We have great speakers like Nandu Sarma, Brian Vicente, and many others lined up. Heck, even Senator Cory Gardner is hoping to find time to phone in from the Capitol and take some questions, if the Senate schedule will allow for it!
The most exciting aspect is the virtual component we will begin test running this week. This is an in-person conference, but with COVID-19 limiting our seating to 100, and with many still not comfortable going out in public, we have optimized this conference for the virtual experience.
There will be a virtual lounge for networking, a virtual trade show floor so you can discover some of the leading brands in cannabis, and of course, we’ll have all the in-person content streaming live so you can still catch the session(s) you most want to see even if you can’t be at the Holiday Inn Denver East in person.
One last thought. We wanted to do something to help the cannabis industry in this trying time, so we are giving away virtual trade show booths to cannabis industry entities who introduce to a cannabis license holder. It’s that easy, email info@2020GrowthConferences.com for more info!
The cannabis industry is experiencing annual growth rates exceeding 30%! And many states are not even open for business yet. A number of Americans looking for a new career might ask themselves “Perhaps I should work in the cannabis industry?”
Here are a few tips to get started in cannabis:
1 Know Your Market. What state are you in? In America in 2020, cannabis is all about what state you live in. Do you need a badge? Is your state medical only or “full on rec” (recreational)? If it’s not legal yet in your state, it might be close. Many states are deciding in two months. Learn the legal language on what will be legal when.
2 Start Growing. In some states, like Colorado, it’s legal to grow a certain number of plants yourself for personal use. Do it. Learn what’s involved. Even if you don’t want to work in a grow facility – and they’re not grow houses any more, they’re full blown facilities – you’ll have a greater appreciation for the plant. And those who do grow will have a greater appreciation for you. Even if you want to be the accountant. Especially if you want to be the accountant.
3 Start Making Friends In The Industry. You know the old saying, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. LinkedIn is particularly kind to cannabis. Start building relationships.
4 Use Cannabis. Smoke it. Try sativas, try indicas, learn about terpenes. Eat and drink cannabis too, because now you can. Rub a CBD topical on your skin. Understand the consumer experience.
5 Ancillary Or Plant Touching? This is one you may not know the answer to yet. Ancillary businesses, like insurance, payment processing, and yes, conferences, make money by being part of the industry without actually touching the plant. This is key in one regard – taxes. If you start a grow operation or a retail dispensary, expect to pay the IRS $70,000 out of every $100,000 you bring in. Don’t believe me? Read up on IRS 280E.
Indeed, a cottage industry is arising that helps grows and dispensaries carve out part of their operations as not plant touching – bookkeeping for example – and then carving out the tax savings too, reclassifying to a more typical 15% or so. Do the math.
6 Work It If You’ve Got It. Let me blunt. America appears to be genuinely trying to do something about the systemic racism in this country. Finally.
So if you’re a person of color, research social equity programs. Highlight your ethnicity, especially if the place you’re applying has a board that’s all white (it still happens way too much). Women of color in particular, I guarantee you, somewhere in this industry, there’s a white guy who needs to hire you in more ways than one.
7 Join An Industry Org – And Work It. Great organizations like NCIA and NACB advocate for and represent the industry to elected officials, the media, and others. They can’t do it alone. They need both our time and our money to be effective advocates for our movement. Sign up, pay your annual dues, but don’t stop there. Join a committee, go to events, participate! 90% of life is just showing up!
Also, your resume will pop if it includes the NCIA logo on there.
8 Visit A Co-Working Space. In Colorado, the Denver market is served by Cultivated Synergy. Co-working spaces do events regularly to bring people into their space. Go to some!
If you start your own company or organization, rent a co-working space. In addition to all the perks of a co-working space like sharing scissors and printer/copiers, Cultivated is focused on the cannabis industry. All co-working spaces offer value – find one in your industry, and you get the added value of meeting people across your industry.
9 Attend Industry Events. The Cannabis Public Policy Conference on September 23-24 has a virtual option that’s only $29 for two full days of content. The trade show floor is free. There are dozens of events like this every year in cannabis.
August 12, 2020 marks the 25th anniversary of the death of Jerry Garica. RIP old buddy, I never got to meet you, and yet, you felt like an old friend.
For the uninitiated, the Grateful Dead were certainly special for their music, and their music carries on thanks to both The Tapers and the band. The Tapers, as they were known, were the DeadHeads who lugged around sophisticated analog recording equipment from show to show. Mind you, with most bands, you get caught recording their concert, the best you can hope for is a not-so-gentle escort out the front door you came in. You might also get arrested or even sued.
