I’m walking out the Maine State Pier on a sunny Sunday in March. The pier is empty except for a group of people standing at the very end near the water. As I get a little closer it becomes clear the group is passing around at least one blunt. I’m not particularly intimidated; marijuana is not a smell that strikes fear. But as I approach I realize, much to my surprised elation, that the tallest member of the cypher is none other than the artist formerly known as Snoop Dogg himself, Snoop Lion.
For anyone unaware: sometime last year the former Mr. Dogg decided to undergo a reinvention of sorts. He moved to Jamaica for a time and was rechristened “Snoop Lion” by a Rastifari leader. Since the breaking of that news, not a lot has been heard from him, presumably since he’s been smoking lots and lots of weed. I’m a bit tentative, but c’mon, this is Snoop we’re talking about, Snoop-a-loop…
The crew notices me approaching but doesn’t seem bothered. “Snoop?” I say optimistically.
“Man, who’s that sayin’ my name, what up? Whatchu doin’ out here?” I have no idea whether he’s upset.
“I’m Kevin,” I say, a little more nervous now, “I’m really sorry to bug you guys, just a big fan of your music and I felt like I had to say ‘what up’ at least.”
At this Snoop is handed the blunt (one of two in the rotation, I have now discovered) and takes the longest hit I have ever seen anyone take off of any smoking apparatus. Then he clutches the stogie-sized L between his ring finger and pinky as he thoughtfully strokes his chin beard and looks at me dubiously. Then he exhales slowly, for what feels like about 15 seconds smoke pours from his lungs. No one else is speaking.
“Maaaaan, I’m fuckin’ witchu! What up Kevin? Hit this, G…” He hands me the blunt.
“You don’t think this is gonna make me immediately jump into the Ocean?”
He starts laughing, at which his crew also starts to laugh, at which I start laughing. Then I take a hit. As soon as I’ve filled my lungs with the citrusy, heavy smoke I feel a latch give way, and to my profound embarrassment I start hacking like a rookie. He and his crew, still giggling from my previous comment, hoot with renewed hilarity.
“I…” I manage, “that’s… holy shit….”
“Yeeeeeeeah man, we stay smokin’ nuttin’ but the stickiest.”
I pass the blunt to one of his cohorts. “So what the hell you doing in Maine man? Got a show somewhere tonight or something?”
“Nah, we just stopped up here for a minute. Love Portland, good food, fine-ass hunnys,” he takes a puff off of the second blunt, which I now fear is coming my way.
“Nice! I grew up here and I love this spot, I walk down here all the time.”
Smoke billows from his mouth as he responds, “Yeah son, I just love this fuckin’ whale wall, feel me?”
“I remember when they put this thing in! It’s faded a lot… So you were down in Jamaica recently huh? Should I call you Snoop Dogg or Snoop Lion?” I take a hit off the second blunt, I navigate this one a bit more successfully, pulling with a more restrained aplomb.
“You can call me whatever you want. I got christened up by a muthafuckin’ Rasta priest and shit, and now I believe that Jah’s lifting me up,” he bows his head reverently, “Jah be lifting me up out of Babylon ana’ set me on a road to Zion, feel me?”
“I feel you man, I feel you. Feeling this tree too, shit. You guys don’t fuck around.” His crew, which has been utterly silent this entire time, chooses to respond to that with some muffled “yuuuups and ummmmhmmmms”.
“Yo Kev,” Snoop says after a moment, “whatchu doin for dinner man.”
“No plans, was just gonna head home in a few.”
He responds quickly, “Son, we getting oyyyyysters and you gonna come with us.”
“Fuck yeah, I am.” He flicks the roach into the Ocean and and we all start walking back down the pier.
I just met Snoop Lion, and now me and the crew are getting some oysters…