Venice the Menace & Dowd on a Cloud

  IF YOU'VE SEEN one sidewalk lined with vendors selling beaded jewelry, cheap sunglasses, graphic T-shirts, musk incense and unique, spray-painted artwork, then you can imagine a similar open marketplace attraction along the Venice Beach Boardwalk. The people strolling along, or bicycling, or adeptly whizzing by on skates are just as colorful as the children's face paints and teenagers donning henna tattoos and decorative, braided hair, if not more so.

  Catching a glimpse of the eclectic locals is probably more of an attraction than the scenic coastline. Just the mention of Venice Beach conjures up mental pictures of folks who dress and act as though the Psychedelic Era, if a time ever existed, has yet to pass the flower-powered garb and the tie-dyed head bands to the next generation. These days, the philosophy of free love and the hallucinogenic truths of Timothy Leary make for interesting, sometimes contentious conversations. In addition, the Santa Monica Pier and the world famous, Gold's Gym (Muscle Beach) are major attractions all their own.  Venice Beach Map

  Though raised in Southern California, I've been to Venice Beach a few times to revel in some real, live curiosities. NOT to detract from one of L.A.'s hotspots, the observational experience is nothing like watching the locale's backdrop on the tube: no glamour, no glitter, no glee. There's something about the air and I'm not talking about getting a whiff of the smudgy, looming inversion layer or the smell of polluted ocean water. There are as many psychics and palm readers as there are snake charmers and sword-swallowing Eeebie Jeebies.

   My sun-visor hat's off to the red-eyed-guy asking for signatures to legalize marijuana beyond obtaining a 'green card' from a legitimate dispensary. Holding out a brochure (obscure literature) supporting the artistic use of hemp weed, ganja, Acapulco Gold, Roger asked me to sign the tattered, scribbled petition dated 2011. Notwithstanding M-J is legalized in 23 states (Legalized Medical Marijuana States), I was willingly subjected to a dissertation on the many global and extraterrestrial conspiracies impeding his progress -- which I fully comprehended for a minute or two. Strange. 

   Most recently, I read Maureen Dowd's recollection of her stoner experience after she nibbled on PRESCRIBED MARIJUANA BROWNIES to better compose an admonishing opinion piece about the effects of ingesting the herb. The only thing missing was hot tea to wash the treat down.

   I'm a fan of the Pulitzer Prize-winning, New York Times (liberal) journalist. She's funny most of the time. At other times, she's condescendingly scathing with the written word, skewering many a human being (politician) with her pen. Truly, writing is her gift. So, this isn't a critique of the article nor her transcendental experience, but it did read like a tenuous, prim and proper, verbally gift-wrapped, Martha Stewart-like composition. One of her post-trip, FDA-simile cautions was that the marijuana packaging lacked a prescribed dosage:  NY Times Maureen Dowd MJ Brownies.    

  "Hmmm. What do you think about that, Roger?" I asked the skinny, shirtless, tall, sixty-something, cannabis advocate. He sat down low in his beach chair next to an end table stacked high with old newspapers, books and magazines. Gazing pensively toward the sky (conspiratorial aliens), calmly folding his hands on his lap, he cleared his throat as if preparing to utter something profound.

   "Lyn, who can eat ONE, PLAIN brownie? Not me!" he admitted.

   "That makes two of us," I chimed in. "I've overdosed on many a baked good. I'm not picky, either," I said.

   "Sounds like she's a bogart. Didn't anyone mention the side effects of weed: UNCONTROLLLLLLLLLLABLE MUNCHIES followed by a little nap time?" Roger drawled out the notorious junk food pang, notably compounded with lassitude.

   "I guess the brownie packaging isn't labeled with either a weed dosage or brownie nutrients," I said.

    "Even if it was, she wanted to get high, right? She was going to scarf as many brownies as it took to get high. That's what I'd do," Roger said. "Then I'd eat 'em all because of the munchies. I'm telling you, it's a vicious cycle that doesn't stop until the brownies are all gone," Roger laughed. "C'mon. Everyone knows that."

    That's all I'm saying about my conversation with Roger at Venice Beach and close encounters of the third kind, save for one, tweeted inquiry from @pourmecoffee posted after Dowd's New York Times published, clouded perspective: "Did you ever look at your hand, I mean *really* look at your hand?"  

   Seriously, the Venice Beach Boardwalk is an open, L.A., cultural experience. Spend some time on the historic pier where there's an arcade and a few carnival rides. No doubt, you'll bump into Roger somewhere along the boardwalk. By his own account, he's been stationed at Venice Beach petitioning for the legalization of marijuana since 1975.

Funny Venice Beach Video by Yellow Productions (2009 but as current as ever).