Not the Dead. They (brilliantly) told their fans “Sure, you want to make a recording, we’ll not only let you do it, we’ll carve out the best space on the floor and let you sit there.” (The dancers knew the best sound was behind the tapers, and even better, since you couldn’t see the stage very well behind all those dozens of mics, no one else went back there and you could twirl away.)
So we all owe the Tapers a huge debt of gratitude, because thanks to them, you can listen to any show the boys ever did. And they did a shit ton.
And it was the shows that really made the Grateful Dead into a unique experience.
We called ‘em shows, not concerts, because to call a Dead show a concert would be like calling beer a drink. Sure, beer is a drink, but its so much MORE than just a drink. And so too were Dead shows far more than just a concert.
The parking lot for any Dead show usually opened at 10AM, and there would be a line out front ready to race in and jockey for the best parking locations. Mind you, these concerts were typically at 7PM local time.
These early arrivers were mostly vendors, DeadHeads who scratched out a living by selling burritos or lyric books or, let’s admit it, drugs, to concert goers. The legit vendors arrived early to stake out the corner lots at the key intersections. You know the old adage, location, location, location.
By Noon, the place would be hopping, and by 4PM, the parking lot would be packed. You could buy anything you need in those parking lots, except love. The love was free.
The love was all around, the love flowed freely, and the love was expressed constantly and in unique and beautiful ways that made you glad to be alive. The guys, we’re guys, so we were, by and large, more downlow about it. Smiles mostly. Some hugs. But the women. Oh, those lovely hippie chicks!
Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t sexual in any way. I never saw a topless woman at a Dead show, I never saw a couple “doing it” at a show. And to use a modern phrase we didn’t have at the time, the love was gender non-binary.
I can’t tell you how many random interactions I had with beautiful women at dead shows that left me smiling. I don’t think I ever even got a kiss, but then again, the love was flowing, and on more than occasion, I was tripping. Or as we liked to say, “tripping my balls off.”
I saw the band 19 times. I think I found acid at two shows, the rest, I had to merely smoke copious amounts of weed. That wasn’t hard. At all. It was everywhere, and it was all shared.
I did get dosed in the summer of ‘90 in Pittsburgh. It must have been 98 degrees that day. Old Three River Stadium. In the parking lot, some guy my buddy found had some liquid LSD (“really good shit” I believe was his marketing pitch) for only $20. I gave him the money. He goes “I’m gonna pour one hit in your hand, as soon as I do, like it right up, don’t spill it or anything.” So he pours it in my hand, and I immediately lick it off my palm as he says “Oops, that was more like one and a half. Oh well, it’s on me. Enjoy.”
And enjoy I did! Crosby, Stills and Nash opened up that night. The rumor du jour did not, unfortunately, come to pass. Neil Young was not there, or if he was, he chose to be a spectator. No worries, CSN rocked it just fine. Worth the price of admission alone. A few things were consistent around the controlled mayhem of a Dead Show, and one of them was that you always got a great opening act on any summer stadium show.
The summer shows were always the craziest, because football stadiums can hold 60,000, 75,000 people. I never went to any Chicago shows, but I heard they’d exceed 100,000 people. And that’s just ticket holders inside. More people would come just to hang out in the parking lot, perhaps hoping for a “miracle,” a free ticket, and a reference to one of the greatest songs the boys performed, I Need A Miracle. So many of us would sing along to that crowd fav “I need a miracle EVVV ry day!”
I got a miracle, of sorts, once. It wasn’t technically a miracle, because I paid for the ticket. It was a miracle, because I was standing out front of the basketball arena in Charlotte, NC, with everyone streaming past me and going in. It was looking bleak. My friends had long headed in. I had written down their section, just in case. I had $20 to my name. (Good thing I had a ride back to Virginia!!)
I was standing there on the curb, with the number one finger up like all the other hippie bums, begging for a free ticket. There were far more of us than available tickets. As you’ve probably guessed, my one finger meant I just need one ticket please. I just need a miracle.
Suddenly, this couple stopped. The guy told me he a ticket left, one ticket. He didn’t immediately offer it to me. I started telling him how badly I wanted to get in, how all I had in the world was $20 but I’d gladly give it to him for the ticket. He said he could see I was really passionate and a “true Deadhead.” He sold it to me for $10. He could have easily gotten $50, even $100 for it. I hugged him like I’ve never hugged a strange man, before or since.
