomorrow. Go through a bakers doz’ and ruin your stomach. String cheese, of course, luncheon meats (wrap some kraft singles around them, don’t be scared little buddy), deviled eggs, stale chips magically become good again, weird frozen dinners, that one starfruit, white bread + condiments, and pretty much anything else.
Some people – read: fools – will tell you that you need to take the trek out to your local bakery to pick up some fresh n’ warm donuts for maximum munchie effectiveness. Not the case! Nothing is better than a sleeve of powdered (powdered only! fuck outta here with the devil’s food) Hostess donuts. If you’ve done this before, you will know that whatever weird chemicals is in the processed powdered sugar produces a strange tingly cold feeling (like those weird “cold” gums) in a stoned person’s taste buds.
It’s part taste experience and part sensory hallucination and all fun. Plus, if you’re feeling real plexx you can throw them down in one bite, or rock the whole sleeve like Homer Simpson out of that donut hopper in that one Treehouse of Horror. Also, extremely cheap/easy to procure.
This is sort of my highbrow/lowbrow category. Plus, I had to do at least one actual NYC shoutout. But I didn’t want to be exclusive, so the first option is good old cereal and milk. I would suggest Frosted Flakes, Cap’n Crunch (though those can do some terrible damage to the roof of your mouth if you’re really grubbin’ down), Oreo O’s (if you have a time machine), Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Strawberry HBO’s. The milk will prevent cottonmouth, and then you can drink its sugary goodness at the end.
Which brings me to my next point: Momofuku Milk Bar products in general, but most importantly their cereal milk concoctions. An idea so devious it could only come from the devil himself. Or, more likely, Momofuku pastry chef Christina Tosi. They basically do the hard part for you (I use that term loosely), by soaking delicious cereals in milk, bottling it, and selling it to you for a fair price. Or turning it into a soft serve. Fuck, that stuff is delicious. Plus, it sorta feels like you’re eating something from Willy Wonka.
Alright, so maybe this is my kind of personal item, but I really think everyone would love it if they tried it. If you’re a Charleston Chew consumer, you probably already do this, but this particular candybar is inexplicably not very popular. They also don’t sell them everywhere, and sometime they only have wack flavors. Don’t fuck around, you want the classic, the ones in the yellow wrapper. And not the minis. Totally different experience.
Throw that taffy/milk chocolate wonderstick in your freezer for a little while and then take a big bite. Make sure you don’t break your teeth. Once again you get a fun cold sensation, but within second the crunchy taffy will go through an invigorating state-change from crystalline and solid to super chewy, like a Now N’ Later in high speed. It’s like a science experiment, but covered in chocolate. PROTIP: if you’re feeling extra stoney, chase with grape soda for bonus loss of self-worth.
I like In N’ Out. I don’t love it like the rest of my California brethren do. It’s a very good burger (I prefer the fries, to be honest) but I don’t necessarily think it’s the end all be all. Except I will cop to the fact that it is a fantastic stoner location. It has palm trees, and that funky diner aesthetic that wards off any negative thoughts. The menu is small and easily memorizable, so you won’t have to think about your order or get overwhelmed (that’s the big danger of Sonic).
Plus, ordering off the “secret” menu feels more clandestine when you’re high, even though everyone and their mother knows about animal style and the flying dutchman and whatever else. The shakes are hearty and packed with sugar, but the real beverage choice must be the pink lemonade. They know it’s good, that’s why it gets its own fountain. Grab your DD from those friendly Mormon’s and chow down: you’re in America now!
Congratulations to you, cold pizza from out the fridge, you are officially the best stoner food! Take a bow! Now, when this list started you knew pizza was going to be on it. Probably near the top. But you probably thought it would be fresh or at least freshly delivered. Incorrect. There are myriad reasons why morning/day or two day (don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone) old pizza is much better.
Firstly, you have instant control over the temperature. You can have it cold, which I prefer and is totally good. Want a little heat? Microwave. Fresh delivered pizza is often mouth burningly hot, but you want to tuck in now! What to do? Put it in the freezer? C’mon man, have some self respect. Also, if it’s in the fridge, it doesn’t really feel like you’re buying it (or at least, you don’t have to transact money then and there). It’s like a wondrous gift, especially if you forgot you had it. Finally, given some time in the fridge, the flavors of the different toppings can really marry together and take on new and interesting dimensions. The cheese (and some other stuff) develops glutamic acid crystals for a boost of Umami goodness.
I told you when I last did a post about this crew it wouldn’t be the last. I’m not quite sure what the hell they are talking about, but I’m sure it’s tripped out and full of swag per usual. “#BEEST” as a video takes a journey into the typical morning of the men behind those SweetTeam masks that we know and love. It’s also the newest installment in the musical journey from #TeamPanini.
