By OG Strain, The Plug’s Pages Magazine

There’s something people don’t talk about enough when it comes to recovery.

Everybody cheers for you when you’re talking about wanting to get better.

They clap when you say you’re trying.

They support the idea of your success.

But when that success actually starts showing — when people can physically see the difference in your life — that’s when you find out who’s really rooting for you.

I realized that this morning.

For years, I’ve been on a mission to build myself back up after opioid addiction. Cannabis played a major role in helping me step away from deadly opiates and reclaim control of my life. It gave me a path forward when the road behind me was leading nowhere good.

That journey wasn’t easy.

There was a time when I couldn’t even drive. I was deep in active addiction, unhealthy, broken down, and far from the version of myself I am today.

Fast forward to now.

I’m green and sober. I paid cash for my vehicle through my own hard work and discipline. My health is better. I look better. I feel better. My pockets aren’t empty. My mind is clear.

Most importantly, I’m giving back.

I volunteer at a local rehab, sharing my story with people who are still fighting the battle I once fought myself. I show up because I know what it feels like to think there’s no way out. If my story can help one person believe change is possible, then it’s worth every minute.

But success has a strange way of exposing people.

Some people see your progress and feel inspired.

Others see your progress and feel threatened.

This morning, I got a call around 6:30 AM from a guy at the rehab who had worked himself into some jealous fantasy in his own head.

His issue?

He had convinced himself that because I was encouraging his girlfriend in her sobriety journey, there had to be something more to it.

There wasn’t.

I’ve never wanted anything from her beyond seeing another human being get free from addiction.

That’s it.

But insecurity doesn’t run on logic.

He threatened to fight me and told me to meet him.

So I got up, grabbed my keys, and went.

Not because I was looking for drama, but because if somebody is bold enough to throw threats around before the sun is fully up, they should be ready to stand on what they said.

I got there around 7 AM.

Called him.

Told him I was there.

He said he wouldn’t arrive until 8:30.

Fine.

I grabbed a coffee and waited in the parking lot across from the rehab.

When he finally showed up, he had his medical cab pull right up against the entrance so he could hop out and run straight inside the building without ever facing the situation he created.

The same guy who was talking tough hours earlier suddenly couldn’t back it up.

And honestly, that told me everything I needed to know.

This wasn’t about me.

It was never about me.

It was about what my life represents to someone still trapped in chaos.

When people are stuck in destructive cycles, seeing somebody rise out of one can hit them hard.

Your progress becomes a mirror.

And not everybody likes what they see reflected back.

That’s one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned in recovery:

Growth will inspire some people.

It will expose others.

Cannabis didn’t magically hand me a better life.

Let’s be clear about that.

It gave me a tool.

A bridge.

A healthier alternative that helped me move away from opiates and toward clarity.

The better life came from what I chose to do with that second chance.

Discipline.

Consistency.

Humility.

Work.

That’s the real formula.

So if your growth makes certain people uncomfortable, keep growing.

If your success triggers jealousy, keep succeeding.

And if somebody gets bitter watching your life improve, that says more about where they’re at than where you’re going.

Keep elevating.

That’s exactly what OG Strain plans to do.

Music link: https://suno.com/s/MeC0GEh5tqbQGxhK

From Hospital Bed to Hemp Headlines: The Story Behind the Reviews

By OG Strain

There was a time when the only strain I was worried about was the kind involved in trying to sit up in a hospital bed without sounding like Rice Krispies.

Snap, crackle, “somebody help me up.”

That’s where this whole journey really started.

A lot of people know me now as OG Strain — the guy cracking jokes, reviewing flower, breaking down terpene profiles like I’ve got a PhD from the University of Puff-Puff-Pass. People see the videos, the articles, the events, the cannabis cups, the festivals, and the movement we’ve built together.

But if you’re new here, if you just tapped into Strain’s Strain Reviews (Talk Cannabis) or started reading my work here in The Plugs Pages, you might not know the real story.

And trust me… this story didn’t start with me standing in some beautiful grow room holding a frosty cola while dramatic music played in the background like a cannabis documentary on Netflix.

