There once was a time that smoking marijuana was confined to seedy characters in seedy apartments in seedy neighborhoods (at least that's what the DARE officers always told us), but last night my eyes were opened! Walking down Hawthorne (the Bohemian street where we live that my dad fondly refers to as "Hippie Town") last night, I had my head down because it was pouring rain--not that that does anything, but it made me feel like that picture of James Dean walking the rainy streets of New York at night with his head down and collar up--although I didn't have a cigarette... or the cool hair... or the acting credentials--ok, it was NOTHING like James Dean. Anyway, walking along with my head down, I smelled the unmistakable aroma of marijuana, and looked up to see a group of seedy characters OUTSIDE their seedy apartment in my seedy neighborhood smoking a joint--RIGHT ON THE STREET! Of course, always one to think the best of someone, I assumed they all had Oregon Medical Marijuana prescriptions and that all was right with the world.

I remember the first time I smelled marijuana was at a cub scout meeting, where the town's drug policeman came in and talked to us about the horrors that would befall us if we ever started smoking pot. To help us recognize it, he finished off by lighting a bowl of seized marijuana. One of the scouts smelled it and said, "My grandpa smokes that in his PIPE!" We lived in a small town, and everybody knows everybody else there, so I wonder if the policeman had a little visit with the boy's grandpa after the meeting?