“Got Damn” is far more hype including dubstep and grime elements to smack your eardrums with that swag straight from Antwerp, Belgium. Go rep #TeamPanini on twitter and follow the mastermind behind it allhimself, #SWEK!
Hey there readers. I hope everyone’s been tapping into their extrasensory abilities while I’ve been on hiatus because this here video is a reel paranormal doozy so to speak. Directed by my college cohort Taylor Cohan, Psychic Cheerleaders: Dawn of the New Age strings one’s (sub)consciousness along a cosmic continuum through the lives of two very gifted girls. This student film is something to behold and it doesn’t hurt that these high school hotties sport their cheerleading uniforms throughout.
Tones shift effortlessly from that of a charmingly campy teen dream to a paranoid REM night terror and back in the blink of your mind’s eye, as Courtney and Sarah learn the true meaning of their powers. The short tips its hat to auteurs like Lynch and Polanski as the mundane, helped along by deadpan dialogue and a droning score, metamorphoses into a psychological free-for-all. It’s an acid-laced after school special that, between you and me, will most likely be getting the feature-length treatment.
But alas I shan’t spoil anything else! Enough jaw-flapping then, I’ll let the images speak for themselves. Check his Vimeo page for past, present, and future work from this promising young filmmaker. Until next time.
MY sincere apologies in the delay between these things. Life still ain’t easy, and while there is definitely plenty fun out here, there’s a lot of work too. I’ve been trying to find a job in cannabis for the past couple of weeks, but alas no luck. Things are pretty fucked right now, but lemme jump back to October to really tell it:
If you’ll recall the previous account of my journey in the 2011 harvest I left you last when I had just arrived to my first scene of the season. It was either in South East Humboldt, or North East Mendocino. Tough to say which, and pressing for those kinds of facts is not exactly the best idea. There is a very familial and open element at most scenes, but that sentiment exists with some serious restrictions. Of course folks want you to feel comfortable posting up for weeks on end, and working in less than ideal conditions. So, the folks who run the scenes—who are usually not the same folks who were in charge of growing all the peace—are usually heavy with the motherly instincts, and they try to be as accommodating as possible.
They want you to feel like you can ask for what you need, and they want you to feel like you’re safe and comfortable. But, there is a kind of unspoken limit to that. Basically, facts, and numbers are taboo as you can probably imagine. And while I certainly could have asked someone if we were in Humboldt or Mendocino, I wasn’t really trying to start off as the dude pressin for facts. I was however, trying to start off trimming at least a pound a day.
Trimming a pound a day is the basic goal. It puts you at $200 per day which, even though those days are usually more than 10 hours long, is pretty good money considering the lack of expenses. The amount you trim in a day depends on you, but it also depends on what your’e working with. And this year, that second part of the equation, the variable part, was postin low low numbers. My first day was a half day and I probably trimmed around 200 grams. Which is a little less than a half pound. The peace we were working with wasn’t the greatest, but I wasn’t mad at it. But all I heard was “Oh my god this is so much better than the last stuff! This is the best stuff so far.”
That’s not what you wanna hear when you’re just showin up. But, you take it with a grain of salt too. Most people at trim scenes don’t work as hard as me, don’t know as much about peace as me, and generally seem to be on a different journey. I say this not to brag, but just to put it in perspective. So, while folks were talkin that bleak shit, I wasn’t really hearin it completely. But it registered, and in the first moments of my work for the 2011 season the seed for the theme was planted: no fuckin dice Mr. Moldof. There will be no incredible payout this season, only a reasonable payout (which I am grateful for, so don’t get it twisted) an incredible workload. But I didn’t know that yet.
The first day on a scene is always odd. You’re finding your way around, figuring out the workflow, figuring out where you’re trying to post, figuring out who you don’t wanna sit by, et cetera. It may sound dickish, but you figure this is endless contract work. If you’re surrounded by people or things that distract you your numbers for the day will reflect that. But it’s a choice. You can choose to work slow, and easy, and just not make a lot of money. But I don’t get with that, and that mentality makes me really uneasy, so I’m usually posted alone, with headphones, not tryin to do anything except trim peace. This was no different, and the impending doom of massive student loan debt, no job, credit card payments, and a life out of balance with the status quo was enough motivation to push me to stay bout those grams in my bag.
That’s how it goes, just grams at a time stackin up in a brown paper grocery bag. The big kind with handles. A pound is usually roughly half of the bag, and I was tryin to hit the half every day. You gotta be focused which means chiefin lots of peace, drinkin lots of tea. But you also gotta be human. So, of course, if you’re a real human with thoughts and feelings you’re not gonna be 100% work. You gotta socialize too. And this, Bloglin readers, is where we find ourselves in contradiction to the typical folks who make up a trim scene.
