If only all men were so lucky

So I'm going through all the pictures on my computer when I come across a very special set. No, not the "Come on baby, you look sexy and I'd NEVER show them to anyone" set, although those are always fun to peruse. No, this set has much more sentimental value. I was busy reminiscing, getting all emotional and shit, when Rick James' "Mary Jane" came on the Itunes. An omen, for sure. I was to share the love with the rest of you. Here goes....

To set the scene (a la Giz), the year was 2003. (OH SHIT, Jackson Five "I Want You Back" just came on... it really IS a sign from God!) Okay, so 2003. Probably the greatest year of my life. Especially the summer. We drank every night, were stoned nearly every hour of the day, and I had lots of unprotected sex. A criminal amount. Oh yeah, this was also the year that Frankie intoduced the great sport of beer die to the great University of Texas (Maine rules, of course). Life was a blur of plunking, NCAA 2004, and bong hits.

Throughout it all, we dreamt ceaselessly about growing. Dude, how fucking cool would that be... We could so do it... My bathroom is the perfect size... Lots of talk, little action. Actually, I take it back. We did pick up an issue of High Times to check out how much they were selling seeds for in the ads. They were pretty damn expensive. Our dream was to remain one of the "pipe" variety - or so it seemed...

Our skeezy buddy and sometimes supplier hooked us big time. For some reason someone had sold him some special KB loaded with seeds. I think we eventually determined it was a Blueberry-Lemon cross. I don't remember if he knew that we wanted to grow or not, but he offered to sell us some, and of course we snatched up a good quarter.

So there they were, in our hands.

Little seeds.

Our future.

Things rolled quickly forward from that point. After researching, we settled on this place as our equipment supplier, and water farm as the system of choice. I'm pretty sure I chopped up a scholarship check to afford the five or six hundred bucks we each threw in to get started. It's actually pretty interesting to think about what percentage of my scholarship money went to drugs and beer throughout my college career. I'd say about 110.

Okay, all set. Got the hydro system. Got the light, hood, and ballast. Got the timer. Most importantly, got the seeds. We started them off in a moist paper towel on top of the fridge. In a week they had sprouted and were ready for transplant to a potting tray. We had already set up that big fucking light in my bathroom. The timer was set from 5 pm to 5 am, and in they went. Two weeks later, we moved them into the hydro setup. We only had enough room for four, so we picked the four that showed the most potential.

They were in a state of plant euphoria. The hydro system is a really cool setup when you stop and think about it - I always wanted to do tomatos next but never got around to it. It's just plant, support, and sweet, nourishing, supplemented water. As my grandpa would say, "¿que mas quieres, Vicente?"

We made some sort of semi-educated guess as to what the time frame should be. If memory serves correctly, I think we were looking to harvest in about 4 months. I think. This was in October. Needless to say, we did not harvest in four months. 2 months into it, I couldn't see my bathroom mirror anymore. We knew fuck-all about how they should be pruned and trimmed and all that jazz. We made a few calculated chops here and there, but for the most part those things just grew like they were in the Panamanian wild.

We did have a grower's bible that we went by that had some pretty good pics, so we were able to tell that two of our four were males. This would not stand. Pollination jacks up everyone's world. We chopped them down with scissors and used the leaves as bong fodder.

Big and bushy, the females grew. And bigger. And bushier. Our babies, as we affectionately referred to them, were becoming as pleasing aesthetically as anything else. They really were things of beauty. Eventually, early March (right?) rolled around, and the little fuzzy-ass buds that had sprung up everywhere were crystallized to fruition. We harvested.

The rest is history. My only regret is that we didn't take more pictures. The whole thing should've been a detailed photo-doc, but alack. There's always next time I guess.

Okay, as I write these last words, Keith Sweat's "Nobody" is playing. This is probably a counter-sign from God, telling me not to publish what I have written, but I'm going for it anyway.

Here's to 2003, our glory year:



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And now for the "Told You SO!" moment of the day: What did I say? I believe something to the effect of "Va Tech is more overrated than The Da Vinci Code." Perennially! Never, ever, EVER put any of your eggs in the Va Tech basket.