Nah.

It started flat on my back.

When New York Went Green, My World Was Red Alert

When cannabis became legal in New York State, I knew immediately that this was it.

This was the moment.

This was the thing I had been waiting for my whole life.

For anybody who really knows me, cannabis has always been part of my world. Long before legalization, long before dispensaries, back when “customer loyalty points” meant your plug answering on the first call.

I knew I wanted in.

I wanted to be part of the culture, part of the movement, part of building something bigger than all of us.

But life had other plans.

Right when New York opened the doors to legal cannabis, I was fighting for my life.

I was dealing with a severe septic blood infection that absolutely wrecked my body. It delayed a hip replacement surgery I had already needed for over a decade. Things got so bad that at one point I was a two-person assist just to get to the bathroom.

Think about that.

While people were celebrating legalization, planning grows, opening businesses, and getting their foot in the door, I was basically starring in my own unwanted reboot of The Walking Dead — except slower and with significantly less cardio.

I spent four months hospitalized.

And even after coming home, recovery was brutal.

For nearly four years, I couldn’t even drive.

Growing? Not happening.

Working in cultivation? Physically impossible.

Budtending? Even that wasn’t realistic.

Sure, my cannabis knowledge and years of experience probably could’ve landed me behind a dispensary counter. But standing all day? Stocking product? Moving around constantly?

My hips would’ve filed a formal complaint.

At that time, there were days I couldn’t even move from one room to another without help.

So there I was.

Cannabis legalization had finally arrived.

And I couldn’t physically participate in any of the traditional ways.

When You Can’t Walk the Path, You Build Your Own

Being sidelined physically didn’t kill the passion.

If anything, it intensified it.

Lying there in bed, I started thinking:

If I can’t grow it…
If I can’t sell it…
If I can’t work events…
How can I still contribute?

Then it hit me.

Review it.

Study it.

Break it down.

Become the voice.

That’s when OG Strain the reviewer was born.

And what started as something to stay connected quickly turned into a full-on obsession.

I dove headfirst into cannabis research, especially terpenes.

Back in my growing days, I understood strains mostly through the old-school lens: indica, sativa, hybrid, and whether it made your friend eat an entire family-sized box of cereal at 2 a.m.

But terpenes?

That opened a whole new world.

I realized something huge:

Not all cannabis is created equal.

That sounds obvious now, but for a lot of people — including me at first — weed was just weed.

Then I learned that terpene profiles completely shape the experience.

One strain can have you cleaning your entire kitchen at 8 a.m. like you’re auditioning for a home renovation show.

Another can have you staring at your microwave clock for 17 minutes wondering why it says “food.”

Some strains stimulate appetite.

Some suppress it.

Some energize.

Some sedate.

Some sharpen focus.

Some make you laugh so hard at absolutely nothing that your ribs file for workers’ comp.

That fascinated me.

I wanted to know everything.

If someone was exhausted, what strain could help?

If appetite was an issue, what worked best?

If somebody wanted daytime relief without couch-lock, what terpene combination delivered?

I studied it like a pharmacist studies medicine.

And before I knew it, I had become a terpene expert.

From Bedside Reviews to Building a Movement

What started as strain reviews from my bed evolved into something bigger.

I began reviewing flower, concentrates, products, dispensaries, brands, and eventually the entire experience surrounding cannabis culture.

As my health slowly improved — especially after finally getting one hip replaced last year — I started getting out more.

And that changed everything.

That surgery gave me part of my life back.

No, I’m not running marathons.

Let’s not get crazy.

If you ever see me training for a 5K, please assume I’ve been replaced by AI.

But I can walk.

I can drive.

I can move.

And that freedom opened doors.

I started attending cannabis cups, festivals, events, pop-ups, and community gatherings.

I showed up.

I recorded.

I interviewed.

I reviewed.

I became part of the culture in person.

Then came another turning point.

After my son was interviewed by The Plugs Pages, I made connections that eventually led to me writing for this magazine.

That opportunity deepened everything.

It gave me another lane to educate, entertain, and represent this community.