I guess some people are just good at sitting down with whoever, and feeling equally comfortable every time. Me? Not so much. And, as fate would have it young Zachg is very often out of place at a trim scene. On the surface it’s a bunch of young-middle aged folks with white skin. But for me—and likely for a lot of the other folks reading the Bloglin—the commonalities end there. Very few of these folks are Jewish, not that this is a huge deal for me (nor is it some defacto character of Bloglin readers), but it plays its part. There are a lot of hippies, and a lot of burners. Now, I don’t have anything against either of these lifeways, but I think they’re pretty divergent from my own. Very simply I’m a rap dude, and trim scenes are mostly hippy folks.
That’s reductive, but it’s true, and it’s the most efficient way to cover an otherwise tenuous explanation of two things that are different in ways that don’t need to be addressed in words (trust me, I typed and un-typed that several times). It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, but let’s just say I can’t be my full and true self at a trim scene because many of my comments, habits, and actions are not taken kindly. So, while the social aspect is there, it is strangely detached for me because I know that I am surrounded by people with whom I have very little in common. Aside from trimming world peace.
I call weed peace now. Whenever I can remember. It makes a pretty great juxtaposition if you ask me, and it keeps me focused on what I’m doing with my life. If you’ve been keeping up with my tales on the bloglin then you probably know I was back out for the annual outdoor cannabis harvest this year. I didn’t want to be at all. I wanted to be in the Bay working an almost normal job, getting my life together, and makin tunes with my homies. But, as fate (or some cruel omnipotent Curb Your Enthusiasm enthusiast) would have it, it wasn’t in the cards for me this year. After spending the last year hustlin hard to barely scrape by, and live in an art studio with no bathroom, or kitchen, I was ecstatic when I landed a decent-paying job as a consultant and delivery driver for Northstone Organics. I thought to myself, “See Zach, you make your way in this world eating shit, but then things work out. Now you can get yourself a proper home.” And that is exactly what I set about doing.
I packed up all my shit into a storage unit, moved out of the studio, and started looking for a place while I stayed with friends. About 2 weeks into my home search the DEA raided Northstone, and I went from employed and finding a home, right back to unemployed, broke, and homeless. There was only one thing I could think to do: Trim World Peace. It’s not glamorous work, you gotta invest money to do it right, and the payout is totally unpredictable. And, unfortunately this was a bad year for the outdoor cannabis crop, but I wouldn’t know that for another 6 weeks yet. So, on pretty much a moment’s notice I packed up 2 duffels with all my camping gear, all my trimming gear, documentary equipment, and some clothes, and I got on a Greyhound.
It was a huge bummer for me. On one hand I was just plain bummed about my life. The degree to which money, and firm ground to stand on evade me can be discouraging to say the least. And this was just the latest in an ongoing series of major setbacks that have come to characterize my time in California. It doesn’t feel good to dedicate your life to actions and ideals, and have those actions ideals lead you astray. I mean, I’ve definitely been on my path the whole time, and it’s obvious in retrospect. But as all the shit goes down, I just wind up feeling like some fucking bum who is dedicating his life to some childish pursuit with no real import to anyone who takes life seriously.
Then on top of that I had to drop everything I was involved in to go camp on a mountain for 5 or 6 weeks. And if that wasn’t enough I had booked a ticket to fly to New York for Halloween. Halloween is my favorite time in New York because everyone cuts loose. I haven’t been back to New York since I left in the Summer of 2010. I miss a lot of my friends, and to top it all off, I couldn’t get any kind of refund on the ticket. Cool. Geez, looking back on it like this makes it seem pretty shitty—which it was—but I didn’t realize I guess. I was just trying to stay positive, and knowing that I’d be seeing friends in Humboldt was enough to not bother with gettin bummed. I aint no sissy.
Oh shit! Bet you forgot huh? Well we didn’t. Rad Reef teamed up with Мишка to bring you the most epic solution t o the problem you probably never really cared that you had: you probably don’t know much about weed even though you smoke it constantly. Well, woopty fucking doo cause here goes the pilot episode fo Piffbusters! It’s a show that we came up with to help folks get to the truth about cannabis. Living in a prohibition state can make it difficult to find reliable cannabis information. Even for folks in California, or other medical states where information is more readily available, it’s still difficult to find solid answers to your questions about cannabis. I know I grew up in a prohibition state, and then moved to California, and that was exactly what I experienced: lots of weed, and very little truth. Lucky for you I’ve spent the last year making a living in the cannabis industry, and making friends with some great folks. And lucky for all of us, those great folks are willing to help us find the answers to our most pressing questions about weed. For this episode we got soem help from Steep Hill Laboratory to get the facts about Purp, and whether or not it’s inherently better than green weed. The results were definitely surprising.
