How I Re-Discovered Cannabis—In a Conscious Way

Mr. Light Blue, Ms. Yellow, and me, Ms. Red on the right.

Mr. Light Blue, Ms. Yellow, and me, Ms. Red on the right.

I was 13 when I smoked my first bowl with one of my brothers. I’d always considered my first time smoking weed lucky; I had a guide, we were in the safety of our Oakland home, and the weed was kind Northern California bud. Our parents were out to dinner one Friday night when my 15-year-old brother sat down next to me on the sofa while I was watching The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

“You’re probably going to do this sooner or later, and I’d rather have your first time be here,” he said. Something in his hand glimmered: a pipe with green swirls in clear glass packed with a fresh bowl of green weed with teeny brown hairs in it.

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Acid, Dance, Unity: What Happened to the ’90s Bay Area Rave Scene?

parklotcrew.jpg

Remembering a different time in San Francisco.

My first rave was called Eon. It started in a donut shop on San Pablo Avenue in Berkeley. My friend found out about the donut shop, a.k.a. the Map Point, by calling a phone number listed on the flyer for the rave. I was 16, and it was January 1996.

My acid was kicking in when we stumbled into the donut shop, the fluorescent lights frightening, the rainbow sprinkles fascinating. We handed our five dollars to two guys resembling an ostrich and a bear sitting in a corner with a cash box. They handed over a piece of paper with handwritten directions on it.

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