Recently, the following interrogatory was placed before the people of Colorado:
The voters of Colorado not only affirmed, “Yes, there shall!” They also seemed to be just fine with run-on sentences.
On Election Night in 2012, we were not treated to Wolf Blitzer openly declare that the states of Colorado and Washington “Have officially gotten their shit together”, however, it sure felt that way. I partially credit this to the citizens of Seattle who were caught by surprise that marijuana was not already legal.
Even the name of the Colorado amendment, The Regulate Marijuana Like Alcohol Act of 2012 had a sort of drop it like it’s hot pull about it.
Why did it feel as if Prohibition had just been revoked to so many boomers? Let’s face it; half of all baby boomers have never intellectually left the 70s. To this day, they habitually refer to Pink Floyd as Floyd (Oh, by the way, which one’s Pink?) and immerse themselves in a quasi-funk whenever contemporary reality shows up each morning.
Therefore, it should not be a surprise that the ballot initiative of marijuana in Colorado and Washington has set them upon a fantasy of exercising their rolling skills of separating seeds and stems with the album jacket of Led Zeppelin IV. Only now, there won’t be a threat of being hassled by The Man, the fuzz, the heat or even Mr. Hand from Fast Times at Ridgemont High.
This all may sound splendid to some, but hold on there a minute Easy Rider, allow me to quote Vincent Vega, “Yeah, it’s legal, but it ain’t a hundred percent legal”.
Potheads, particularly out-of-state potheads, had to endure a waiting period before getting to party time. It was several months before Governor Hickenlooper (a name straight out of DC Comics), made it official by signing the initiative into law. The law is a kind of Amsterdam law; you simply can’t walk around Grateful Dead concert-style, no sir. Public use will be curbed. Additionally, you must buy your grass from a licensed shop or dispensary that has registered every growth of hemp. Yes, pushers will now become known as purveyors of specialty goods; we’re talking brownies, ice cream bars, cookies, muffins, tea, lollipops and the ever-popular joint.
Millions upon millions of dollars from the legal recreational marijuana market will go to the state government via excise and sales taxes; I would be willing to wager that if there was a subsequent special Taco Bell tax, potheads would gladly pay up. I just wouldn’t count on them to get much accomplished for the next 5 to 10 years.
Out-of-staters, however, will have to keep it in-house. You can’t fly in and take your party back home to New Jersey; you buy it there, you toke it there . . . capish?
So why retire to Florida and Arizona when baby boomers can relive their rebellious youth by inflicting Colorado and Washington with an endless stream of Credence Clearwater Revival and Grand Funk Railroad? I just don’t see it happening in Tampa or Tempe.
Seniors will also have a perfectly reasonable explanation for forgetting why they walked into a room; it’s not a sign of early dementia, it’s because they’re wasted. Suddenly, an afternoon of watching Judge Judy and Dr. Phil will be filled with uncontrollable laughter followed by deep resonating thoughts and finally an obsessive need for Doritos Locos Tacos.
Oh, and this regulated shit is good; it will take you for a Hickenlooper.