Cool Alternative Smoke Shop photos

Some cool alternative smoke shop images:

The Waterstones on New Street in Birmingham
alternative smoke shop
Image by Wootang01
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80’s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I’ll test for next time.

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, of course – for good measure.

I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I’ve been verily impressed with what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I’ve had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating – the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 – what is that to you?

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I’ve had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history – the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.

13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white – the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in clever variants – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson – I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn’t dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we’ve grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn’t add up for me.

I’m in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle – they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air – fantastic! Taliban beware!

15.4.09
I’m leaving on a jet plane this evening; don’t know when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s many blessings on this trip.

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine – I’m happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

John Wesley’s home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display – I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

I found Samuel Johnson’s house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

I regretfully couldn’t stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies – I got no game – booyah!

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn’t make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

That’s all for England!

Irene at the Grocer in Chinatown
alternative smoke shop
Image by Wootang01
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.

Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80’s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.

Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.

11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I’ll test for next time.

Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!

Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.

My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, of course – for good measure.

I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I’ve been verily impressed with what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.

For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I’ve had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.

Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.

The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating – the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.

12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!

We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.

I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 – what is that to you?

Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I’ve had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.

I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.

My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history – the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.

13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white – the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.

People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.

I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.

Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.

Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.

I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.

Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in clever variants – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson – I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.

14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.

Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.

I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn’t dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we’ve grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn’t add up for me.

I’m in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.

Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle – they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!

Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air – fantastic! Taliban beware!

15.4.09
I’m leaving on a jet plane this evening; don’t know when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s many blessings on this trip.

On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine – I’m happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.

John Wesley’s home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display – I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.

I found Samuel Johnson’s house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.

There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!

I regretfully couldn’t stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.

I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies – I got no game – booyah!

Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn’t make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.

At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.

That’s all for England!

Top Shop protest, Oxford Street, London – 26 March 2011
alternative smoke shop
Image by chrisjohnbeckett

Cool Hi Times Smoke Shop photos

A few nice hi times smoke shop images I found:


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(Sunday cont.)

When the sheriffs let me out of county, it was my brother who came to pick me up. Doug. 18 years, fresh out of high school, skinny, short, spoke with a speech impediment and under-bit jaw. Soft spoken, sensitive, shy and loyal. Douglas. My brother. Braces and retainers throughout the most exciting years of his life. Instead of smoking pot and shop lifting, he spent his time by himself in record shops finding heavy metal records. Doug Funny everyone called him. When I was a senior then, he was only a freshmen.

"Did you tell mom and dad?" I said.
"No."
"Thanks. I’ll tell them myself."
"What happened?" he said.
"They said I was drunk driving."
"Were you?"
"I don’t know."
"Where’s the car?"
"At the tow yard. It’s totaled."
"You should be glad you’re fucking alive and that you didn’t kill anyone."
"I know."
"Fuck you John."
"I know. Sorry."

He wasn’t about his car. He was mad about me. As his brother, I was always causing shit for everyone. So rarely mad. Never cursed at me like that before. Ever. My baby brother. My only brother. I knew he wanted to say: Why do you keep doing this to yourself John?

Me: a young twenty one at the time, coming from a party at four in the morning. Hit a guard rail and did a 360 in the middle of the freeway a few miles past the Golden Gate Bridge. Car was smashed in from the front. Axle twisted enough so that wheel was parallel to the ground. I guessed this is what kept the car from flipping over too. A few miles earlier and I would not be here. I would be in San Francisco Bay with the car. Or could have been worse. Could have hit a tree. Funny. There are a lot of trees on that part of the highway 101. But none for me.

Doug. My brother. My sweet brother. Was pissed but didn’t say anything else. I was grateful that he came to get me. They put me in the cell for 18 hours. Took my tie and shoe laces. The floor of the detox is not concrete but a funny plastic texture. Cold, and like a rubber mallet. "Where’s my phone call?" I said to the deputy.
"If you have coins."
Fuck, I thought. They were laughing at me. The sheriffs. People only get phone calls on TV cop shows.
I called Doug collect and left a message. It was 5:30 in the morning.

He drove two hours, all the way to Marin County Jail in San Rafael to pick me up. Didn’t say anything when we drove up to the tow-yard. We actually bought McDonald’s on the way there. Didn’t say anything when he saw the car he had spent the last year and a half trying to pay off. A red Nissan Fairlady Z with twin turbos, aftermarket intake, exhaust and racing rims. Now sat like a broken red nail. Doug, my brother who did not know how to be angry at family could not say anything else while looking at his car.

Parents didn’t cry. Mom asked me to go to the hospital ER to get my head checked out. I thought she meant it so I went. Doug drove me to Kaiser. When I came back, she asked me, “Where did you guys go?” My dad locked himself in his room. Something I would do.

DUI Laywers. Court cases. Community service. Fines. Accident fees. Hiked up car insurance. Unable to get to work. Lost work. No license to work. No legs. No mobility. Lost year. "Fuck it!"

During this year, two months after the accident, Doug joined the marines. Hoo-rah. Went to Camp Pendleton for a bit. Got buff. Got tanned. Came home with a crew cut. Sweet brother Doug no more. But still shy, still soft spoken, still loyal. Still spoke with a speech impediment and underbit jaw. Would have surgery on it later, one of the many surgeries he would have. "I just shut up and shoot," he said.
“What the hell?” I said.

My mom caressed his shaved head. Jar-head now. My dad came outside and we had a barbecue. Drank Heineken’s in the backyard and had bulgogi style beef and Chinese short ribs. No hamburgers and hot dogs here. What are we, white?

We never talked about the car. I never paid him back for it either. But he was joining the marines during wartime. Who would had ever thought? How could you talk about anything else?

Doug invited his girlfriend with him. Dougy, she called him. She had a kid too but we did not this until after he left.

