The Shaping of The Almighty Buda Crew Vision Part 1

I will forever remember writing the cover letter for the job application at my dream cannabis brand in Los Angeles, California. The words came naturally, just falling from my fingertips. It was a peculiar feeling. A feeling that only happens when a dream is about to become reality.

Avocado, caramelized onions, two poached eggs, queso fresco, with chilaquiles. The Nickel Diner forever the best.

I saved up for two and a half years to move back to Los Angeles. I first set foot in Los Angeles in the summer of 2012 when I was awarded a Dance Heritage Coalition Fellowship. The Dance Heritage Coalition selected me as an archival fellow, and I was to be hosted by the University of California Los Angeles Special Collections. I remember believing that I would hate Los Angeles, but as soon as I set foot in downtown LA, I immediately felt at home.  It just felt like a bigger version of El Paso, a smaller version of Mexico City.  Add to that home feeling the fact that I found the best chilaquiles outside my grandmother's kitchen in Iztacalco, Mexico City - the chilaquiles at the Nickel Diner (which closed its doors in 2023).

Above anything else, I loved Los Angeles because my work as an archivist there made me feel fulfilled. For twelve weeks, I worked in two different archives. The first was an institutional archive - The University of California Special Collections, where I assisted in digitizing the Howard Holtzman Collection on Isadora Duncan. The second was a community archive located at The Lula Washington Dance Theater, the oldest dance company in Los Angeles. It was at LWDT that I completed my most satisfying work and found my calling as an archivist. For six weeks, I helped LWDT organize a small room filled with audio-visual materials and ephemera-photographs, slides, and programs-to ensure access to these materials and prepare them for acquisition into Special Collections at UCLA.

Lula Washington Dance Theater archival room before organization.

A drawer full of slides in need of access points.

Rolled up dance posters in need of preservation efforts.

35mm slides, being organized by getting numbered in order ensure access.

35mm slides, numbered and sleeved to ensure access and preservation.

Individualized 35mm slide boxes with numbers that correspond to a catalog.

Paper posters and ephemera being flatten in preparation for preservation efforts.

Boxed up paper posters and ephemera.

Lula Washington Dance Theater archival room after organization.

I had done this kind of work, building community archives, at The University of Arizona Dance Department, where I helped the faculty of the Department organize a room they called the Dance Resources Center. For three years, I slowly organized this room and ultimately  provided access to the materials found within this space. I also gave the faculty of the U of A Dance Department procedures that they could follow to better document their work for future generations. 

The Dance Resources Center at The University of Arizona School of Dance.

When I first entered the DRC, it was a room filled with archival materials in need of access points.

DRC before archival organization occurred. The materials were scattered around the room.

A box full of dance posters in need of preservation efforts.

Folders constructed by me to ensure poster and ephemera preservation.

When possible, paper ephemera should lay flat.

Orchesis scrapbook. Orchesis was a national student organization in the 1930s.

Orchesis helped fund dance departments across the nation and The University of Arizona.

At the end of my three-year archival internship. The DRC with archival organization.

Because of my experience at the Dance Resources Center, I obtained the Dance Heritage Coalition fellowship hosted at UCLA and found myself at Lula Washington Dance Theater. Both of these experiences fulfilled my soul. As I progressed in my career as an archivist, I continuously held these two experiences of working with artists and their archive and empowering them through their artifacts as standard for fulfillment and happiness in my life. It took me some time to figure out how to turn these experiences into my career and contribution to humanity. 

I ended my career as a graduate student with a Junior Fellowship at The Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division. Here, I helped catalog and rehouse over 50,000 35mm photographs from The Roll Call photographic morgue. Roll Call is a Capitol Hill newspaper that has been around since 1955. In 2013, they donated their photographic morgue to the Library of Congress. This collection documented life on Capitol Hill from the 1950s to the present time. It was an honor to be at the Library of Congress, which houses our nation's cultural memory. It amplified my love for photographic historical records and taught me the importance of both cultural memory and the accurate dissemination of cultural information. 

Freshly out of graduate school and looking to expand my photographic and audio-visual archival knowledge. I accepted my first full-time job out of graduate school at the now-defunct Bunting Visual Resources Library at the University of New Mexico. I was laid off from this position due to restructuring and was sent by the Universe to become the first University Archivist of color at the University of Wyoming American Heritage Center. During my time at the American Heritage Center, I further developed my community archivist skills, which also solidified my devotion to helping people have access to and build their own stories.

American Heritage Center at The University of Wyoming.

The lobby of the American Heritage Center.

I am beyond grateful for my time at the American Heritage Center as the University Archivist.

Archival stacks of the American Heritage Center.

It was during my time in Wyoming that I began my relationship with the legal cannabis market. For the first few months I lived in Wyoming, I purchased cannabis from the market I trusted because I grew up with it: The legacy market. It was just a matter of familiarity and lack of bravery, quite honestly.

When I arrived in Wyoming, I had been a consumer in the legacy market for about twenty-years. In those twenty years I had always been a consumer, never a grower and most certainly never a businessman. As a consumer, I was most comfortable asking someone if product was available. This someone would confirm, and if the businessman did in fact have product, I was accustomed to meeting up with the diligent businessman to pick up my product. I was in no way accustomed to crossing state lines with product, as businessmen often do.

