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My first high occurred where I grew up in Larchmont, New York, at one of my girlfriend's houses one night at a party. I was 16 years old at the time, playing in my first rock and roll band and it was a fellow band member who supplied the smoke. At first I didn't feel anything at all and I wondered what the whole thing could possibly be all about. But the guy kept on supplying and I kept on smoking, just sitting on the floor and wondering if something interesting would ever happen. I stood up to go to the bathroom and that's when it hit me. I got extremely dizzy, the whole room started spinning around me, and I fell backwards in slow motion as time slowed down dramatically. I felt the back of my head smash against a metal radiator but I felt no pain. I couldn't move, so my cohort helped me up and then I got sick and vomited out the bedroom window. Almost immediately I felt much better and I experienced my first serious case of "the munchies". The girlfriend brought in a box of something that was a combination candy bar and cereal called "Golden Nuggets" - little chocolate bars with caramel and rice crispies. I chowed down the entire box and it was the best thing I had ever tasted in my life. It was simply an orgasmic eating experience unlike anything I'd ever felt before, and I said to myself, "Ahhhhhhh, NOW I understand what this is all about. I LOVE this! Beer is a complete waste of time, THIS is where it's at for me!"

The very next thing I discovered is that music can be indescribably more enjoyable when heard in a state of stoned ecstacy. An even better band member took me to a party at the apartment of one of his friends in Larchmont and that's when I heard Jimi Hendrix's "Are You Experienced" for the first time. Unfortunately, I heard it on a tiny little record player with tiny little speakers so I completely missed the Experience the first time around. Those of us in the rock and roll business were the lucky people, the "beautiful people", and the very best smoke like Acapulco Gold was about $30 per ounce when Sergeant Pepper surprised the living daylights out of us with its galactic originality. We were all calling each other on the phone and saying, "You've GOT to get over here, get high and listen to this album!" No matter how many times we all listened together, we kept hearing new sounds we hadn't heard before. At that time tons of other new groups and hit songs kept coming at us in rapid successsion, and there will never be another time in all of musical history that was so much fun in terms of the simple joy of discovery and the mutual sharing of all our newly discovered sounds while getting stoned together.

A few years after I moved from New York to California, I was playing in the house band at The Boathouse in Sausalito. The Boathouse was actually situated on a dock overlooking San Francisco bay. We used to take our breaks between sets by going out to the end of the dock with the free drinks that were gratis for the band, and the not-so-free smoke that we provided for ourselves and just breathe the fresh salt air in between inhaling the world's best cannibis. A super successful dealer named Steve who had a house on Tiburon island had attached himself to our band and we used to go over to his house regularly to score. He always had a big black plastic bag in his closet which was filled with something highly unusual and suited for the gourmet tastes of the rock stars he wanted to hang out with. Steve had a kind of microscope I had never seen before because it shined a light onto the subject and magnified it about 100 times. I had never examined super pot before under a microscope and it was fascinating, kind of like the magnified lawn in "Honey I Shrunk the Kids". He had the real Columbian Gold - bright yellow bricks with a delicious taste and a powerful psycho-active high, and each brick was imprinted with a round "Santa Marta Gold" stamp. One time Steve had something called "wacky weed", also from Columbia, but when examined under his microscope I could see every color of the rainbow in it and the power of this stuff was simply not to be believed. I remember him having a pound of some stuff from Guatemala, something black from Africa, Maui Wowie, Jamaican Red, Panama Red, and the list went on and on. People nowadays believe that California homegrown sensemilla is the best in the world, and it certainly can be, but young Californians have no idea of the variety of super pot we used to get. They are under the impression that all our homegrown is higher in THC content than anything from the old days, but they are wrong.

Many years after that, I purchased my dream home in Walnut Creek, which is in Contra Costa County, east of San Francisco's east bay area. I had begun working with a professional landscaper and as we worked together and became close friends, I discovered that he was also from N.Y.C. and that not only was he an expert landscaper, but he was also an expert in the growing of marijuana. He told me a story that was hard to believe. Many years ago he was hired by the Federal Government to manage a secret experiment in the scientific cultivation of marijuana. The government had leased a couple of huge warehouses in the Bronx and subdivided each warehouse into segregated rooms with 20 foot high ceilings. In each room, they grew a different variety of pot, using humongous grow lamps and huge air conditioning systems to keep the entire place ventilated at all times. My friend had to have a government security clearance, and they made him the manager of the entire growing operation. I wouldn't have believed his incredible story if he hadn't shown me the photograph album he had kept as a record of his experience. I saw all the photos of every room, from when the plants were babies to when they were harvested at full maturity. This is the truth, I have no reason to make up a story like this. As part of my landscaping project I had taken advantage of the left rear corner of my property to construct two standing racks to support solar panels for heating my pool. There were four 10 ft. x 4 ft. panels on one standing rack, and the same number on another rack separated by a space of about 15 feet. Both racks were tilted to face the direction of the sun, and the space in between the racks could not be seen by any of my neighbors. So that's where my friend and I began our secret garden.

My friend had been saving his best seeds for many years and he selected two varieties for me. One was called Afgani Kush, and the other was Purple Zacatega from Mexico which has now become one of the most popular varieties in California. He taught me all the tricks, and believe me, there are a lot of them that most growers don't know about. It's not at all easy to grow the world's best pot, but it can definitely be done in a back yard in Walnut Creek. He taught me how to prune properly, and with the Afgani Kush variety, he pruned it in a different way so that instead of having a main trunk with many branches, it had about 10 main branches that sprung out in a circle like a weird kind of cactus. This type of plant only grows to a maximum height of about 5 feet, but each of the 10 branches form one continuous enormous bud that is about as long as my forearm and about 5 inches in diameter. He knew exactly how and when to spike the plants with chemicals that maximized the THC content, and he took care of spraying them to prevent bugs from damaging the buds. He also knew exactly when to harvest because as it turns out, if you wait too long, the THC content diminishes. The last step was to hang the harvested plants upside down for low temperature, slow drying. So I not only had the freshest and most potent psycho-active pot of my life, but I was literally awash in it. Soon after that a new law was passed that gave power to the police to confiscate the home of a known grower. I had no intention of selling any of it anyway, so instead, I gave my friend all he asked for, and it became one constant party for all the rest of my friends. My party ended abruptly on the morning of May 5, 1994, and that story is told more appropriately elsewhere on this site.