Very cliche. Soldier warrior leaves for battle. Proposes before he gets sent off. Child birthed while he was overseas. My brother couldn’t have reenacted it better. My brother. The one who kept Captain America and Batman comics under his bed.

He got on one knee and proposed to Connie. Right there on the backyard lawn. There was only for of us. Mom gasped and cried. Dad didn’t know what the hell was going on and was flipping meat over the Weber grill. Me: I yelled at him, "Fuck you Doug!" but in a happy way. "Hoo-fuckin’-rah! You’re bitch made now." I kept laughing. Boyz II Men start playing in my head.
"Watch your mouth boy. Don’t talk to him like that," my dad said.
Dougy and I looked at him. It’s alright, Dougy was saying. We’re family. He’s happy for me too.

Weeks later, they sent him to Iraq. His humvee column hit an IED on the way back to base. He lost a leg. Another cliche. Mom cried. Dad locked himself in his room for the second time. Connie, I could never forget her face that day. We couldn’t have written it any better.

They sent him to San Antonio first, Brooks Army Medical Center, before he came home. When he came back, he only stayed a few days. He was going to move in with Connie, who was in Santa Barbara with her family. He leave the day after. When I brought him from the airport, my dad came out to look at his sons.

Me, standing there. The one always causing shit. The one who went to college but was wasting away. Doug, the good one. The soft spoken shy sweet son. The sensitive and loyal one. The one who barely made it through school and made mom cry in all kinds of way, but never through his own fault.

Me: standing on two legs next to Doug. Doug: next to me with only one. The other half was his Navy colored uniform pants tucked underneath him. No wonder the first thing my dad did was punch me in the face. I didn’t say anything.
“Fuck you shit John!” he said. "Get out of my house! Get out! Get out!"
"See you later man," I said to Doug and left.

But I knew it wasn’t me he was really mad at. He didn’t mean to say that to me.

At night, we went out to the bar and he got smashed. He cried in the car while I drove him home. After that, I didn’t see Doug for a while. When I did, we were "grown ass men" by then who didn’t talk about feelings and memories.

A hot dog, a soda, a churro. A drive down to Pismo Beach. I realized that Santa Barbara was not that far from Pismo. It had been three years already. Junior should be almost ten now.

After calling Louis, I called Doug and told him I was coming down to Santa Barbara.
"What?" he said. He didn’t believe me.
"I said I’ll be there in six hours."
"Why all of a sudden?"
"A friend told me that when a person is busy being sad about them self, they forget about the rest of the world. I missed my brother. Is that not a reason."
I could hear something crash in the background.
"Alright alright. I’ll see you then."
"Later."
"Call me when you get here."


hi times smoke shop
Image by wakingphotolife:
I waited for her everyday at Exit A. It’s the exit that is closest to the APM shopping mall and the stairs on the other side will lead you onto the street that leads into the center of Kwun Tong. If you go to the end, where the railing and concrete barrier is, every few minutes, you can see and hear the MTR travel by in its muted roar.

Many people wait here. It is its most busiest during the late afternoon and early evening rush hour. People wait for their lovers. People wait for their friends and classmate. They stand by the railing smoking cigarettes, playing their hand-held games, seclude themselves into their headphones, or check the texts on their cell phones. I waited here everyday for her. She worked at a bank office during the day and went to school every night. I met her during her transition period when she transferred from one side of Hong Kong to the other. There was only enough time for a quick meal and we went through our daily ritual — "How was work?", "What did you do today?", "Have you ate yet?" — quickly. Then we would have a period of silence as we walked through the crowded streets.

It was a suffering existence. I use the word suffering because that is how we treated it and how we had felt. It suffered to be apart from each other. Enough that over time, even though we had lived under the same roof and shared the same bedroom, we had become ghosts to each other: the empty coffee cups left on the kitchen counter, dishes unwashed in the sink, the air conditioner suddenly turned on when it had been off, the ironing board that was hot to touch. And then there were the transitions: I would there early and look at the MTR travel by in it’s muted roar, the people around me, the people on the blurring by above me, and at 5:30 she would be coming from the end of the walkway. And I would wave and she would wave back. And I’d hug her and she’d hug me back. There is only so much that you can do in such short time.

During dinner one night, where they placed your cup of milk tea onto a bowl of ice to prevent the dilution that’s cause from melting ice, I told her, "I don’t feel like I know you anymore. And I want to know you again." She looked out the window at the MTR that you could feel and see whenever it came by, "But you do know me. What’s wrong? You’ve become so needy," she said.
"I’m not needy, I just feel like we’ve become indifferent; like routines that we go through everyday."
"I think you are trying hard to think about it; just let things go. The harder you try to analyze and think about things, the less you’ll know. And I’ll become unknowable."
I didn’t really understand her, but she had the feeling of being right.

We walked to the bus station down the street. I’d ride the bus with her to school. She would change out of her heels into her Converses. And I’d put them into my bag for her to bring back home. It was close to a two hour trip on some days including the walk to the front of the school. But what difference does two hours make in the end.


hi times smoke shop
Image by wakingphotolife:
"So what did she say?"
"She said, she said she cant’ make it and has other things to do."
"What things?"
"I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her for yourself?"
"I don’t want to. She’s probably screwing around with that guy."
"Which one?"
"The one who works at the hotel, the one from Shenzhen."
"Oh him."
"Let’s go."
"I don’t see why you’re getting worked up about it."
"I’m not."

They walked back across the bridge and into the rundown shopping plaza. Some of the men who loitered around town crowded around a window to watch Miss Hong Kong on the television screen. On other days, they would be rooted to turned up buckets crouched over wooden boards and chess pieces. But not today.

They forced a path through the gawkers. "Hey, watch were you going?"
"Why don’t you fuck off."

He unchained the motorbike and put the chain into the storage compartment on the back and then got on. She stepped lightly and quickly on a peg on the kickstand and straddled the seat behind him.