I ran toward the gate, finally got through security, and as I’m walking the concourse amongst my fellow Heads the band broke out into “Feel Like A Stranger” to open the night. The place went wild. I felt like a stranger, surrounded by people I didn’t know, but strangers I knew I could love and trust.
I danced all the way to my friends seats, where they were pleasantly surprised to see me.
That was Spring 1995. It was a tough time for me, financially, and I couldn’t swing the summer tour, so I had to sell my Orlando tickets.
The Grateful Dead distributed tickets in a unique fashion. The lines must have gotten too unruly, the way all the other acts had to sell tickets, with teens lining up overnight at the local department store waiting for the TicketMaster mainframe to warm up and hopefully work
The Grateful Dead had a very strict system, which was kind of ironic, very un-Dead, but you know, money. You had to go get a money order for the exact amount, and you had to use a 3X5 index card and you had to include a SASE. They had to keep those hippies in line!
So when Winter 1989 went on sale, I mailed in for tickets for the first time. I had been to a few shows at that point, but had never ordered my own tickets. I went for the Grand-daddy of all shows, their fabled New Year’s Eve show they did every year in their hometown of San Francisco. They wrote me back apologizing that Dec 31 was sold out by the time they got to my request. But I did get tickets for the 28th. (And damn it, too broke to find transportation to Cali over winter break in college, I had to sell those tickets. They guy who bought ‘em said the show was “awesome.”)
The point is, I think that got me ranked on their system or something, because I never got denied tickets, and people often got their money orders back with no tickets. Not me. I’d order tickets, and a month later, one day, bam, Dead tickets in the mail. It was like Christmas. My friends took to giving me cash and orders (“Get me one for each of the first three days of the four shows at the Cap Center this March.” “OK dude, but you gotta drive.”)
I’ve always regretted selling those Orlando ‘95 tickets, because unbeknownst to all of us, Jerry up and died suddenly in August 1995.
Rumors that the band wanted to break up had swirled for years. And they seemed to grow throughout the Nineties, and you couldn’t tell if that was natural – they obviously weren’t getting any younger – or borne out of some truth. Or both.
I had a very reliable friend who claimed that Bobby Weir was getting regular action from a chick with whom he used to do it. They were still on good terms, the way a guy and a girl who had casual sex together and aren’t yet married can in a way that a guy and a girl who dated, can’t. You know what I mean?
Anyway, he swore his source was right there, on the inside, no rumors, no translations, he was getting the actual inside word from the family. And the word was that all of them were over it, but none of them wanted to be known as the Yoko Ono of the Grateful Dead. So in a way, Jerry liberated them all by speedballing his ass to heaven.
That August day, President Clinton and his team made some snide remark about drug use that day when they praised him, as one should, when one comments on the passing of any human. Jerry was no ordinary human. He was an artist among artists. He was one of the greats. The snide remark could have waited a day, couldn’t it have? No one was talking up speedballing that day. Indeed, Jerry may have been into it, but I never saw anyone speedball at a Dead show.
I was on the road that day, that wretched, awful day in August ‘95 when concerts died for me. I was over 2 hours from home when I got the word, and the whole way up I-81, racing back to Blacksburg so I could grieve with my friends, I kept looking for a car with a dead sticker in the back window. See, that was the code to show we were cool. Many of my friends said I was stupid, that I was asking to be pulled over by a cop, which never happened, not because of the stickers anyway. Probably didn’t help any when caught speeding, but the stickers themselves never got me searched or anything. And good thing.
Window stickers, bumper stickers, the most common was the steal your face logo, the skull with the lightning bolt through it you may be familiar with. Over the years, some more subtle symbols came forth like the dancing bears and the roses. Like everything else about the band and the scene, it was all beautiful.
Driving home, I didn’t see a single Dead sticker. News moved slower in those days, before the internet and cell phones, but it didn’t move that slow, and I think by Noon, all the Dead heads were at home mourning.
And on that long lonely drive home, I kept thinking “I’ll never be able to go to a large concert again. Nothing will compare.”
About a year later, I mustered up the faux interest to try another major concert. It had been a while. I had seen my share of local acts – The Kind, the Blacksburg Dead cover band, were my favs – but I just couldn’t bring myself to experience another major act in a sports stadium.
In a sense, it wouldn’t be fair. Who could compare to the Dead? (The answer – No one.) I was worried I’d be too disappointed.
