Dude! Heavy rollers vie for shot at pot concession

Mention medical marijuana and people are still reduced to the awkward giggles of high school and the overly earnest diatribes of college stoners trying to justify their lifestyle choices at 3 in the morning (also awkward, but in a different way).

Dude, even the former mayor wants to sell pot!

No, wait, it’s to help sick people, you know?

Yeah, so I’m gonna sign up my grandma and help her with her medication. Heh heh.

Dude, the whole thing is awkward. The state is trying to regulate something that has long been illegal, widely available and generally out of its control. Advocates are speaking soberly of the medicinal properties of a drug that has long been a symbol of counterculture. And the rest of us — the ones who said “no thank you” at band camp — are wondering what the hell happened to all the Just Say No posters and why, if this stuff is so healing, it’s not just something you can buy at Longs.

So now comes the news that some high-profile characters are planning to vie for the eight licenses the state will issue next year to sell medical marijuana: the owner of Keoki’s Lau Lau; the daughter of Tetris founder Henk Rogers; the CEO of Mobi PCS; and Shep Gordon, colorful rock ’n’ roll talent agent for acts like Alice Cooper and Blondie (Willie Nelson once referred to Gordon as “ the proverbial canary in a marijuana mine”). Former Honolulu Mayor Peter Carlisle is the attorney representing a group of critical-care doctors trying for a license. (Bet you’re still stuck on Keoki’s Lau Lau, right? Thinking of little jokes, Rap Reiplinger’s song about Wendell’s playing in your head …)

The process sounds like a high-stakes bidding war, where each applicant has to prove he or she has $1.2 million to invest. There’s also a $5,000 nonrefundable application fee, a payment of $75,000 due upon approval and a $50,000 annual renewal cost. Farmers with big hearts, green thumbs and nothing to their names but a plot of leased land and a beat-up truck need not apply. Only high rollers in this game.

But then that awkwardness kicks in, and the would-be medical marijuana kingpins feel compelled to play down the potential profits and instead to push hard on the pathos. They’re talking about how expensive it is to do business in Hawaii, how hard it is to be regulated by the state, how bad it is for sick people to have to rely on street dealers and home brews, and how they just want to help the grannies with cancer.

What no one seems to have the nerve to say is that this is an opportunity to get in on the ground floor of what could be a very lucrative business. It’s also the chance to live out the ultimate ’70s hippy dream: growing marijuana in Hawaii, hooking in to insurance payments, keeping the police at bay and giggling all the way to the bank.