The doctors, scientists, and experts we have access to can answer any questions you might have. So, if you’ve got a question about weed post it in the comments, and as we continue producing these pieces we’ll bring you the truth. Oh, and keep an eye out for a guest appearance from one of your favorite cloud rappers. It’s not cool to be dumb about your drugs.
Chowing down on state-altering fungus is hardly new to the world of Video Games. They even named that one place the mushroom kingdom: it’s practically a birth right to get high there. But, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that Mario’s skirt-chasing adventures were the epitome of a bad trip: you spend your whole time there chasing some mystical piece of ass that seems to slip further and further out of your grasp whilst bloodthirsty reptiles throw hammers, fireballs and their spiked kin at you, oh, and don’t forget all that time you spend crawling around in sewers. You could end up with dysentery. Looking for something better? Come to Skyrim. It’s the kind of game that allows you to speedball all kinds of narcotics and then go punch a dragon in the face, or splash around in the town fountain: whatever, I won’t judge.
To help you avoid the same pitfalls as our plumber friend, I present to you my definitive guide to getting wasted in Skyrim.
For the Blue Collar:
What does the working schlub want? A beer, and then nineteen more. And why not? After a hard day toiling in the nearest dwarf mine, busting your hump just to keep that crappy straw roof over your head you should be entitled to a few brews. Luckily, the land of Skyrim caters well to its blue-collared grunts with a wide selection of cheap piss to help you wash away the misery of existence. Mead, Ale, Wine and Brandy can be found in abundance, plus there’s the added bonus that you’ll probably get served by a buxom wench. Drink until you confess your undying love for her, or just whip your length/sword out because she’s bound to be impressed by that, right?
For the Thrill-Seeker:
Skyrim is hardly teeming with convenient pills and powders, but the industrious thrill-seeker can certainly find more than a few ways to achieve the highs that they so crave. Do you dig Alchemy? You do now. Pretend that you’re the guy from Malcolm in the Middle if it helps. Scouring the landscape and raiding the corpses of your fallen enemies will see you accumulating all sorts of bizarre ingredients. As soon as you get your alchemy game locked down you can chase more than just dragons, my friend. A multitude of potions and spells await you and best of all, you just cut out the middle-man. You are the source. Life tip: learn how to make your own drugs to save money and avoid shady dealings with the underworld: it’s win-win!
Personal choice: Frenzy. Combine Blisterwort, Falmer Ear, Fly Amanita, Hagraven Feathers, Human Heart, and some Troll Fat and you’ll have yourself bouncing off the walls and trying to drink the blood of anyone within a two foot radius. Good times.
For the Nature-Lover:
If Mother Nature hadn’t intended us to get high, then why did she paint the landscape with such a cornucopia of hallucinogens and stimulants, man? Become one with the earth and wear that burlap sack vest with pride. You care not for speedballs, projectile vomiting and intimate bleeding. That shit is for the rat race, dude. Become one with nature and see all of its beauty through a kaleidoscope haze.
Nirnroot, Namira’s Rot and Bleeding Crown should be your plants of choice. Ice Trolls, Pit Wolves and pissed-off giants will worry you no more, because you have experienced and witnessed truths beyond truth. We’re all part of the same beautiful energy stream and we should all merge and swirl through the trees –absorbing their beauty- whilst we travel for eternity towards…..what? Uhhh………. Dave’s not here, man.
Strictly For the Hardcore:
Skooma. Now this shit is bad: real bad. This is the Elder Scrolls equivalent of crack: highly addictive, illegal and smoked in a special pipe. Get your crack-head swag on with this nasty business. Sure, it’s great to begin with: the euphoria flows through your body and you can take on even the most powerful of beasts.
But then, it gets dark. You need it twice a day, then three times, four times, five, you lose count. Before you know it you’re giving an Orc an old-fashioned or blowing Bandits just to get yourself a fix. You sold all of your armour, your house in Whiterun has become some sort of junkie beehive and you’ve been pushed out. You break into the general goods store to fund your habit and you get caught. A day later you’re in the shittiest hovel that Skyrim has to offer. You’re going cold turkey whilst taking it in the ass from Big Daddy Khajiit. Ever been bummed by a giant cat before? Try Skooma and you may just find out how it feels.
Take heed of my words, adventurers and you shall have the most fulfilling journey through the land of Skyrim. Pick every plant, sample every dish and punch every dragon right in the beak. Those guys are dicks, give ‘em one from me.