And from there?

Things took off.

The Moment It Became Real

I’ll never forget the first time someone approached me at an event and recognized me.

“Yo… you’re OG Strain.”

At first, I thought maybe I owed them money.

Turns out, they were thanking me.

They told me they bought a product because of one of my reviews.

That they trusted my breakdown.

That it turned out exactly how I said it would.

That moment hit different.

Then it kept happening.

Again.

And again.

And again.

People from all over the cannabis community started recognizing me at festivals and events.

Growers.

Consumers.

Vendors.

Supporters.

People who genuinely appreciated the work.

That’s when I knew this wasn’t just content.

This was impact.

And honestly, that acceptance meant more than I can explain.

Because while this community embraced me, some people in my personal life didn’t understand the path I chose.

Some turned their backs.

Some judged.

Some doubted.

But the cannabis community?

Y’all welcomed me like family.

Sometimes even more than family.

That kind of support changes a person.

Why This Means Everything

Today, Strain’s Strain Reviews (Talk Cannabis) continues to grow.

And what makes that growth so special is how real it is.

Every view.

Every subscriber.

Every comment.

Every person who watches, supports, and shares.

It’s organic.

No fake numbers.

No bought views.

No gimmicks.

Just real people from real communities who care about honest cannabis reviews.

That means everything.

Especially because cannabis content creators know the struggle.

Most of my videos get age-restricted.

YouTube definitely isn’t rolling out the red carpet for cannabis creators.

Let’s just say the algorithm treats us like we showed up to a black-tie event wearing a gas mask and holding a bong.

And despite that?

The channel keeps growing.

Videos consistently hit strong view counts fast.

People trust the work.

That trust is earned.

And I never take that lightly.

Thank You for Letting Me Be Part of This

If there’s one thing I want new supporters to understand, it’s this:

I didn’t choose cannabis reviewing because it was the easiest path.

I chose it because it was the path I could take when every other door was physically closed.

And somehow, through pain, setbacks, surgeries, recovery, and rebuilding my life, that path became exactly where I was supposed to be.

This lane?

I carved it myself.

And I love every second of driving in it.

To every dispensary owner, grower, event organizer, vendor, reader, subscriber, supporter, and fellow cannabis enthusiast who has shown love:

Thank you.

Thank you for believing in me.

Thank you for trusting my voice.

Thank you for helping build this movement.

You didn’t just support a reviewer.

You helped give someone purpose when life tried to take it away.

And for that, I’ll always keep showing up, keep reviewing, keep writing, and keep representing this culture with honesty, humor, and heart.

This is bigger than weed.

This is community.

This is family.

And from the bottom of my heart…

Thank you for making OG Strain who he is today.

How one DMV trip tested my patience, my hip, and my faith in government math

By OG Strain

There was a saying my old boss, Doug Brister, used to say all the time:

“Take the good with the bad.”

Back when I worked for Tri-City Trees doing groundwork, he’d say it whenever a day went sideways.

Some jobs paid great.

Some paid like the customer thought we were pruning houseplants instead of dropping full-grown trees.

But no matter what kind of day it was, Doug would shrug, grin, and remind us:

Take the good with the bad.

At the time, it just sounded like one of those old-school worksite sayings.

Now I realize it’s basically the official slogan of adulthood.

And after the day I just had, it might as well be tattooed across my forehead.

The Bad: Social Media Sent Me To Digital Jail

My Facebook account is still tied up in appeal.

My Instagram? Same deal.

Messenger? Gone.

Apparently somewhere out there, an algorithm looked at my account and decided I was too dangerous to be trusted with cannabis memes and late-night “yo what’s good?” messages.

And that part stings.

A lot of the people I’ve connected with over the years through this community, I only had through Messenger.

You never think they’re just gonna yank the digital rug out from under you.

But they did.

Which makes the timing even crazier because if there were ever a week I wanted to hit people up, this would be it.

Why?

Because finally…

The Good: OG Strain Is Back On The Road

After years without a vehicle due to health issues, I’m finally driving again.

