It’s My Life

Tag: skis_legend

  • A Day in My Life | July 8, 2026

    Some days are packed with big accomplishments. Other days are stitched together with little victories, unexpected detours, and stories you couldn’t make up if you tried.

    I started the day by rescheduling an appointment online through a text message. Pretty cool, actually. They’ll be here Friday to replace the button that decided to call it quits last night.

    Even better, my left hamstring woke up feeling about 90%. After the last couple of weeks, that felt like a major milestone. I also got the backyard grass watered before the heat rolled in. The grass seed is looking pretty awesome after a good soaking yesterday and another drink today. It’s satisfying to see all that work starting to pay off.

    A V8 Energy helped keep the morning rolling, although by the time the can was nearly empty, I was feeling like I’d already put in a full day’s work… and it wasn’t even 9:00 a.m.

    I decided to sample a little of my Roxanne strain before settling in for a well-earned nap. Sometimes the best thing you can do for healing is simply get out of your own way and let your body recharge.

    The nap did its job.

    Of course, waking up somehow led to cleaning my one-hitter, because apparently that’s how my brain defines “taking it easy.” The moment I cracked it open, the old resin reminded me it had been waiting for some attention. During the cleaning, I managed to coat my left hand with a giant glob of sticky resin. It took a determined round of soap and scrubbing to win that battle, but eventually the tar surrendered.

    With clean hands, a clean one-hitter, and my dignity mostly intact, I wrapped up the afternoon watching Forged in Fire on the HISTORY Channel.

    Looking back, it was a good day. My hamstring is healing, the backyard is getting greener, the one-hitter is clean again, and I even squeezed in a restorative nap.

    Just another day in my life.

    BenJammin 🪨
    Rock Solid Since ’93

  • MythBusters: Testing Cannabis Potency

    There’s a certain kind of confidence in cannabis culture that arrives with no hesitation, no receipts, and no lab results.

    Just one look at a bud and:

    “Yeah… that one’s the strongest.”

    This whole thread started there—and turned into a full MythBusters-style breakdown of whether people can actually judge cannabis potency by sight and smell alone.

    Spoiler: things got humbling fast.

    ⸻

    The Myth

    Experienced cannabis users can accurately identify THC potency by appearance and aroma alone.

    It sounds believable. People swear by:

    • crystals (“more frost = stronger”)
    • smell (“louder = more potent”)
    • density (“tight buds hit harder”)
    • color (“purple means stronger… right?”)

    The confidence is always high.

    The accuracy?
    That’s what we tested.

    ⸻

    The Setup

    Three unknown flower samples.

    No labels.
    No THC percentages.
    No branding.
    No hints.

    Just jars A, B, and C.

    Participants were allowed to:

    • inspect visually
    • smell closely
    • examine bud structure
    • make potency predictions

    No consumption.
    No second chances.

    Predictions were locked before results.

    ⸻

    Round One: First Impressions

    Patterns formed immediately.

    Sample A:
    Bright, frosty, heavily coated.

    “That one’s nuclear.”

    Sample B:
    Dense structure, loud aroma, visually “premium.”

    “That’s top shelf.”

    Sample C:
    Less flashy. Quieter presence.

    “Don’t sleep on that one.”

    And just like that, intuition took over.

    ⸻

    What People Think Matters (and Why It Misleads)

    Crystals (Trichomes)

    More frost is often assumed to mean higher THC.

    Reality:
    Trichomes matter—but visible density alone doesn’t reliably predict potency.

    ⸻

    Smell

    Stronger aroma gets associated with stronger effects.

    Reality:
    Smell reflects terpenes, freshness, and curing—not THC percentage itself.

    ⸻

    Density

    Hard, compact buds are assumed to hit harder.

    Reality:
    Structure depends heavily on genetics and growing conditions.

    ⸻

    Color

    Purple often gets mistaken for strength.

    Reality:
    Usually genetics or temperature stress responses—not potency.

    ⸻

    Round Two: The Blind Reality Check

    Once predictions were locked, things got interesting.

    Without labels:

    • assumptions stayed strong
    • confidence stayed even stronger
    • actual accuracy started slipping

    Participants correctly identified:

    • freshness
    • aroma quality
    • curing quality
    • overall appeal

    But THC levels specifically?

    Guesses scattered everywhere.

    What looked “strongest” wasn’t always strongest.

    What looked average sometimes surprised everybody.

    And one understated sample quietly outperformed expectations.

    ⸻

    The Reveal

    Lab results came in.

    The room energy shifted instantly.

    • The “obvious winner” wasn’t highest in THC.
    • The prettiest sample wasn’t strongest.
    • The sleeper jar quietly took the top spot.

    It wasn’t random.

