I recently admitted to myself that I’m a boomer trapped in a millennial’s body.
The evidence has been accumulating for nearly two decades. I played in a classic rock cover band in middle school, I spent my early 20s reading Ramparts and other magazines which peaked in the 1960s, and I work for a print alternative weekly, an invention of the same decade. Yet, the fact which broke the camel’s back was my recent realization that I simply can’t handle modern, commercial cannabis.
To put it, er, bluntly: Legalization has created too many options, most of which are too strong for a lightweight like me. When I visit one of the North Bay’s many fine dispensaries, the eager-to-please employees quickly overwhelm me with a whirlwind tour of the dizzying number of options on display. The combination of strains, brands and dosage make my eyes glaze over before I’ve purchased anything, let alone ingested it. When it comes time to inhale, I’m left without the ability to do much of anything.
All this makes me pine for the weed of my youth… 15 or so years ago. Luckily for me, capitalism has identified my need and delivered it in Wes Anderson-esque packaging.
Founded in San Francisco, Dad Grass sells a wide array of CBD and CBG products, presented in a variety of attractive “decoy” boxes and tins, which can be used to playfully hide one’s habit from children.
There’s just one problem: Millennial me can’t afford to bring a child into the world. For now, buying Dad Grass will be the closest I get to channeling my middle school bandmate’s dad. It took me more years than I’d like to admit to realize that he wasn’t just soaking when he retreated to the hot tub for hours at a time, emerging a much more relaxed and giggly version of himself. — W.C.