“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
It was last summer and the Bard’s quote came to mind, as I headed out of Tony’s Barbershop. Well, actually, I was toying with my own version: “Mary Jane by any other name would smell as skunky.” You see, I was passing Yerba Buena, one of Leaside’s budding (yes, pun-intended) cannabis establishments. Having spent much of my adult-ish life in advertising as a writer and creative director, I’m a sucker for a good word play.
My Spanish lessons, years ago, and subsequent fluency ordering muy cerveza while traveling though Spain should be all the tools I need to crack this code. ‘Buena’ – well that’s easy – but ‘Yerba’…hmmm…my memory banks couldn’t recall that one. But it IS a cannabis store, after all…could it be? A quick “Hey Siri” later and my guess is confirmed. ‘Good Herb’. I like it.
Although Wikipedia does state that Yerba Buena is actually a shrub in the mint family. Not related to marijuana at all. I feel a little let down learning that. I wonder, now, if the name had anything to do with the store eventually closing.
But it got me to thinking. Just up the street is another cannabis dispensary. Farther south, another. There are, in fact, eight such shops within a roughly 1,500-metre radius of my location. And just as there is an infinite number of strain names for the fun flower itself, so too does there seem to be a plethora of funky legal business names for this once illegal business.
There’s NuLeef. Spelled so it can fit on a license plate, perhaps? How about Canna Cabana? A derivative of cannabis, and again with the Spanish. Got it. Yet all I hear is Barry Manilow belting out Copacabana in my head. There’s also Levican, Runway Pot, White Rabbit, The Happy Spliff. And it goes on. They all seem kind of “far out,” if you catch my drift. How did these names come to be? Given the product they’re selling, one can only imagine a name generation brainstorm session like back in my boardroom. Except surrounded by friends on comfy couches rather than uptight marketing execs staring at their emails. A heavy haze hangs in the air, fueling their “creativity.”
“Hey, I think I have the perfect name…what about ‘Captain Giggle Shorts?,’” says one Bud.
“Nice one, man, but I think that URL is taken. Hey, I got one! What about ‘Bluntastic!’?”
“Oh! Oh! Or even better, ‘Bluntastically Delicious!’”
“Dude, I LOVE that!”
“I love you, man!
“I love YOU, man!”
Boy, I wish we’d had brainstorming sessions like that. And as I chuckle at my little Spicoli-inspired skit (check out Fast Times at Ridgemont High), I cross Millwood and spot Mind Flower. I pause. Ah, why not?
“Hey there, do you have any joints?”
“Pre-rolls? For sure….”
“Yeah, pre-rolled. A rose by any other name.…”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just singing to myself….”
Two minutes later, I’m out the door, oddly feeling like I’ve gotten away with committing a crime, when the ear worm comes back.
“Her name was Lola! She was a showgirl! With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there….”