    But it also wasn’t visually predictable.

    ⸻

    The Real Lesson

    This is where the myth breaks cleanly.

    People are actually pretty good at identifying:

    • freshness
    • cure quality
    • aroma richness
    • overall experience potential

    But precise THC percentage?

    That’s a completely different layer.

    Because cannabis isn’t one variable.

    It’s a system:

    • cannabinoids
    • terpenes
    • harvest timing
    • curing process
    • storage conditions
    • individual tolerance
    • context

    ⸻

    Final Verdict

    MYTH: BUSTED

    You can often judge quality with your eyes and nose.

    But precise potency?

    Not reliably.

    And the most accurate prediction in the entire test ended up being the simplest one:

    “I’ll know after I try it.”

    Turns out that’s not just a joke.

    It may be the most scientifically honest answer in the room.

    ⸻

    Closing Note

    Cannabis culture loves certainty.

    Cannabis itself doesn’t always cooperate.

    And maybe that’s the point.

    Not everything important can be read from the outside.

  • 4/20 Memories @ The Denver Diner

    Yay it’s finally April

    It’s funny how some 4/20 memories aren’t about massive crowds, smoke clouds over a park, or music blasting through the city. Sometimes, it’s just about where you land after work is done for fthe day.

    I’ve only really done one proper 4/20 outing, and it still sticks with me. My old ski partner and I ended up at Denver Diner—that perfect late lunch, early dinner window where you’re not rushed even though the Denver Diner was packed, everything slows down just enough to feel it.

    But the real story started long before we sat down.

    That day was all cutting and trimming weed. Hours of it. Hands sticky, senses overloaded, and that smell—fully locked in and happy. Not the casual “yeah, I smoke weed” kind of scent. No sir. This was the industrial-strength, been breathing weed all-day, loud-without-speaking kind of smell.

    There are levels to this game.

    Some people try to smell like weed.

    Some people are weed.

    I was firmly in the second category.

    By the time we walked into the diner, I was half-aware of it and half not caring at all because it’s 420. That strange mix of exhaustion and satisfaction had kicked in—the kind where you know you earned whatever’s coming next. Food hits different after a day like that. Not just better—earned.

    Now here’s the kicker: Civic Center Park—ground zero for Denver’s 4/20 scene—isn’t that far away from the old Denver Diner. We could’ve wandered over, jumped into the crowd, made a whole thing out of it.

    But honestly?

    We didn’t need to.

    It was already 4/20 on the calendar—and I smelled like weed… go figure.

    No big crowd. No spectacle. Just two guys, a long day behind them, and a meal that felt like a reward.

    And looking back? That might’ve been the best way to do it.

    Because sometimes, you don’t go to the event.

    Sometimes… you are the event.

    Denver 420

    Denver Diner

    Civic Center Park

    Denver Weed

  • Daily Journal — March 16, 2026

    Daily Journal — March 16, 2026

    8:00 AM and my phone rings.

    It’s Mr. George from WP. That alone kind of freaked me out—nobody calls that early unless something’s wrong, especially from Mr. George. But I answered anyway. Turns out he was “just” already bored at 8 AM on his first day off of the week.

    The last time the G-man called me was about a while ago when they had a mechanical issue on the gondola and had to break the ropes out. He gave me a full play-by-play of what was happening up there. Later that night I saw the same story on 9News.

    Today’s report from GMan: a couple of his lift maintenance snowmobiles were tied up dealing with kids and moms who were wandering into the closed lift area down by the snowmaking pond. Apparently that’s the first morning adventure of the day.

    I apologized for not calling him lately. Truth is, we just haven’t been heading up there much. The snow kind of sucks right now, and when the snow sucks, the motivation to make the trip in traffic disappears pretty fast.

    Still, it was good hearing from him. Funny how a random 8 AM phone call can suddenly drop a little WP into a quiet morning down here.

  • Gravity Is Undefeated — But I’m Still Standing

    Gravity Is Undefeated — But I’m Still Standing

    Gravity Is Undefeated

    Adjusting Effort

    There’s a difference between avoiding effort and adjusting effort.

    For a long time, I couldn’t tell the difference.

    If I took a day off, I felt guilty.

    If I took a week off, I felt like I was sliding backward.

    After a brain injury and a stroke, effort isn’t just about willpower. My nervous system doesn’t always fire evenly. That shows up in my gait. In the limp. In recovery time.

    Explaining it mechanically keeps it neurological instead of moral.

    I’m not lazy.

    I’m recalibrating.

    2. The Shower Debate

    Two days without a shower.

    Not because hygiene doesn’t matter — but because the effort had a cost.

    When you’re managing pain, recovery, and energy regulation, even a shower becomes a negotiation.

    “If I’m not working out, why shower?”