The engine reverberated along the alleyway as they joined the rest of the traffic along the ride. She reached over his shoulder and removed the carton of cigarettes from his breast pocket, removing one and gripping it between her lips with her chin on his shoulder. She then reached into his pocket and removed the lighter. With her arm reaching across his chest and underneath his chin, she lit it.

"What the hell are you doing?"
"Smoking."
"How many times have I told you to not put that thing near my face."
"Lighten up."

He unlocked and opened the door to the apartment. It was small and spare. The ceiling leaked during half the year and for that, they lined buckets underneath its drip along the corner. Occasionally, the floor drain in the kitchen would flood over. It splashed as he stopped over a small line of tiles on the other side of the door.

"Fuck. It’s flooded again."
"Do you want me to get the mop and the towels?"
"No. Just leave it. I’ll take care of it later. Let’s check the bedroom first."

She sat on the edge of the bed, facing the television as he propped himself up on one elbow and drank. As she watched, he observed the curve within the bottom of her neck line.

"Who do you think’s going to win this year?"
"None of them, if I had my choice."
"Well, choose one."
"The one on the left then."
"That one?"
"No. Number 14, the one over there."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah, why?"
"She’s ugly."

He placed the cup on the window sill. It began to rice outside. Soon, they would hear the droplets as they hit the bottom of the empty plastic bucket.
"Do you still want to go?"
"No, it’s raining. I don’t think it’s going to stop for the night."
"That’s too bad, I really wanted to go."
"Maybe tomorrow. My sister can go with you then."

"I’m going downstairs to cover the motorbike."

He took the blue tarp from the corner of the room and walked down the flight of stairs and to the sidewalk. He threw it over the length of the motorbike and tied it down, looping the rope through the spokes of the wheels. It rained harder as he worked while around him, interior lights along the sidewalks shops and buildings gradually turned on.

He looked up at the window of their apartment on the fifteenth floor. She opened the window and shouted down, "Hey! The one you picked! She won! Hurry and come watch with me."

He looked at her and then past her. The drops fell directly on this face and with his eyes open, he could almost see them form from nothing, tiny shards of light that shone briefly before they landed.

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Army Photography Contest – 2007 – FMWRC – Arts and Crafts – Heading to Safety
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Army Photography Contest – 2007 – FMWRC – Arts and Crafts – Heading to Safety

Photo By: SMSGT Munnaf Joarder

To learn more about the annual U.S. Army Photography Competition, visit us online at www.armymwr.com

U.S. Army Arts and Crafts History

After World War I the reductions to the Army left the United States with a small force. The War Department faced monumental challenges in preparing for World War II. One of those challenges was soldier morale. Recreational activities for off duty time would be important. The arts and crafts program informally evolved to augment the needs of the War Department.
On January 9, 1941, the Secretary of War, Henry L. Stimson, appointed Frederick H. Osborn, a prominent U.S. businessman and philanthropist, Chairman of the War Department Committee on Education, Recreation and Community Service.
In 1940 and 1941, the United States involvement in World War II was more of sympathy and anticipation than of action. However, many different types of institutions were looking for ways to help the war effort. The Museum of Modern Art in New York was one of these institutions. In April, 1941, the Museum announced a poster competition, “Posters for National Defense.” The directors stated “The Museum feels that in a time of national emergency the artists of a country are as important an asset as men skilled in other fields, and that the nation’s first-rate talent should be utilized by the government for its official design work… Discussions have been held with officials of the Army and the Treasury who have expressed remarkable enthusiasm…”
In May 1941, the Museum exhibited “Britain at War”, a show selected by Sir Kenneth Clark, director of the National Gallery in London. The “Prize-Winning Defense Posters” were exhibited in July through September concurrently with “Britain at War.” The enormous overnight growth of the military force meant mobilization type construction at every camp. Construction was fast; facilities were not fancy; rather drab and depressing.
In 1941, the Fort Custer Army Illustrators, while on strenuous war games maneuvers in Tennessee, documented the exercise The Bulletin of the Museum of Modern Art, Vol. 9, No. 3 (Feb. 1942), described their work. “Results were astonishingly good; they showed serious devotion …to the purpose of depicting the Army scene with unvarnished realism and a remarkable ability to capture this scene from the soldier’s viewpoint. Civilian amateur and professional artists had been transformed into soldier-artists. Reality and straightforward documentation had supplanted (replaced) the old romantic glorification and false dramatization of war and the slick suavity (charm) of commercial drawing.”

