April Bud

So almost two weeks have passed since my last legitimate post. I apologize for this; I suppose I'm caught, once again, between living and documenting life. To be fair, the first week of inactivity was precisely that; a week of inactivity, or a week in which I did absolutely nothing of interest. The interest begins a week ago, April 19th, 2006.

As Carl has said on many occasions, or at least once, or maybe never on the blog and just to me, one never needs an excuse to get stoned. Excuses, reasons, justifications and the like can certainly grease the wheels of the stoning process, but don't be fooled into thinking that the content of your excuse has any bearing on anything. Yeah, I get it, you had an exam today, or you're stressed out, or your girlfriend dumped you, or you want to watch some flash animations while under the influence. Great, awesome, fine. What's important is this : if you're making excuses and complicated justifications, you're thinking too much. If you're thinking too much, you should probably smoke some pot.

It's a hard bargain to strike : your stoner friends don't want to know why you need, at this exact moment in time, to get high. It's your other friends who so often demand an explanation, and it is for them that you're constantly cultivating reasons to explain the need.

I, personally, have gotten to a point where I exclusively use negative excuses. A positive excuse would be those mentioned above : some thing that happened that precipitates a need and/or desire to get baked. A negative excuse is an explanation of why there's no reason not to get baked (ie. I have completed every major responsibility I have for the next three days, or, It takes 5 minutes to walk around the South 40, and it takes 4 minutes to smoke a joint). In essence, the negative excuse always boils down to "I don't see why not"

But despite the sturm und drang of your stoner and non-stoner friends, there is one day of the year when no excuse is ever necessary.

April 20th, coded as 4/20 in our American dating system, has somehow become the stoner holiday. On this day, the only excuses you'll need are for why you aren't stoned already, and why you shouldn't smoke more than you have already.

I'm not a pot historian, but I have a fascination with urban myths and the internet, so here's a quick review of some of my favorite speculations as to why the number 420 is considered special:

1. I heard, a couple of times, that Marijuana violations used to be coded as 420 in police lingo. ie. "We've got a 420 on Baker St. and Toke Blvd. Need backup."

2. "Come Together", the first song on the Beatles album Abbey Road, has a duration of exactly 4 minutes and 20 seconds. This is true for the original vinyl and its compact disc reproduction.

3. "Rainy Day Women Nos 12 & 35" by Bob Dylan, better known as the "Everybody Must Get Stoned" song, has a tiny little secret for math geeks. 12 x 35 = 420! What do you know?

4. My personal theory on 420 is this : You may have heard, at some point in your life, somebody say the words "It's Five o'clock somewhere". This, of course, is a humorous fallacy referring to 5 PM, the time when drunks everywhere are supposed to gather in bars and drink until they beat someone up. In stoner circles, it's not uncommon to hear the words, "It's 4:20 somewhere," which is just an adaptation of the previous phrase. However, the adaptation reveals what I believe to be a very basic connection between the two times of day, 4:20 and 5:00.

My belief is that a couple of stoners were like :

Carl : "Okay, so people have a time of day that they like to get drunk. Some people even use this time of day as a justification to drink. Why aren't we doing the same thing?!"
Alan : "Okay, five o'clock work for you?"
Carl : "Yeah, sure. We'll subvert drunk culture for our own deviant purposes. Fuck the man."
Alan : "Yeah, fuck the man."
(pause)
Carl : "Dude, what time is it?"
Alan : "About 4:20."
Carl : "Dude, can we smoke now?"
Alan : "I don't see why not."


So anyway, 4/20 happened. The night before, I took everything I had (about 1/4 ounce) and rolled it up into 11 little tubes of filter and paper, such that I had myself 5 spliffs and 6 joints. I, because I'm an idiot, then showed my rolled stash to everyone I knew was on the inside.

NOTE : Never reveal the exact amount of marijuana you have, or else that exact amount will be smoked. There is no avoiding this. The idea is not that you keep some for yourself, or that you're miserly or anything like that. There are actually lots of reasons not to reveal this information. I'll let you suss those reasons out for yourselves. The main reason is, no pot is better than unexpected pot. Nothing beats this moment :

Maggie : Oh shit, it's 4:15.
Alan : Dear Lord, you're right.
Maggie : We've got to get ready. Should I pack a bowl?
Alan : How about we smoke some joints and spliffs? (pulls them out of his pocket)
Maggie : I am humbled by your very presence.


So I was always the kind of kid who wasn't so spoiled as to get everything I wanted as soon as I wanted it, but spoiled enough to have my impatience partially rewarded. My parents always gave me one gift on Christmas Eve, disguised as a present from them, though I knew it was really just another of Santa's devious tricks (I'll catch you next year, you portly elf). So, at about 10:45 on 4/19, I smoked a spliff on my way to rendezvous with my other stoner compadres. Though I always pitch whatever's left when I reenter Wash U campus, I held onto the trifling remains of my spliff all the way to the door of the building I was entering, at which point I casually dropped it on the ground next to the door. The moment I encountered people, they all did the classic wave hand in front of face and scrunch up nose move and asked me if I had started early, whereupon I explained the whole Christmas Eve thing.

I realize that after writing for 45 minutes, I haven't even gotten to Hour 0. I can live with that. Part 2 of this post is forthcoming.

-Alan