But about a year later, I got a chance to go see the great Jimmy Buffet live. We showed up a little early, walked in, waited, had a perfectly adequate concert performed for us, upon the end of which we walked to our cars and waited in a long line to go home.
It was such a let down. The Dead had ruined concerts for me, there were no two ways around it. I continued to support local acts. In 1997 I moved to Colorado, and in my first years here, I had some great moments at The Bluebird and The Ogden Theatre. And some places I’m not sure I ever caught the name of!
In 2016, my oldest was 15, and he wanted to go see The Who. My first thought was, wow, I did a great job raising my son, he likes The Who! My second thought was Hell yeah!
Once again, the standard concert style unfurled. I showed up to a parking lot full of cars and nothing else. Not even a solitary food truck.
The strangers all around us did not speak to us, and us not to them. Shit, no one even tried to pass me a joint during the show, although I suppose that could have been because I was there with my teenage son. (And yes, I would have politely declined. But it’s nice to be asked!)
I keep thinking another band will recreate the traveling magic. Phish got close in one sense, but they didn’t in another. I’m not really an expert, having only seen them once, finally, in 2016, here in Colorado. (Commerce City baby!) And I hear String Cheese is super cool, I never made my way to one of their shows, so I can neither confirm nor deny.
In summer 1991 – or was it 1992? – a group of us went to the Horde Tour. This was a relatively new concept, multiple bands in a show of its own name and design. We signed up because we really wanted to see this new band called Phish, but it turned out Merriweather Post Pavilion was one of the few stops they didn’t make that year. (Our consensus was that the third act was best. We had to look them up. Some guys from Georgia called Widespread Panic.)
Panic had great shows, I know. Amazing, trippy music. And I’m not saying there wasn’t any love there. It just didn’t compare. And would it kill some of you Rastafarians to pull a cooler out of your trunk and spend a few hours selling cold soda (yeah, soda) from the back of your car? A little service here!
Ah, what do I know any more? I’m 52, and twenty years of scrapping and struggling to support my family has beat me down and left no time for staying cool. And frankly, I’m not sure that desire is still there even if I could revert back to not having a life.
So maybe it is out there. Maybe there is a traveling flea market with a circus-like atmosphere, touring America one big city at time, a swirling hive of activity around a great musical act. And if there isn’t, there’s no reason one couldn’t arise out of this new normal. People will want it more than ever.
Another random Dead show memory: The Grateful Dead never played the same song the same way twice. It was part of the charm of the shows, the need to tape every show. Sure, some shows were shit. The boys would be the first to admit it. But some shows were magic.
Each song sort of played out the same, where they began straightforward enough, singing the initial lyrics and what-not. But every song had a place where they would allow themselves to drift off and play off each other and see where the mood swept them, musically. It was like watching Picasso paint. Jerry, over there on our right, would turn to his right, to see his fellow guitarists, Bob Weir and Phil Lesh. Phil, on our left, would turn to his left. Poor Bobby, he always had to look back and forth. What’s Jerry strumming? Where’s Phil headed? I suspect they could have done just as well blindfolded. Maybe even better, I mean, they were making music after all, why did they need to see each other? I think it was mostly to take turns on “lead” so they each knew who they were following. Did it always go perfect? Oh God no. But hey, it was a Dead show. Perfect wasn’t what you encountered along the way. Love and spontaneity were much more valued than cold perfection.
Colorado is a hardscrabble land, and this state was built by pioneers with a strong spirit of hard work and innovation. Today we’re lucky to be joined by two pioneers and innovators in the cannabis industry, Brian Vicente and Mason Tvert.
Brian and Mason were two of the leaders at the forefront of the legal cannabis movement and the effort to end prohibition, an effort which, unfortunately, we are still struggling with today.
Colorado has been a leader in the legal cannabis movement. If you watch this video, you’ll see that Brian and Mason are quick to share credit, as they know it takes the masses to have a political movement. They can be a little too humble, as these two, as much as anyone, deserve credit and thanks for the modern cannabis industry.
As we all continue to adapt and adjust through the Pandemic of 2020, it has become increasingly apparent – thanks to the scientists – that this wretched virus is transmitted more through our breath than through touching dirty surfaces.
Because of this, public officials keep upping the ante on masks. TriCounty Health called for masks when in public across its three-county area (Adams, Arapahoe and Douglas Counties). Douglas County will now leave Tri-County Health because of this.
It’s sad that science is questioned in some political circles. Why?
