IN THE MOOD FOR MOOD

 It appears that early spring is the time for my creativity to take a hike; I've had one or two pieces on the fire for weeks now, long enough for said fire to go out. I'll return to them when the brain switches on again. Perhaps this is the time for me to pay attention to a piece of junk mail that arrived yesterday -- a missive I never thought I'd live long enough to see, but am now too old to get excited about.

The product is called Mood, and its address, hellomood.com, sounds like an advertiser on Lifetime or HGTV; the type that sells products to turn your home into your personal spa, like Danish Sticky Bun-aroma incense, or skin lotions made from only the most endangered rainforest plants. 

I hope my mailman doesn't get the wrong idea.

Wrong mood, friend. This mood is the kind that until recently was illegal in all 50 states. Marijuana has now joined the ranks of cable TV, phone services, and Medicare scams as junk mail you didn't know you needed. 

Not that the mellow Mood folks call it marijuana. This is THC and cannabis, in a half-dozen delightful means of consumption: edibles, pre-rolls, gummies, vapes, flowers, and concentrates. No longer will you have to search the bottom of your underwear drawer for rolling papers. Nor will you need to make sure you have snacks on hand when the munchies start -- not when the stuff is already in the "food". 

And it's not like they're marketing this stuff to kids. The Mood card is addressed to OUR FRIENDS OVER 21. They have no idea just how far over 21 we are.

Looks like somebody got there way
before Mood.

Remember when you smoked a joint to get stoned, period? That's so 1975! These days, cannabis, like automobiles, computers, and slippers, come in different styles: Classic, Chill Euphoric, Relieved, Energized, and more. One is "perfect for deep conversation, making art, brainstorming." Sure. As I recall, the deep conversation we engaged in while stoned were comparing Bugs Bunny to Daffy Duck. Art never getting the past the sharpening the pencil stage. And brainstorming was along the lines of, "I've got it! What if we made a three-hour movie of us watching a three-hour movie!" 

That particular Mood product, by the way, is called Ice Queen Dab Badder, to be used in a dab ring. (Drop me a line if you know what the hell these things are.) One of the pre-rolls -- "a slice of happiness that melts over you like butter on freshly baked bread" -- is called Wonder Bread. Are they too stoned to realize there's such a thing as copyright laws?  

I don't recall side effects like comparing legs.

My dope days ended around 1994, when alleged creativity gave way to sleepiness. But about seven years ago, while at a Super Bowl party, I was invited by the host to step outside with some other guests to indulge. He warned me that grass had changed over the years. But so had I! Just not enough. 

For several minutes, I felt nothing. Just as I was ready to ask for my money back (not that I paid anything anyway), my brain suddenly felt like it was expanding and shrinking like a car-washing sponge. The laid-back vibe that the marijuana of long ago had "advanced" to an out of control fear that I was never going to be normal again.

Where were these marijuana
girls when I was smoking?

After returning inside, I stood totally still as the sounds and sights of the party felt like locomotives speeding toward me from all sides. Whatever felt like drug-induced paranoia in the past was nothing compared to this. How long did I stand there frozen in place? Two minutes? Five? Twenty? 

In reality -- something I was desperately in need of -- it was probably 30 seconds. I stumbled into the next room to grab my jacket and get the hell out of there without even a goodbye to my generous host. 

I haven't tried it since. I doubt Mood will tempt me to try it again, even in gummy form. Living in the year 2024 has made my mood paranoid enough.

Just how paranoid? A few minutes after browsing the Mood site in order to glean information for this piece, I received an email from its co-founder thanking me for visiting, even though I hadn't left my name or address. Who needs high-octane pot when life as we know it is this weird?

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