You wouldn’t seek a meaningful gay education from a copy of ABBA
Gold. Sure, it’s supergay, but it’s among the most vacuous examples
of gay culture, and even most gay people can’t stand ABBA. Likewise,
you wouldn’t try to become a better stoner by watching Jay and
Silent Bob Strike Back, unless you’re also a total dolt. But, for
reasons that make pot-smoking fags like me want to die, those are the
sorts of hackneyed staples prescribed as our culture.

Bound in a cover using a motif from Bambu brand rolling papers,
Pot Culture: The A–Z Guide to Stoner Language & Life portends to be the definitive guide for people interested in getting
high. Although the crisp pastel pages contain some useful nuggets of
information (we’ll get to those soon), the glossary of stonerisms is
dominated by photos of jam-rock icons that indicate smoking pot is
inherently tied to the relics and permutations of hippie culture. Music
equals the String Cheese Incident; people say idiotic things like,
“It’s always 420 somewhere”; and Bob Marley’s family tree is somehow
relevant to you (and to the nine mothers of his children). It even
begins with a rambling forward by Tommy Chong (of Cheech & Chong).
But, unless you actually are a total dolt, none of that
matters—regardless of how much pot you smoke.

So if not that, what is stoner culture, really?

The two biggest stoners I know used to work with me in a local
restaurant. They would kill an eighth-ounce of pot per shift.

But are they like Jay and Silent Bob? Oh no, girl. They’re
super queeny twinks who swish past the bar with trays of glassware.
They are into anime, video games, and Björk—and lots and
lots of pot.

These Chicago sing-along fags, like all pot smokers, also
need some of the instruction found in the book, such as how to neatly
roll a joint, how to score pot in a strange city without getting
busted, and how to hide the smell in a hotel room. There are also some
universally heartwarming celebrity profiles, including Melissa
Etheridge’s story of recovering from cancer with the help of her
munchie-inducing stash. But this book has nothing to do with their
version of pot culture—because that pot culture isn’t the
cherry-picked aesthetic a few hippies cling to and foist on posterity
to sell books and magazines (the authors are both former editors of
High Times magazine).

This is obviously a gift book. If either of the aforementioned two
diner queers saw this pot-culture book, they’d make a catty comment
about stinky hippies—and then go outside to smoke a joint. The
book would be more appealing if it were geared to giftees who weren’t
insufferable hippies or suburban Juggalos. Sure, the anthropology of
hippie culture is interesting, but in the context of a book about pot,
it would be more interesting (rather than totally predictable) if it
included the pot-related history of anything else at all.