The first time I set foot in a legal dispensary was in Denver, Colorado. I decided that it was time to enter the legal cannabis market as a consumer because I wanted my first purchase to be done alongside my parents. My parents had driven all the way from El Paso, Texas, to Laramie, Wyoming, to visit me. Both of them consumed the plant from time to time, my father more so than my mother. I learned to love and respect the plant through my family; therefore, I thought it was essential for us to experience purchasing legal cannabis for the first time together.

I disclosed this plan to my parents, and their response was, "Sabes donde se puede hacer eso?"  ["Do you know where we can do that?"] I said “Denver” but that was all I knew. 

We arrived in Denver, Colorado, with only a single clue as to how to go about buying weed - we needed our IDs.  We had zero idea where in the world to buy weed. We parked the car somewhere near Colfax and Ogden; I googled something like "Where to buy marijuana near us," and a marijuana shop appeared about a block away from us.

I will forever remember this moment because it was so disagreeable. We walked to the dispensary that Google recommended. We could see people inside as we approached. I went to open the door, pulled the handle, and it was locked. A woman walked to the door, opened it, and said “We are closed.”

I said, "Okay, thank you. Do you happen to have a recommendation nearby?" she looked at me, looked at my phone, and said, "You can google something," and then shut the door. 

Now, my parents and I were beyond excited to experience this together, and at that moment, this stranger dampened our mood. We were already confused and intimidated, and her attitude had suppressed our desire to explore the legal market. I looked at my parents in bewilderment.

"Ponle." my dad said.

“Vamos a buscar otra tienda” he affirmed. 

 I proceeded to ask Google once again, "Where to buy marijuana near us?". This time, a dispensary called Good Chemistry popped up, about a 10-minute walk from where we were.

"Vamos?" I asked my parents.

"Claro," my dad said. 

We walked and found Good Chemistry nestled between restaurants and in front of a church. As soon as we arrived, “Hello” the security guard said at the door. “Can I see your IDs?”

“Sus IDs.” I turned to my parents and said.

“Have you been here before?” the security guard added.

“No, we haven’t. This is our first time shopping legally.” I told him.

“These are my parents.” I pointed at them -  he immediately addressed them and said:

“Welcome to Good Chemistry.” He told them directly. Which I truly appreciated.

He proceeded to explain to us what to expect from the experience. He was patient with me, while I translated what he had said into Spanish, this made me feel comfortable and created a welcoming space. And when he opened the door and the sounds of Cypress Hill's “I Want To Get High” blasted through my ears, I immediately knew that this was our family spot.  

Good Chemistry was a tiny dispensary with a lot of personality. Once you entered you were asked to wait up against the wall. There were stools placed along the wall, where you could sit and wait but on this day it was busy and so we stood and waited, up against the wall, instead. 

The menu of both their medicinal and recreational options was a beautifully lit-up panel. There, they displayed the strain's name, the THC percentage, and what the strain's recommended use was. My parents and I stared at the screen, and as I translated what was on the screen, my dad began to get nervous, more from excitement than actual nerves. My mom was thrilled, and as they called us up to the counter, she opted to take a sit in a freshly open stool and allow my dad to go forth and decide what the family was going to have. 

I only recall one strain available that day, Flo, which I happily consume to this day. I do not remember what else we purchased that day, but I do remember Flo. I recall the man helping us being patient while I translated what he said to my father, and he even spoke a bit of Spanish to my dad. Overall, everyone at Good Chemistry was kind. 

My collection of Good Chemistry eighths. They are empty at this point :)

We walked out of Good Chemistry beyond content with the experience. Because of how they treated my parents, because they were patient as I translated for them, because we had a sour taste in our mouth when we entered the room, and because that taste turned sweet as we walked out, I was and will always be a loyal Good Chemistry customer. In the four years that I lived in and near Denver, I rarely diverged from buying my marijuana at Good Chemistry, and upon every return to the area, I shop at Good Chemistry. 

After this initial experience, I opted out of being a consumer in the legacy market. I believe we lifelong cannabis consumers have a duty to ensure the success of legalization by purchasing from the legal market. Good Chemistry persuaded me to become a dutiful consumer of the legal market. Since then, however, I have had negative experiences that make me question the validity of the legal market. That is, though, another story for another time. 

In 2017, the political climate and the Colorado cannabis market inspired me to pursue my lifelong ambition of being a business owner. The vision was and still is a pole dance studio that emphasizes cannabis use over alcohol use with a focus on people of color, LGBTQIA, and sex workers. I had funded the initial stage of my entrepreneurial dream by dancing in Denver for three months while maintaining my job as an archivist at the University of Wyoming. In September 2017, I officially left my position at the American Heritage Center to become a full-time dancer with an entrepreneurial dream. The objective was to move to California to enter the cannabis market and train in the largest, most profitable legacy market for a year, then move back to Albuquerque with accurate cannabis knowledge to fund and open the studio. Because of my education as an archivist, I understood the importance of accurate knowledge dissemination for a strong flourishing market system. Therefore, if my studio was going to educate people about cannabis, my knowledge needed to come from the cradle of cannabis culture’s ethos - California.  

It took me two years to save up to move to Los Angeles, but I did it.

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