“In August of last year, Fort Custer Army Illustrators held an exhibition, the first of its kind in the new Army, at the Camp Service Club. Soldiers who saw the exhibition, many of whom had never been inside an art gallery, enjoyed it thoroughly. Civilian visitors, too, came and admired. The work of the group showed them a new aspect of the Army; there were many phases of Army life they had never seen or heard of before. Newspapers made much of it and, most important, the Army approved. Army officials saw that it was not only authentic material, but that here was a source of enlivenment (vitalization) to the Army and a vivid medium for conveying the Army’s purposes and processes to civilians and soldiers.”
Brigadier General Frederick H. Osborn and War Department leaders were concerned because few soldiers were using the off duty recreation areas that were available. Army commanders recognized that efficiency is directly correlated with morale, and that morale is largely determined from the manner in which an individual spends his own free time. Army morale enhancement through positive off duty recreation programs is critical in combat staging areas.
To encourage soldier use of programs, the facilities drab and uninviting environment had to be improved. A program utilizing talented artists and craftsmen to decorate day rooms, mess halls, recreation halls and other places of general assembly was established by the Facilities Section of Special Services. The purpose was to provide an environment that would reflect the military tradition, accomplishments and the high standard of army life. The fact that this work was to be done by the men themselves had the added benefit of contributing to the esprit de corps (teamwork, or group spirit) of the unit.
The plan was first tested in October of 1941, at Camp Davis, North Carolina. A studio workshop was set up and a group of soldier artists were placed on special duty to design and decorate the facilities. Additionally, evening recreation art classes were scheduled three times a week. A second test was established at Fort Belvoir, Virginia a month later. The success of these programs lead to more installations requesting the program.
After Pearl Harbor was bombed, the Museum of Modern Art appointed Mr. James Soby, to the position of Director of the Armed Service Program on January 15, 1942. The subsequent program became a combination of occupational therapy, exhibitions and morale-sustaining activities.
Through the efforts of Mr. Soby, the museum program included; a display of Fort Custer Army Illustrators work from February through April 5, 1942. The museum also included the work of soldier-photographers in this exhibit. On May 6, 1942, Mr. Soby opened an art sale of works donated by museum members. The sale was to raise funds for the Soldier Art Program of Special Services Division. The bulk of these proceeds were to be used to provide facilities and materials for soldier artists in Army camps throughout the country.
Members of the Museum had responded with paintings, sculptures, watercolors, gouaches, drawings, etchings and lithographs. Hundreds of works were received, including oils by Winslow Homer, Orozco, John Kane, Speicher, Eilshemius, de Chirico; watercolors by Burchfield and Dufy; drawings by Augustus John, Forain and Berman, and prints by Cezanne, Lautrec, Matisse and Bellows. The War Department plan using soldier-artists to decorate and improve buildings and grounds worked. Many artists who had been drafted into the Army volunteered to paint murals in waiting rooms and clubs, to decorate dayrooms, and to landscape grounds. For each artist at work there were a thousand troops who watched. These bystanders clamored to participate, and classes in drawing, painting, sculpture and photography were offered. Larger working space and more instructors were required to meet the growing demand. Civilian art instructors and local communities helped to meet this cultural need, by providing volunteer instruction and facilities.
Some proceeds from the Modern Museum of Art sale were used to print 25,000 booklets called “Interior Design and Soldier Art.” The booklet showed examples of soldier-artist murals that decorated places of general assembly. It was a guide to organizing, planning and executing the soldier-artist program. The balance of the art sale proceeds were used to purchase the initial arts and crafts furnishings for 350 Army installations in the USA.
In November, 1942, General Somervell directed that a group of artists be selected and dispatched to active theaters to paint war scenes with the stipulation that soldier artists would not paint in lieu of military duties.
Aileen Osborn Webb, sister of Brigadier General Frederick H. Osborn, launched the American Crafts Council in 1943. She was an early champion of the Army program.
While soldiers were participating in fixed facilities in the USA, many troops were being shipped overseas to Europe and the Pacific (1942-1945). They had long periods of idleness and waiting in staging areas. At that time the wounded were lying in hospitals, both on land and in ships at sea. The War Department and Red Cross responded by purchasing kits of arts and crafts tools and supplies to distribute to “these restless personnel.” A variety of small “Handicraft Kits” were distributed free of charge. Leathercraft, celluloid etching, knotting and braiding, metal tooling, drawing and clay modeling are examples of the types of kits sent.
In January, 1944, the Interior Design Soldier Artist program was more appropriately named the “Arts and Crafts Section” of Special Services. The mission was “to fulfill the natural human desire to create, provide opportunities for self-expression, serve old skills and develop new ones, and assist the entire recreation program through construction work, publicity, and decoration.”
The National Army Art Contest was planned for the late fall of 1944. In June of 1945, the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C., for the first time in its history opened its facilities for the exhibition of the soldier art and photography submitted to this contest. The “Infantry Journal, Inc.” printed a small paperback booklet containing 215 photographs of pictures exhibited in the National Gallery of Art.
In August of 1944, the Museum of Modern Art, Armed Forces Program, organized an art center for veterans. Abby Rockefeller, in particular, had a strong interest in this project. Soldiers were invited to sketch, paint, or model under the guidance of skilled artists and craftsmen. Victor d’Amico, who was in charge of the Museum’s Education Department, was quoted in Russell Lynes book, Good Old Modern: An Intimate Portrait of the Museum of Modern Art. “I asked one fellow why he had taken up art and he said, Well, I just came back from destroying everything. I made up my mind that if I ever got out of the Army and out of the war I was never going to destroy another thing in my life, and I decided that art was the thing that I would do.” Another man said to d’Amico, “Art is like a good night’s sleep. You come away refreshed and at peace.”
In late October, 1944, an Arts and Crafts Branch of Special Services Division, Headquarters, European Theater of Operations was established. A versatile program of handcrafts flourished among the Army occupation troops.
The increased interest in crafts, rather than fine arts, at this time lead to a new name for the program: The “Handicrafts Branch.”
In 1945, the War Department published a new manual, “Soldier Handicrafts”, to help implement this new emphasis. The manual contained instructions for setting up crafts facilities, selecting as well as improvising tools and equipment, and basic information on a variety of arts and crafts.
As the Army moved from a combat to a peacetime role, the majority of crafts shops in the United States were equipped with woodworking power machinery for construction of furnishings and objects for personal living. Based on this new trend, in 1946 the program was again renamed, this time as “Manual Arts.”
At the same time, overseas programs were now employing local artists and craftsmen to operate the crafts facilities and instruct in a variety of arts and crafts. These highly skilled, indigenous instructors helped to stimulate the soldiers’ interest in the respective native cultures and artifacts. Thousands of troops overseas were encouraged to record their experiences on film. These photographs provided an invaluable means of communication between troops and their families back home.
