A while before I saw Joe Rogan do stand-up in Denver, I organized a bachelor party in nearby Boulder. The area was chosen in part for its rugged, outdoorsy quality, a quality most members of our crew personally lacked. Our quasi-ironic male-bonding activity was shooting clay pigeons, and even then, one of the guys wore a “Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America” t-shirt to the range, in protest. Another thing Colorado had going for it was legal pot, which was still a rarity at the time. I drove with my buddy Doug, a marijuana and wine buff from California’s northern coast, to a dispensary called Helping Hands Cannabis. We bought a container of gummies to eat in the party van on the way to Red Rocks, where we were seeing Chromeo. A few of the guys might have eaten a half but I, inexperienced with gummies, popped the whole thing and within an hour was immobile. At some point I tried to walk up the steps of the amphitheater to find a pulled-pork sandwich and felt like one of the dinosaurs in Fantasia that gets trapped in sludge on the path to extinction.
Read Full Article »