And if you’ve ever lost that kind of independence, then you understand this isn’t just about transportation.

This is freedom.

This is being able to move when you want, where you want.

No arranging rides.
No waiting.
No depending on everybody else.

Just keys in hand and options again.

That feeling is priceless.

Unfortunately, to reclaim that freedom, I had to pass through the flaming bureaucratic gates of the DMV.

And that’s where things got uglier than a dispensary ounce that somehow still smells amazing.

Enter The DMV Dungeon

As many of y’all know, I’m disabled and dealing with a bad hip.

Standing for long periods isn’t exactly my idea of cardio.

Still, I came prepared.

Paperwork complete.
Everything organized.
Mindset positive.

I waited.

Got called up.

And then got hit with the classic DMV side quest:

A tiny section hadn’t been filled out by the seller.

No big deal, right?

The clerk explained my options.

Either have the seller correct it or let DMV determine the vehicle’s value their way.

Since I knew what I paid, I chose to track down the seller and get it corrected properly.

Mission accomplished.

I came back.

Waited again.

Got to the counter as they were closing.

And suddenly…

Now they didn’t believe the correction had been filled out by the seller.

Apparently I’d unknowingly become the criminal mastermind behind one of the most daring paperwork conspiracies in Schenectady history.

Forget Ocean’s Eleven.

This was Box-17-on-a-title-document.

Without accepting the correction, they moved forward using their own valuation.

Let’s just say by the time the numbers were done being “calculated,” my vehicle had apparently appreciated enough in one afternoon to qualify for collector’s-item status.

At this point I half expected them to tell me I’d accidentally purchased a limited-edition Lamborghini disguised as a Honda.

Meet Greg

Then came the manager.

Greg.

Now look, I’m not trying to roast the man.

Life’s too short.

But if unnecessary tension were a government-funded program, Greg would probably be regional director.

As I explained that repeatedly going back and forth was especially difficult due to my disability, the interaction only got more frustrating.

At one point, he referenced his own physical difference as if that somehow canceled out what I was experiencing.

That’s not how any of this works.

Different struggles are still struggles.

That’s like saying because one person gets migraines, someone else’s broken leg is somehow less inconvenient.

Meanwhile, my hip was throbbing, my patience was evaporating, and my bank account was being introduced to a level of taxation usually reserved for luxury yachts and small moon colonies.

Cannabis: The Real Customer Service Department

After that experience, I needed cannabis the way DMV employees need forms in triplicate.

This rain has had my arthritis acting like it’s auditioning for a dramatic soap opera.

Add in stress, frustration, and enough bureaucratic nonsense to make a monk swear, and let’s just say medicating became less of a hobby and more of an emergency response plan.

Cannabis has always helped me find balance.

It settles the physical pain.

It smooths out the mental static.

It reminds me that sometimes the best response to nonsense is a deep breath, a good strain, and remembering not to let temporary frustration become permanent energy.

Still…

That DMV trip definitely increased my “required dosage of chill.”

The Bigger Picture

Here’s the truth.

I’m frustrated.

Really frustrated.

But I’m also grateful.

Because despite all the nonsense, despite all the hoops, despite enough paperwork drama to qualify as a Netflix mini-series…

I’m free again.

Mobile again.

Moving again.

That matters.

That’s the good.

And the bad?

Well…

The bad makes for one hell of a magazine article.

Catch Me This Weekend

Now that I’m back on the road, I’ll be pulling up to one of this weekend’s canna events — either in Palenville or Fort Plain.

Whichever one it is, I’m showing up ready to laugh, smoke, reset, and reconnect with the community.

Because after a week like this, there’s nothing better than good people, good vibes, and enough loud to make DMV memories fade into the background.

If you see me, come say what’s up.

And if your opening line is “So what was the market value?”…

I’m walking away.

Probably limping slightly.

But still walking away.

Until next time, stay safe, medicate responsibly, and remember Doug’s words:

Take the good with the bad.

Even when the bad comes with fluorescent lighting and smells faintly like government disappointment.

https://suno.com/s/vymHet3gB7paxddm