When the war ended, the Navy had a firm of architects and draftsmen on contract to design ships. Since there was no longer a need for more ships, they were given a new assignment: To develop a series of instructional guides for arts and crafts. These were called “Hobby Manuals.” The Army was impressed with the quality of the Navy manuals and had them reprinted and adopted for use by Army troops. By 1948, the arts and crafts practiced throughout the Army were so varied and diverse that the program was renamed “Hobby Shops.” The first “Interservice Photography Contest” was held in 1948. Each service is eligible to send two years of their winning entries forward for the bi-annual interservice contest. In 1949, the first All Army Crafts Contest was also held. Once again, it was clear that the program title, “Hobby Shops” was misleading and overlapped into other forms of recreation.
In January, 1951, the program was designated as “The Army Crafts Program.” The program was recognized as an essential Army recreation activity along with sports, libraries, service clubs, soldier shows and soldier music. In the official statement of mission, professional leadership was emphasized to insure a balanced, progressive schedule of arts and crafts would be conducted in well-equipped, attractive facilities on all Army installations.
The program was now defined in terms of a “Basic Seven Program” which included: drawing and painting; ceramics and sculpture; metal work; leathercrafts; model building; photography and woodworking. These programs were to be conducted regularly in facilities known as the “multiple-type crafts shop.” For functional reasons, these facilities were divided into three separate technical areas for woodworking, photography and the arts and crafts.
During the Korean Conflict, the Army Crafts program utilized the personnel and shops in Japan to train soldiers to instruct crafts in Korea.
The mid-1950s saw more soldiers with cars and the need to repair their vehicles was recognized at Fort Carson, Colorado, by the craft director. Soldiers familiar with crafts shops knew that they had tools and so automotive crafts were established. By 1958, the Engineers published an Official Design Guide on Crafts Shops and Auto Crafts Shops. In 1959, the first All Army Art Contest was held. Once more, the Army Crafts Program responded to the needs of soldiers.
In the 1960’s, the war in Vietnam was a new challenge for the Army Crafts Program. The program had three levels of support; fixed facilities, mobile trailers designed as portable photo labs, and once again a “Kit Program.” The kit program originated at Headquarters, Department of Army, and it proved to be very popular with soldiers.
Tom Turner, today a well-known studio potter, was a soldier at Ft. Jackson, South Carolina in the 1960s. In the December 1990 / January 1991 “American Crafts” magazine, Turner, who had been a graduate student in art school when he was drafted, said the program was “a godsend.”
The Army Artist Program was re-initiated in cooperation with the Office of Military History to document the war in Vietnam. Soldier-artists were identified and teams were formed to draw and paint the events of this combat. Exhibitions of these soldier-artist works were produced and toured throughout the USA.
In 1970, the original name of the program, “Arts and Crafts”, was restored. In 1971, the “Arts and Crafts/Skills Development Program” was established for budget presentations and construction projects.
After the Vietnam demobilization, a new emphasis was placed on service to families and children of soldiers. To meet this new challenge in an environment of funding constraints the arts and crafts program began charging fees for classes. More part-time personnel were used to teach formal classes. Additionally, a need for more technical-vocational skills training for military personnel was met by close coordination with Army Education Programs. Army arts and crafts directors worked with soldiers during “Project Transition” to develop soldier skills for new careers in the public sector.
The main challenge in the 1980s and 90s was, and is, to become “self-sustaining.” Directors have been forced to find more ways to generate increased revenue to help defray the loss of appropriated funds and to cover the non-appropriated funds expenses of the program. Programs have added and increased emphasis on services such as, picture framing, gallery sales, engraving and trophy sales, etc… New programs such as multi-media computer graphics appeal to customers of the 1990’s.
The Gulf War presented the Army with some familiar challenges such as personnel off duty time in staging areas. Department of Army volunteer civilian recreation specialists were sent to Saudi Arabia in January, 1991, to organize recreation programs. Arts and crafts supplies were sent to the theater. An Army Humor Cartoon Contest was conducted for the soldiers in the Gulf, and arts and crafts programs were set up to meet soldier interests.
The increased operations tempo of the ‘90’s Army has once again placed emphasis on meeting the “recreation needs of deployed soldiers.” Arts and crafts activities and a variety of programs are assets commanders must have to meet the deployment challenges of these very different scenarios.
The Army arts and crafts program, no matter what it has been titled, has made some unique contributions for the military and our society in general. Army arts and crafts does not fit the narrow definition of drawing and painting or making ceramics, but the much larger sense of arts and crafts. It is painting and drawing. It also encompasses:
* all forms of design. (fabric, clothes, household appliances, dishes, vases, houses, automobiles, landscapes, computers, copy machines, desks, industrial machines, weapon systems, air crafts, roads, etc…)
* applied technology (photography, graphics, woodworking, sculpture, metal smithing, weaving and textiles, sewing, advertising, enameling, stained glass, pottery, charts, graphs, visual aides and even formats for correspondence…)
* a way of making learning fun, practical and meaningful (through the process of designing and making an object the creator must decide which materials and techniques to use, thereby engaging in creative problem solving and discovery) skills taught have military applications.
* a way to acquire quality items and save money by doing-it-yourself (making furniture, gifts, repairing things …).
* a way to pursue college credit, through on post classes.
* a universal and non-verbal language (a picture is worth a thousand words).
* food for the human psyche, an element of morale that allows for individual expression (freedom).
* the celebration of human spirit and excellence (our highest form of public recognition is through a dedicated monument).
* physical and mental therapy (motor skill development, stress reduction, etc…).
* an activity that promotes self-reliance and self-esteem.
* the record of mankind, and in this case, of the Army.
What would the world be like today if this generally unknown program had not existed? To quantitatively state the overall impact of this program on the world is impossible. Millions of soldier citizens have been directly and indirectly exposed to arts and crafts because this program existed. One activity, photography can provide a clue to its impact. Soldiers encouraged to take pictures, beginning with WW II, have shared those images with family and friends. Classes in “How to Use a Camera” to “How to Develop Film and Print Pictures” were instrumental in soldiers seeing the results of using quality equipment. A good camera and lens could make a big difference in the quality of the print. They bought the top of the line equipment. When they were discharged from the Army or home on leave this new equipment was showed to the family and friends. Without this encouragement and exposure to photography many would not have recorded their personal experiences or known the difference quality equipment could make. Families and friends would not have had the opportunity to “see” the environment their soldier was living in without these photos. Germany, Italy, Korea, Japan, Panama, etc… were far away places that most had not visited.
As the twenty first century approaches, the predictions for an arts renaissance by Megatrends 2000 seem realistic based on the Army Arts and Crafts Program practical experience. In the April ‘95 issue of “American Demographics” magazine, an article titled “Generation X” fully supports that this is indeed the case today. Television and computers have greatly contributed to “Generation X” being more interested in the visual arts and crafts.
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MS Oriana IV, Invergordon
head shop free shipping
Image by Mark Howells-Mead
We were lucky enough to be at Invergordon on the Cromarty Firth in Scotland, when this huge cruise liner was preparing to depart. I shot a time lapse sequence over the course of twenty minutes or so, as the dock hands freed the ship and it headed out along the firth to the North Sea.

