Only two watermelons left. When they're gone, that could signal the end, the hard line dividing summer from whatever Season is next on Daughter of Godcast. Still, two watermelons means more watermelon ginger cannabis smoothies ahead. All raw, so the cannabis has no psychoactive effects; in other words, I don't get high from drinking smoothies that contain unheated cannabis, but I do get something like 100x the dose of all the good stuff, like turpenes, CBD, and THC.
My fair state, Michigan, will consider legalizing recreational cannabis on November 6. With luck, I won't need to renew my medical marijuana card next month. I can expand my research into growing and, yes, eating this fascinating plant. My very first crop is ripening into dense kolas as we speak. An experienced (and cute) grower friend is teaching me how to trim like a pro.
I do smoke occasionally, but eating raw is probably my preferred cannabis interaction, what with all the superpowers showing up. I've recruited a sober and highly evolved friend to eat raw too, and she's reported uncanny improvements in her family's life experience. Access to raw cannabis for health and vitality is barely on the radar screen of legalization advocates, but I can imagine in five years or so, eating raw pot will be absolutely unremarkable, part of a balanced breakfast. In 2024, to celebrate the organic reboot of their world-famous toaster pastries, Kellogg's will introduce a raw pot, watermelon, and ginger Pop Tart. The Pot Tart. Smoking pot won't disappear, because, let's just be honest, smoking looks cool. You're more sexy when you smoke, unless you're a tobacco addict. Then your kisses taste like prison and dingy bus stations.
I've been dipping into the stand-up offerings during my free Netflix month. The comedian Jim Jefferies, of gun control fame, tells the audience his time onstage is not a TED Talk, he's just making jokes. A giant caveat, which in Latin means, let him beware. Stand-up comedians can say whatever they want, even if it's just the truth.
I still think podcasters are more badass, though. Because I have to imagine you laughing and having fun while I'm saying whatever I want. Writing whatever I want and then saying it. I don't have a big theater full of easy feedback, like Jim Jefferies. Just me here in my little white tent, dreaming away. With a kidnapped cat, maybe.
Famous stand-up comics do get more death threats than obscure podcasters. Maybe after DOG is in the world, I'll get a few of those. Probably not; as I've mentioned, I'm only going to be famous among cool people. Cool people don't threaten, they just adroitly slip past your laser security beams, crouch over you as you sleep, and drip buckwheat honey laced with powdered Philosopher Stone psilocybes between your parted lips, then shed their reactive skintight stealth suits and climb into bed with you (if they're of a complementary gender configuration; hetero female in my case). That's a subtle hint, if you're cool, smoking hot and considering a nocturnal ninja operation in Northern Michigan.
What news of Daughter of God? I'm still deep into logistics that are not ready for reportage, so stay tuned. I'm enjoying the unhurried coalescence of a creative team to stride beside us through completion and beyond. I've extended gentle invitations and enjoyed some exciting responses from strategic talent. After much persistence and seduction, a stellar copy editor has agreed to gradually clean up and clarify the episode transcripts. And a precision model maker has agreed to help with miniatures.
Since this is Episode 114, we're all clear that I don't know what I'm doing. Here's the master plan anyway: I've got a fuck ton of podcast content on dog.movie. If only 1 percent of that is genius, that's about an hour. If 2 percent is pretty fucking fantastic, I've got enough for a whole other feature script or documentary. As my copy editor moves through the content, tweaking and polishing, she can identify the smashingly good stuff and create an index for compilation and rerelease. She'll certainly have ideas for expanding and mutating the project. Rather than submit my work to established venues and wait for some editor to resonate with my vibe, I'm instantiating a new venue that's about unapologetically showcasing my singular perspective and resources I dig. Call it vanity publishing or super-ambitious art. Closet scribbling or productivity off the charts. Stephen King started out as a closet scribbler, a famous genre writer once told me. This tent is kind of like a closet.
Back to the fellowship of the DOG, I've been accumulating model kits for miniature scenes — tanks and planes, etc. This is the Toy Universe I talked about in prior episodes. I used to build models when I was a lad, but as all we lads have grown up, the market for model kits has changed. It's mostly older dudes who are building now, and those dudes typically have more expendable income than teens did in the '70s. The hobby has exploded, and there are so many interesting and esoteric projects available. I'll be handing off kits to our very meticulous model builder later this week. As he's big on aircraft, I'm thinking about giving him the A380 to start.
And we've still got our VFX crew Richa and Eshan, Innes the entertainment attorney, and Jil for articulated dolls. A few veterans and new blood. And of course all of you out there listening. This is your movie most of all.
That's Episode 114, Raw, of Summer Vacation, Season Three of the Daughter of Godcast. Much left unstated, secrets simmering on the back burner for a few months now, talking about not much in the meantime, just keeping this river of words flowing, not quite brimming, no danger of flood waters pouring in from side canyons just yet. The sky is azure, cloud free except way off on the horizon, a little puff, hardly even worth mentioning. Could this be the harbinger of a storm? Of a deluge, a word shower approaching? Nice for now not to talk too much, not to be giving a TED Talk or even trying to make you smile, though I'm sure you are a little, one side of your face smirky thinking about this nutcase behind the microphone, in front of the camera who insists on the worthiness of his words. Believing without much evidence in the excellence of expression, of telling you the truth.