    Then I stepped in.

    Hot water. Steam. Stillness.

    When I got out, I didn’t feel perfect.

    I felt good.

    Sometimes maintenance isn’t about productivity.

    It’s about momentum.

    3. Weed Day

    There’s ritual in it.

    Cleaning the supply. Replacing it. Air moving through the house. Fan on. Draft from bathroom to office.

    Outside, Castle Rock hums with loud trucks and hard acceleration. It feels aggressive sometimes.

    Outside is stimulus. Inside is control.

    Inside the house, it’s different.

    Slower breathing. Quieter thoughts. Contained space.

    I’m not hiding.

    I’m regulating.

    4. The Walk

    The elementary school route should be simple.

    But engines rev. Throttle echoes. My nervous system spikes before logic arrives.

    No one has hit me.

    No one has swerved at me.

    But unpredictability feels unsafe.

    Loud acceleration doesn’t mean danger — but my body reads it as volatility.

    If the vehicles were quiet and steady, I would enjoy the walk.

    That distinction matters.

    I’m not avoiding outside.

    I’m managing overstimulation.

    5. Rebuilding the Plan

    I told my physical therapist:

    “This plan has kept me in pain.”

    We scrapped it.

    Now it’s Monday, Wednesday, Friday — stretch days.

    Structure without punishment.

    The Gazelle machine isn’t discipline theater.

    It’s not punishment. It’s preservation.

    It’s mobility insurance.

    It’s future-proofing.

    I want to do this.

    6. The 3 A.M. Window

    I woke between 3 and 5 a.m. Wide awake.

    Not anxious. Just alert.

    So I played my weed-growing game.

    When I woke again at 7:30, I felt calm. Focused. Motivated.

    Observation instead of judgment.

    Optimization instead of shame.

    Even my curiosity about upgrading tools — premium software, better output, more structure — isn’t impulsive.

    It’s strategy.

    7. Gravity Still Sucks

    Let’s get this out of the way:

    Gravity is undefeated.

    If you’ve got a complaint, take it up with Isaac Newton. He turned a falling apple into law, and now we all live under it.

    Gravity doesn’t negotiate.

    It doesn’t care how motivated you are.

    It waits.

    People say, “He fell.”

    No.

    Gravity collected.

    Every wobble. Every misstep.

    It doesn’t need drama.

    Just opportunity.

    If gravity is always pulling down, then every time you stand up, you’re resisting the universe.

    Standing isn’t neutral.

    Walking isn’t casual.

    It’s defiance.

    Newton wrote the equation.

    He didn’t solve for grit.

    And sometimes, grit wins — at least for today

  • About Me and Why I Write

    About Me and Why I Write

    First and foremost, it gives me something solid to show for my day.

    Not every day comes with visible progress. Recovery is slow. Thoughts are messy. Time can slip by without anything concrete to point to. But when I write, there it is — a page, a post, a record. Proof that I showed up.

    Writing turns an invisible day into something tangible.

    There is only one boss: my spell check.

    No committee. No performance review. No applause meter. Just me, the keyboard, and the quiet discipline of putting words together in a way that makes sense. Spell check might argue with me, but it’s a fair boss. It doesn’t care about status. It doesn’t care about noise. It just wants clarity.

    I like that.

    Writing slows my thinking down enough for me to see it. It forces honesty. If a sentence doesn’t work, I fix it. If a thought doesn’t hold up, I reshape it. That process feels constructive. It feels like progress.

    On days when everything feels scattered, writing gathers things up.

    On days when the world is loud, writing gives me control over the volume.

    And at the end of it, I have something real — something I made.

    That’s why I like to write.

    Version two

    Day One Journal Entry

    One Journaling App

    I need to convince myself to stick with just one journaling app, and I’m leaning toward Day One.

    There’s something about having everything in one place that feels calmer — less scattered, less searching. One timeline. One archive. One habit.

    When I bounce between apps, it works, but it also feels unfinished. Like I’m halfway committed in two directions. Choosing one feels intentional.

    Day One is built for journaling. It feels like a home for thoughts, not just a storage bin. That matters.

    Recovery after my stroke isn’t dramatic or linear. It’s slow, repetitive, and easy to lose track of. Writing gives that process structure. It helps me notice patterns, track progress, and make sense of days when my thinking feels foggy or uneven. When my brain gets overwhelmed, the page doesn’t. It waits.

    Writing things down is part of how I rebuild clarity — one entry at a time.

    In other news, I still have some sativa left over from a half‑gram joint from my stepbrother John. It’s early. I could change my mind. But honestly, I think I’m good for the day.

    Living with a traumatic brain injury has made clarity not just helpful, but essential.

    Clarity feels better than drifting.