Business partners plan to open smoke shop on Roosevelt Row in September
A plethora of locally blown glass pipes and other smoking accessories will be available in downtown Phoenix in early September. Bud's Glass Joint will hold its grand opening on Sept. 7 in its freshly painted gallery near Roosevelt and First streets. An …
Read more on Downtown Devil

Pen Pals – Back in Jail and Smoking Green Beans
I smell bud and see dudes nodding and looking loopy, but to me, jail is not the place for that shit. I'm trying to get outta here ASAP but need to wait six weeks for my parole hearing. Always remember it's “guilty until proven innocent” when it comes …
Read more on VICE

Tyrann Mathieu Dismissed from LSU Football Team: Fan's Reaction
the dude may be a great player but he also knows that smoking the hippie weed is a no no. i hope it gets into his head and he cleans his act up or he can just smoke away and be a bum and leave his dreams go up in smoke…..dumb kid…i have no respect …
Read more on Yahoo! Sports

Herbal Smoke, Herbal Smoke Shop, Legal Buds

Article by bestofherbalsmoke

For those who wish to mellow out as well as buy a nice feeling without overturning the lengthy arm of the law, these Herbal Smokes are more stylish than previously. Complete with a funky small pack and also hardwearing . papers and your bud jointly. Quite simply it is the most sophisticated way to have your smoke lets start work on it’s exquisite buds willing to be wrapped and smoked.

Surely, people have long been intrigued with the proportions of making use of plants to relax minds. The smoking of natural herbs and buds has acted an integral position throughout human civilization with lots of smokers of herbs traditionally growing their hair and claiming to stay contact with earth. Partaking inside smoking of herbs is partaking in a spiritual practice that ought to be recognized.

You can buy them on the net at Legal Buds this time and stay smoking a whole new the very best herbal mix by tomorrow. With many different distinctive Legal Buds to pick from and for slight versions in feel, power, type of buzz and so forth, you ‘ll actually not be bored again. It pays to analyze various variations to look after and find out the best match for you.

Don’t be a bore though, offer the test. Whereas some sorts of smoke forces you to receive light headed as though you are flying down the hall considerably quicker than the usual bullet, with your feet not touching the soil. A few of the darker kinds are capable of doing the contrary and earn people passive.

Aside from the obvious importance of helping unwind the mind and you’ll have fun, most of these works extremely well instead of nicotine cigarettes. They’re completely herbal and contain chemicals unlike the nicotine ones you get in many shops. Herbal smokes have been great for our planet and will help visitors to quit chemical cigarettes. Here is a great resource to buy herbal smoke.

It is also fascinating how wonderful the boxes are having a small window to see your buds as well as the papers smartly coupled to the side in the box. It’s nearly as in the event the designers were trying for the cooler crowd, not the sort of folks that would put on really pricey clothes, just those who have some undefinable class about them.In this day and age you just is not too careful, herbal smokes are a fantastic treatment for this, and many other items. Legal and fun, it’s definitely the way forward.

Really, there are many more beneficial plants to smoke than tobacco. Herbal Smokes present an exotic smoking alternative. The smoke isn’t irritating and harsh like some tobacco.










Article by stevealex

Shop legal buds.com boasts that they have the best legal bud on the internet. You will not be disappointed. From the selection of products to the ease of ordering, this is the Legal Bud super-store.

There are six categories of indulgence to choose from. Whether it is legal bud, hybrid buds, solid smokes, herbal smoke, liquid extracts or rolling papers, there is an abundance of quality products to choose from. While surfing through the selections, I could almost smell the herb in the air. The attractive website has many choices for those looking for a marijuana alternative. Interesting and delicious sounding hybrid bud selections like ‘Blueberry Haze’ and ‘Panama Red’ were only a few of the choices available. There are twelve legal bud blends all of which certainly sparked my interest. Herbal Smoke included superb looking blends with enough selection to keep me coming back. Liquid Extracts are also offered for sale on this site. Extracts are concentrated forms of the herbs that are more effective due to the higher concentrations. Along with a greater shelf life, extracts bring to the consumer all the full benefits of the original plant in an easy to use form. The solid smokes offer a selection of resin products or compressed, concentrated blends of herbs mirroring ‘hashish’. They caution the weak or inexperienced smokers to use with care. For those of us that may have a difficult time deciding, combination specials have been assembled which should prove to be a great way to taste the selection and to find that ‘custom’ pack that fits just right.

Another neat feature within this website is the free information and education they have for the taking. Many of the smoking products are defined and explained along with details about smoking apparatus’ and accessories; they even have a brief history on rolling papers that is interesting. You will also find an informative FAQ’s section to answer any questions you may have.

Contained in this site is all that the alternative smoker needs to survive. You will find a pleasant and secure shopping experience with the comfort of knowing the products are all 100% legal. Free shipping is offered for purchases of $ 30 or more and they promise discrete packaging as well. All products may not be available to those under 18 years of age and all should be taken with caution and in a safe environment. When looking for a marijuana alternative from a quality legal bud shop, look no further than Shoplegalbuds.com for all of your herbal smoke and legal bud needs.

