Back when I was a kid, Blogs were called 'imaginary friends' and were only slightly more pathetic.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

The Edgefield Inn. Now With Floor Joints!!

You in here for some marijuana?!

Formerly a home for the mentally... disadvantaged (aka Looney Bin), the Edgefield Inn just outside of Portland is a brewery, winery, bed & breakfast, golf course and wedding facility run by Rip city's answer to Ben and Jerry, the McMenamin brothers (pictured right).

Over the last 20 years or so, the McMenamins have taken unused old buildings (old theatres, churches and schools) and turned them into combination brewpub/movie theatres, themed bars and overall 'Phish-lovin' paradises like the Edgefield. Everything is decorated in that 'Goddess is Alive', 'Ren-Fair' style of art, and it's difficult to go into any of the small little bars, restaurants and tasting rooms at the Edgefield without hearing the Grateful Dead 'entertaining' the staff that works there. In their Bio, Mike and Brian McMenamin say, "Trendy decor doesn't attract a lasting clientele. It's the other way around.". Well guess what, hippies, your decor 'is' trendy. It's unoriginal juggling jester crap that appeals mainly to the 50-something tie-dye crowd. If that isn't trendy, I don't know what is.

Surrounded by trees and nature, it is a really pretty spot, and it's nice that well groomed landscapes like this aren't only reserved for snooty country clubs, but I just couldn't help but feel sorry for everyone working there. Slinging drinks in some dark, buggy little cave to blank-eyed hippies while a mixtape plays the same repetitive guitar noodling over and over and over isn't just my idea of hell, it's like some sort of super advanced hell that you have to do cruel, televised experiments on puppies to get into.

Anyway, as a friend of mine was checking out, she looked down on the floor in the lobby and saw something. Was it a toothpick? A wadded up receipt? Why no, it was in fact a carefully packed and rolled joint. As nonchalantly as she could, she picked it up and then *poof*, we were gone, barrelling down the highway playing banjo getaway music and laughing our asses off at our good luck. Now this may seem like a shitty thing to do, but what does decorum dictate in a situation like this? Lost and Found? Waving it around yelling, "Who dropped their hippie lettuce?". Nope, she did the right thing.

Having planes to catch, she smoked some and left the rest for me and the wife. And, I gotta say, it was the best 'found' stuff I'd ever had. Mind you, I'm no connoisseur, but if there's one thing Oregon hippies do well, it's acquire decent THC.

So if the guy who dropped his joint ever googles "Edgefield Floor Joint" and reads this, thanks for the free shit. Hopefully you'll forgive me and my friends for not having the hotel staff get on the P.A. system and announce your missing bone like a lost kid at the mall. And furthermore, how lazy are you that you can't even pack your joints away so that they're not in danger of falling out of your pocket in the hotel lobby? Hopefully you learned a valuable lesson.

I know I promised yesterday that this would be an 'only in Oregon' type of story, but this really could've happened in Vermont as well. Now who wants pizza?



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