BC Bud

"Chronic," "Skeech," "Sticky Icky," "Broccoli" - these, but a few of the names for that natural green drug, and all of which I learned from white collar professionals in the last few years. Some of these people smoke it; others do not; some lie about it; others do not. In any case, "pot" - I'll call it since that's what it was called when I first found out about it as a kid - seems to be growing in popularity and acceptance in upper middle-class, middle-aged, professional circles.

No longer fodder for the wannabe hippie, Bohemian, or tortured artist, pot seems to have crept into our everyday discourse.  On the golf course or on a ski lift, your attorney or broker just might give you the "Is this cool?" head nod, before sparking up. If you are "cool with it," you need not be afraid of being asked if you want some.  "Puff-Puff-Pass," now solely the domain of the aforementioned wannabe hippie or Bohemian due to its strong socialist overtones, does not play with your white collar friend. No, you are going to have to ask him. 

Here in the Pacific Northwest, "BC Bud" is supposed to be the fashizzle. They do hot house tomatoes well up there, why not weed? I'm amused by the fact that pot has terroir - like wine. Mexican Gold, Texas Tea, Colorado Cocktail, Maui Wauie - all of which denote the soil, water, and climate in which it was cultivated. Heck, I even think tasting notes are available for it.

My intent here is not to judge or disclose whether I use it or not, although I wouldn't want my daughter smoking it. My intent here is to help substantiate, through my own personal observations, that pot is an indulgence - no - rather, a relaxation tool for the classic prep* and quite possibly for the Cascadian prep, as well.  

* Click here for a fun little posting from the good people at Stuff WASPs Like on this very subject.
* Click here for an Admiral Cod posting, which lingers in the mind like the clouds over the Pacific Northwest, evoking thoughts of  Alex Garland's The Beach.