ShopLegalBud.com features the best legal high quality legal bud, solid resin smoke, herbal smokes and potent extracts from the world’s best legal bud manufacturers










Herbal Incense Blend Shamans Journey - Herbal Highs Legal Weed Buds

Herbal Highs | Herbal Smoking Mix | Legal Buds | Legal Highs | Herbal Incense herbal-highs-shop.com Shaman’s Journey Contents Apomorphine, Stachydrine, Leonurine, Premarrubiine… Shaman’s Journey is an Herbal Smoking mix with a blend of highly concentrated extracts of psychoactive plants….
Video Rating: 3 / 5

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POT SHOP ROBBED!!!

MARIJUANA CANNABIS MARIHUANA MEDICAL LEGALIZE WEED 420 OBAMA RON PAUL BONG RIP JOINT KUSH DRUGS SEEDS WAR NEWS VAPORIZER BOWL HASHISH BLUNTS HASH GANJA HEMP RAGE legal cops LEGALIZATION POT LIBERAL COMPASSIONATE PRIVACY CIVIL RIGHTS LAW EDUCATION ACTIVISM HERB smoke HIGHTIMES CUP hydro HIGH ECONOMY ECONOMIC COLLAPSE MEXICO PATRIOT MARYJANE legalize conservative NJ NY JERSEY CHRONIC NWO porn sex tits ass freedom GMO LIBERTARIAN ALEX JONES PRISON PLANET toke up Sinsemilla Baked BudsMARIJUANA CANNABIS MARIHUANA MEDICAL LEGALIZE WEED 420 OBAMA BONG RIP JOINT KUSH DRUGS SEEDS WAR NEWS VAPORIZER BOWL HASHISH BLUNTS HASH GANJA HEMP RAGE legal cops LEGALIZATION POT LIBERAL PRIVACY CIVIL RIGHTS LAW EDUCATION ACTIVISM HERB smoke HIGHTIMES CUP hydro
Video Rating: 5 / 5

CALIFORNIA SHOP OFFERS MEDICAL MARIJUANA ICE CREAM!!!

MARIJUANA CANNABIS MARIHUANA MEDICAL LEGALIZE WEED 420 OBAMA RON PAUL BONG RIP JOINT KUSH DRUGS SEEDS WAR NEWS VAPORIZER BOWL HASHISH BLUNTS HASH GANJA HEMP RAGE legal cops LEGALIZATION POT LIBERAL COMPASSIONATE PRIVACY CIVIL RIGHTS LAW EDUCATION ACTIVISM HERB smoke HIGHTIMES CUP hydro HIGH ECONOMY ECONOMIC COLLAPSE MEXICO PATRIOT MARYJANE legalize conservative NJ NY JERSEY CHRONIC NWO porn sex tits ass freedom GMO LIBERTARIAN ALEX JONES PRISON PLANET toke up Sinsemilla Baked BudsMARIJUANA CANNABIS MARIHUANA MEDICAL LEGALIZE WEED 420 OBAMA BONG RIP JOINT KUSH DRUGS SEEDS WAR NEWS VAPORIZER BOWL HASHISH BLUNTS HASH GANJA HEMP RAGE legal cops LEGALIZATION POT LIBERAL PRIVACY CIVIL RIGHTS LAW EDUCATION ACTIVISM HERB smoke HIGHTIMES CUP hydro HIGH ECONOMY ECONOMIC COLLAPSE MEXICO PATRIOT MARYJANE legalize freedom GMO LIBERTARIAN ALEX JONES PRISON PLANET Baked Buds
Video Rating: 5 / 5

tokin daily: Heady Glass shop tour

attention glass lovers! heady glass has offered a 15% off deal to anybody who uses the promo code “tokindaily” in honor of my 420th episode. this is a one day only sale, good all day tomorrow the 12th of february. check out their website at www.headyglass.com or call at (303)777-7558. they have a good selection of highly functional art pieces and they have a full glass blowing studio in house as well for any kind of custom work that needs to be done.
Video Rating: 4 / 5

sorry about the last video i dont know what happen PS I DID NOT SMOKE THE WHOLE PACKAGE BY MYSELF. I SMOKED MOST OF MY FRIENDS UP WITH IT SO THEY CAN TRY IT!

Article by Dallas Hart

Back in the 60’s and 70’s, Head shops developed a mythical image owing to mysterious goings-on inside and the stories of “strange” goods that seemed to keep their guests and customers enthralled. These days, head shops are synonymous to retail outlets that deal with the sale of drug paraphernalia for using recreational drugs and modern herbs with counterculture art, music, magazines, clothes and home decors on the aside.

The term head shop was coined in San Francisco around 1966 and originated from a store selling counterculture products, aromatic herbs, legal buds and items for herbal smoking. Typical items sold in head shops include water pipes – commonly called bongs, glass pipes, pipe screens, vaporizers, rolling papers, roach clips and many more similar items.

The hippies of the 60’s and 70’s soon became environmentally conscious baby boomers; along with the waning of its popularity, head shops evolved into entertaining, preservation-aware enterprises, crammed with home items and amazing gift ideas. They nearly got wiped out until about the time when waterbeds were invented. Then people became mindful of the need to change the world’s mindset on waste and dumping, giving rise to environmentalism and green movement.

Generally, head shops do not offer illegal or unlawful products. They wouldn’t have lasted the day if such items were sold at their stores. Head shop owners are somewhat fussy about the shoppers who come to their stores and are quite sarcastic when referring to the products.

The legality of head shops in the United States borders on ambiguity; basically because the products being sold can be used for legal as well as illegal drugs. Some states have declared these paraphernalia as illegal and head shops often present the argument that the drug paraphernalia they sell are not meant for illegal activities but are only intended for use in herbal smoking, herbal legal highs and other legal substances.

