While nearly everyone affiliated with the cannabis trade was at MJBizCon two weeks ago in Las Vegas showing off the latest innovations in pot products, accepting meaningless awards and, of course, smoking metric tons of weed with a like-minded tribe of commercial cannabis culture, I was on the opposite end of the country in New York City on a super-secret, non-pot-related assignment. So, why hang in Gotham rather than Vegas with the other so-called cannabis journalists?
Well, I accepted the gig mainly because, even though a number of cannabis firms invited me out to Sin City to interview CEOs and perhaps ooh and aah over groundbreaking developments in cottonmouth commerce, I had no interest in rubbing elbows in that scene. No sir, not again. The last time I accepted an offer to cover a weed expo was a couple of years ago at the High Times Business Summit in Los Angeles. I tolerated all of about two hours of “Let us show you how we are going to change the cannabis industry” and other broken record sales pitches before blowing it off for a blackout afternoon in Malibu.
That was the weekend I turned down thousands of dollars in freelance work simply because the story everyone was hoping I’d tell was all the same.
“So, as you can see, Mike, we’re all wearing suits now and sporting $50 haircuts, so hopefully most people will forget that what we’re trying to sell them is really just a sharper packaged version of what they used to smoke back in high school. Please tell the world that cannabis is safer than alcohol, it will cure cancer, athletes foot – whatever ails them, really — and it essentially assures that all of the world’s problems will go up in smoke. Only don’t use that phrase because we don’t wish to be associated in with the Cheech and Chong culture. Wait, unless you think Tommy Chong or Cheech Marin might endorse our products. Also, don’t even mention that what we’re selling can get the people high. We’re medicating now. That makes all the difference.”
Thanks, but no thanks. By the way, I didn’t leave Los Angeles empty-handed.
New York City
So, there I was – boom – Manhattan. Our cab driver dropped us off at the Hotel Edison in Times Square in the late afternoon, just as the winter storm that seemed to be chasing us all day began wreaking havoc on the city. The sleet that came along with all of that nonsense was pelting me in the face as if I had insulted a member of its family. So much, in fact, that it made it difficult for me to see anything at all by the time the driver started handing us our luggage from the back of the van. But not all of my senses were crippled by the cruel, arctic winds. It didn’t take long before I picked up the distinct odor of marijuana drifting up from somewhere in my immediate
Credit: www.forbes.com
