Tuesday, September 30, 2014

POT’S PIED PIPERS


RICK JAMES WAS RIGHT, BITCHES
Temecula, CA – As I wondered through the throngs of people, some old, some young, some of color, some with disabilities, I felt like Alice in Wonderland, a person from another land who had fallen down the rabbit hole by way of Memoirs of Mr. Pete, my ticket to ride in a place where unreal nurses dispensed real medicine and hope, as opposed to real nurses who dispensed prescription drugs (+100,000 yearly deaths). Though a DJ spun music social as the Sunday afternoon crowd of several hundred jostled, cajoled, and dined on the free food under perfect partly cloudy, non-chem-trailed skies, Rick James’ Mary Jane and its funky sensual hypnotic beat played as my soundtrack. If the coming pot politicos are a nest of alligators, I needed to look for a plug in the swamp. (Easter egg)

What initially was to be just another leg in the 420Nurses saga had taken a different tone when asked to drop off my NEWS-loaned computer instead at 420Nurse HQ, and why not? The new location had been in operation since January in a ‘soft’ mode. Still being in start-up mode, the brand was expanding and fluid in operation. This would be my first opportunity to go ‘behind the scenes’ of the [at press time] number 1 story, The 420Nurses of  'Don't Judge Me...'.

Though made more burdensome with my tower, ‘brain-box’ as some old-timers call them, the trip up started off with a ride down the hill to the bus stop instead of my usual 1.5 mile walk at dawn, which was a definite plus given the situation. Gone too was the past fable omen of helping a stranger to insure good fortune in my journey to come.

I was to find out later, I had reached my destination.

LA is a big town. LA County is bigger. So approximately two hours later on the fastest travel mode barring helicopter, including a wrong turn detour off the train, I got to the location. The county is so wide between the western mountains and the eastern range that my natural sense of direction spins like a compass needle.

In a city environment that could be Anytown, close to an intersection, next to a clean, orderly auto service garage est. in the 50s, over a first floor pawn shop and comprising the entire second floor, is the world headquarters of the 420Nurses. I walked around to the rear corner of the building. Sure enough, at the stairway balcony corner joint, there stood the 420Nurses banner flying as if from the turret of a castle. I climbed the stair as if it were a moat.

Looking down on the scene as customers pull up, get out and turn over their cars for service, pick up cars that were ready, or parts being delivered, then out toward the larger picture, I was looking at a midtown cityscape. Then one of the auto mechanics looked up and joked, “They keeping you waiting?”

“They’re worth it,” was my reply.

“Oh yeah!” replied the silver-haired mechanic as I glanced down and noticed the 420Nurses banner staff was anchored solidly to the corner post by auto hose clamps. It wasn’t long after that a white car pulled up beside the parked 420Nurses mobile trailer and out stepped the two most recognizable faces in the 420Nurses, Chacha Va Voom and Summer Rain, CEO and VP, respectively. Looking back now as I type this, the world around me seemed to glisten, not unlike but different from Occupy Los Angeles. On top of that, both CC and Summer were slimmer proportionately in person than in pictures. [for those who wonder, ‘but you’ve seen them before in person’ before was socially with tons of smoke and many 420Nurses, aka clatter, not clutter].

Also amplified more in person is the genuine caring toward a brand name which allies the core dynamic driving the push for legalization with the core confusion surrounding that dynamic of the medical market within the stoner culture. It is the medical market that pushes back against the constraints of proposed regulation meant to fund more government bloat. And the medical market is acting on compassion as per the Hippocratic Oath, a god-edict from the days of Thor. As I am being shown around the office and through the complex of rooms, each with its own purpose, I feel a sense of history akin to the opening scene in Guardians when Peter Quill walks toward the temple using a beam that lights the past. Except here I sense the future.

The office is spacious, tidy and practical, but later when interviewing their legality stance, I experienced a moment of clarity about the upcoming political fight. It’s not ‘Rick James, bitches!’ - it’s ‘Rick James. Bitches!’ Cause sex sells.


It doesn’t matter that both Chacha and Summer, or whatever their real names may be, are two of the genuinely nicest people I have ever met. Being in LA, being pot-themed, being a group and a group of young eye-catching women at that, sooner or later the world stage spotlight is going to hit them in this coming political pot-boiler because, having been around in the scene and met or heard about all the players, the motif of young sexual nurses is the best concept personification to come along since The 3 Blind Men* met the elephant.

(*- Some versions have 5 blind men, Ed)

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