Think of it like this – if it comes down to everyone wearing a mask all the time in public, or shutting down the economy, then c’mon. Is there really any choice there?
And by not wearing a mask, not only are endangering me and my family, you’re slowing or preventing the re-opening of the American economy. In other words, if you hate America, show it by not wearing a mask.
C’mon people. Just like Climate Change, the science isn’t political, and the Laws of Physics don’t give a shit about your freedom rants. Now, the response to these problems is political, and the responses are legitimate grounds for policy debate.
But not the science. The science is clear. Wear a mask. And eat less meat when you take it off!
with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right,
let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds;…
to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, and a lasting peace among ourselves, and with all nations.” – President Abraham Lincoln at his second inaugural speech on March 4, 1865. 41 days later he would be slain by a white supremacist.
In the aftermath of George Floyd’s brutal murder by police, America finds itself deeper in the conversation of our racial injustice than ever in my lifetime. Let us endeavor to leverage this moment to achieve a just and lasting peace among ourselves.
The eruption of protests around the brutal state-financed murder of George Floyd has me questioning my actions and has me challenging myself to do more for racial justice in America.
I have always considered myself anti-racist, and while I have tried to coax along my fellow white folks, it hasn’t been enough. (In 2006, working with roughly 100 others in a local division of a giant financial services company, I suggested to management – all white, of course – that they really should have more than one black person in a workplace of that size. I literally got back nothing more than blank stares. It wasn’t enough.)
I was proud to put in hours volunteering for Barack Obama’s election in ‘08 and his re-election in 2012, and thank God he won those elections. (Oh, thank God he won those elections.) But it wasn’t enough.
In the buildup to our first Cannabis Public Policy Conference, someone suggested social equity as a breakout session and I thought it was a great idea! And we actually had two sessions. But it wasn’t enough.
I’ll never forget sitting at John Bailey’s Colorado Black Roundtable event in February. I may have been the only white person not running for office in the room. I could feel myself shrinking in my seat as John slowly read out a “list of actions that can get a black man killed in America.”
Running away from the police
Running toward the police
Putting your hands in your pocket
Pulling your hands out of your pocket
He kept going and going. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Why is America, the land that I love, so steeped in racial indifference and hatred? Why why why why why? And that question does no good, there’s no resolution or satisfaction in simply asking why.
Driving a nice car
Standing by a broken down car
Standing on a street corner
Walking down the street
I’m no expert on racially motivated murders. Many of you can cite far more cases than I can. But I kept thinking of Eric Garner, a name all of us should know. Eric was a black man in New York (Long Island I believe) who was selling individual cigarettes, or “loosies,” when police approached him and put him in a choke hold where he famously begged for his life – “I can’t breathe” – before being killed by police.
As John kept going, I kept waiting for “selling cigarettes” or “selling loosies.”
Whistling at a white girl
Talking back to their boss
Eventually the list would get to selling loosies, and mercifully, it ended shortly thereafter. I managed to make it through without breaking down in tears of racial shame. It wasn’t easy.
And I don’t share this story for your pity or for warm affection. I do at least recognize my position of privilege in this country. I share this for other white people. Perhaps you are where I was. Perhaps you feel like you’re not the problem. You don’t lynch black people. You never passed over a black candidate for a job. (Or would you qualify that and say you never passed over a qualified candidate, and it just so happens you’ve never had (what you perceived as) a qualified black job applicant?)
But that isn’t enough.
The next Cannabis Public Policy Conference, September 23-24 here in Colorado, will once again explore the issue of Social Equity in cannabis.
It isn’t much, a breakout session at a conference. It will be whatever we make it out to be.
I promise to make it one of, if not the, biggest and most important sessions at the Cannabis Public Policy Conference on September 23-24. But I can’t do it alone.
We need your help. The cannabis industry needs your wisdom and experience. America needs us to make itself better. Lives literally hang in the balance, and if that expression is racially insensitive, I apologize.
There is a golden opportunity here to leverage the cannabis industry for a sliver of racial justice to oppressed communities. Cannabis has the right mixture of new – policies are still forming around cannabis – and applicable – communities of color were disproportionately targeted by the War on Drugs.
Let’s seize this moment to craft some victories for racial justice. Join us, this discussion is your discussion. Let’s all collaborate to create some wins for historically oppressed communities. Let’s collaborate for progress. America is an imperfect union. It will never be perfect. But the more you and I work at it, the better she gets!