The passage of state laws for medical marijuana during the early 2000’s, head shops made a strong comeback to cater to the health market’s growing demand for herbal remedies. But they are more cautious this time. So cautious, in fact that signs are posted to say that if any customer gives indications that the shop’s products are used for illegal drug activities would result in sales suspension for the given period and the customer who commits such mistake would be immediately banned from ever entering the shop again.

The most common signs, however, merely state that the products being sold are “for herbal smoking ONLY” or something like “NOT to be used for illegal substances”. Even online stores that only sell herbal smokes and legal buds exercise the same customer vigilance and meticulousness and usually require them to comply with firm disclaimers before they are allowed to purchase anything. Some shops insist on customer adherence to this requirement even before they are permitted to see the products.

The best smoking alternatives like legal herbs and legal marijuana will function in the right manner in the form of a smoking alternative. If you are looking to buy these legal buds and herbal smoke, then you can buy them online at www.bigheadshop.com










Find More Legal Bud For Sale Online Articles

Article by stevemarry

Tobacco is out and Herbal Smokes are in! Shoplegalbud.com offers simply the choicest quality legal herbal smoke products. With over 10 years experience in providing everything from legal buds, solid resin concentrates to herbal extracts and expert blends, they also offer free and discreet shipping via USPS, to clients anywhere in the USA and Canada.

This herbal smoke shop provides strictly legal weed and marijuana alternatives, varying in potency, but never in quality. Their carefully researched exotic blends and hybrid buds do not contain any marijuana or tobacco amounts, and are not intended for use as replacements for illegal drug. These excellent, effective products will rather help you relax, and act as safe marijuana alternatives. Enjoy their menu of herbal smoke products and blends for their own unique properties, which are safe and the best possible choice for alternative smokers. For non-smokers, liquid extracts are also available.

While Shoplegalbud carries legal weeds, buds and herbs, do not make the mistake of thinking that they are all mild! When chosing your legal bud, take the time to verify its potency, in order to find exactly what you need. Satisfaction is guaranteed when you try Shoplegalbud’s Blueberry Haze -or why not try the wicked Demon Dream Smoke? The popular Panama Hybrid and Aztec Gold legal buds leave nothing to be desired! Along with legal buds, Shoplegalbud.com offers a selection of herbal smoke accessories, including Deluxe wood grinders and a variety of herbal rolling papers.

Check out Shoplegalbud.com for a considerable selection of legal herb products, to find the perfect one for you. Don’t be shy of taking advantage of the site’s wonderful Combo deals! Whether you chose to apply your product of choice, smoke it, or use the recommended methods of using a water-pipe, bong or vaporizer, Shoplegalbud has just the legal weed for you. All of their products are extensively detailed, and the site also carries several guides to give you all the information you need on herbal smokes, to help you achieve the ultimate experience.

100% effective, safe and flavoured, the Shoplegal.com herbal smoke shop is the only stop for legal weeds. Don’t count on those aches and pains to go away -go to Shoplegalbud.com today! Even though smoking is not encouraged but even then we know how important smoking could be to some people, especially its proven role a stress releaser and can come handy while one is working under for a long period of time. Hence, it’s always advisable to go for well know shops while choosing the best brand for your smoking needs.

Tobacco is out and Herbal Smokes are in! Shoplegalbud.com offers simply the choicest quality legal herbal smoke products. With over 10 years experience in providing everything from legal buds, solid resin concentrates to herbal extracts and expert blends, they also offer free and discreet shipping via USPS, to clients anywhere in the USA and Canada.










More How Legal Bud Works Articles

Article by findherb

Legal bud is not legal marijuana in any way, but an effective substitute. Veterans coast to coast are fast catching up on the idea of smoking something legal without the hazards of a legal ban. They are warming up to legal buds offered by the US online smoke shop and there is a wide category of herbal smoke products to choose from. There is actually something for every type of smoker ranging from a midnight marijuana toker to a long time nicotine addict. The herbal incense ingrained in the herbs and botanicals have never ceased to fascinate people down the ages. People from ancient communities loved smoking herbs as it aided in the complete wellbeing of the mind, body and soul.

Being 100 percent natural and free from chemicals, JWH, additives and synthetics, Herbal potpourri smoke can be enjoyed with friends after a hard day. Going on herbal highs are common these days as the exotic plants and botanicals are loaded with stress busting properties and are safe and legal.

The reason why smoke shop stresses on legal smoke is that smokers coast to coast never failed a single drug test with the products. Marijuana tokers and nicotine addicts are finding a safe and legal alternative to the stuff they smoke. Legal herbs can be smoked like a cigarette, from a water pipe, a hookah or the aroma can be inhaled in the form of atomized vapor.

Although smoke shop cannot label their herbs as a marijuana alternative, they have been vouched by tokers to be mind blowing stuff. Anyone who is 18 years or older can buy the stuff online and the hybrid bud is a combination of rare and exotic herbs. To cater to a wide array of smokers who like to smoke herbs like a cigarette, smoke shop has rolling paper options on offer. People relied on herbs to gain insight into the world of spirituality and also to bring about a balance between the mind, body and soul.

As alternative herbs, the stuff is the best. Any herb can uplift spirits and promise a mental high. Herbal options for smoking have resulted after long and arduous ethobotanical research. Herbals range from the herbal tea, natural herbs, the rare herb, exotic herb, herbal tinctures and herbal concentrates, all of which are available at the smoke shop.

Legal bud is not legal marijuana in any way, but an effective substitute. Veterans coast to coast are fast catching up on the idea of smoking something legal without the hazards of a legal ban. They are warming up to legal buds offered by the US online smoke shop and there is a wide category of herbal smoke products to choose from. There is actually something for every type of smoker ranging from a midnight marijuana toker to a long time nicotine addict. The herbal incense ingrained in the herbs and botanicals have never ceased to fascinate people down the ages. People from ancient communities loved smoking herbs as it aided in the complete wellbeing of the mind, body and soul.

findherb