A Glassy Generation

The Grass isn’t so green in San Bernardino California. And I’m not talking about the drought.

I’m talking about a festival.

Music. Art Glass. Medicinal benefits. New knowledge. Safe methods. Top quality. Innovation. Competition.
Flowers. Concentrates. Extractions. Hash. Dabs. Oil. Honey. Rigs. Shatter. Vape. Edible. No additives.
Compliance. Donations. Industry standard. Vendors. Access. Prop 215. Green doctors. Patients.
Demos. Samples. Brands. Networking. Marketing. Cash.

Is this counterculture?

Chalice Cup – Where The Glass is Greener

I went to Chalice Cup last weekend to mix in with my generation.  I love being places that don’t really make sense for me to be at. Places where – if you knew me – you wouldn’t expect to see me. I like wearing my fresh eyes. There were a lot of eyes to meet. A lot of glassy eyes. And red eyes. Maybe it was all the green? And people were so thirsty.

Lemonade vs. Weedmonade

The spirit of capitalism is evident in this micro-culture. It’s why I don’t want to call it a counterculture. As a country, for marijuana, we’ve walked the plank but we’re still standing there- looking back instead of leaping. It’s going to take a push.

The Shelter Project Tent

Some know how to pull. There were some really enthusiastic entrepreneurs who would beckon me to their booths. There was enterprise in their eyes as they explained their product to me. And hey, sometimes all it takes is just to get excited about things! People will listen to your pitch. I got excited when the message actually carried the tune of treatment and not commerce. The Shelter Project donates its medicine to cancer patients enrolled in its safe-access program.

At the end of the day, these more assertive, informative vendors were a small minority. The majority seemed lazy about promoting their stuff. Sure- I’m a nobody wandering around not knowing what I’m looking at 90% of the time. But come on! If this stuff matters, teach us!


A lot of the hype, according to the flyer, was about the glass blowing competition. Understandably there’s no announcer or conductor orchestrating everyone’s attention. Nor was there an organized roundup for the judging of the main event. I wasn’t far away when it started, happened and ended. I had no idea. There was just no fanfare at all.

Speaking of fans, I secretly thought it would be like a music festival. After a few laps through the labyrinth of tents, I realized I couldn’t wait to see Busta Rhymes on stage. Busta Rhymes had a really hard time on stage. I was a teenager when Busta Rhymes told us “put your hands where my eyes can see.” And back then we did. This crowd didn’t. It was like they couldn’t. He thought they wouldn’t. Oh, the lackluster looks! How that must have looked from on stage rapping, “If you really want to party with me… ” I must speak for my own reluctance in putting my hands up. There was a drone overhead taking pictures. I didn’t really feel like putting my hands where that thing’s eyes can see.




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