I've been disagreeing for years about Netflix’s rush on delivering new content full of politically correct stories aligned to today's world.

Yes, I agree, I understand new perspectives are needed to overthrow a shitty industry such as Hollywood’s, but I disagree with the fact that all marketing strategies are intended to glue us to the screens without receiving a proper ending.

It seems that stories are running out and the few left are exploited in never-ending spin off’s, remakes, and cinematic universes that try to save Hollywood’s cinema from its own ambition. 

I am a snob and I like the eighties. It's nice to recognize the experimentation when movies were made with a third of today’s budget.  A simple, crude story that offered something, even if it was about a vampire hunter in the middle of the Arizona desert. 

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However, I believe that my snobbishness has led me to be in a constant thirst for experiences. New concepts or things that can give me an interesting novelty in a World that seems to offer the same thing everywhere. 

Don't think that I only consider old art as the only thing worthy of seeing. I am the kind of snob that says you shouldn't read this chronicle but instead submerge in a Proustian novel. 

No, I like crap too, I like the Hot Dogs they sell at Seven-Eleven, street food, and cheesy gringo series like Gilmore Girls.

When it comes to ganja I am pompous indeed. I could actually feel related to the Italians -who detest all coffees except the ones created in their country-. I am a smarty pants when deciding on the doses I require. Especially after many failed trials, I finally found the atomic balance of the perfect gummy, the one that reaches my weed palate. 

These proper gummies have been faithful companions in my quest for the divine spectacle. So, just so you don't tell me later that I complain a lot but don't share the cool stuff, here's a show of excellence: Mesobis gummies and the Opera.

The first time I tried the entertainment combo was when my singer friend told me to listen to one of her shows. I had never been invited to the opera, even less, in Mexico. I immediately thought of the jokes I used to make as a kid when we imitated opera singers when you do the exaggerated deep voice on purpose. Later, I found out that it was actually terrible for the vocal cords…

I have had my good doses of cannabinoids with classical music before. Once I got paid for a gig with an annuity of concerts that became something like my high Sunday mass. This experience inspired me to the operatic-weed panorama.

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I dressed up and took a taxi, to avoid taking the subway. The initial surprise was that the vast majority of the audience had an average age of sixty. I, for vanity's sake, am not going to tell you what decade I'm transiting by, but it did seem to me that I was experiencing the most refined art in my jovial golden years.

Since I already had the gummy on me, when I saw a man with a necktie walking at the entrance of Bellas Artes, my imagination started to expand. I saw myself in the near future with the gentleman sharing refined jokes in his library, gaining his trust, and accompanying him as he aged and approached the inevitable death. I even pictured how in the future he would make me choose one necktie from his collection. Something he only did with a trusted and close friend. My imagination went a step further as I even imagined how I would make the whole audience cry at his funeral by giving a few bittersweet words that encompassed the affection we all shared for Don Guillermo. Then, I accidentally said his fictitious name out loud.

The hairy white eyebrows of Don Guillermo formed a severe angle. After not recognizing me he hurried his pace and fixed his gaze on my blue suede shoes. 

"What a smack", I thought to myself, "to each his own, right?" but I didn't want to overdo it, I didn't want him to think that I was advocating Hot Dogs from Seven-Eleven. 

Once inside I sat down and received the brochure that told me how the show was going, the thing will last almost three hours with an intermission in the middle. The theater was immense and pompous in its red and gold colors. My shoes counterbalanced the crimson-red carpet at my feet. This is probably how it feels like going to the Oscars.  Suddenly sweet music began to play and my imagination began to unwind. It was a subtle and mischievous flirtatious waltz that made me wrap myself in my seat and focus my gaze on some wandering brown eyes. Then I switched to some blue ones, I started to feel as if I were an outsider in a private club. I understood that it was the good old natural anxiety coming from the gummy unleashing its euphoria. Then, I caught sight of some haze-colored eyes that remained attentive to the music. I immediately imagined his owner and I were waltzing at Don Guillermo's house, drinking cognac and picking out handkerchiefs.

The fantasy was suddenly interrupted by the curtain being lifted. It had remained still when the music started. The lift climaxed the gummy’s effect on my body. I was stunned by the Downton Abbey competing costumes and decor on stage. I was immersed in a pompous and elegant time in which I let out small, sly, flirtatious giggles. The music enveloped me in the story of a young lady who received a lot of attention.  There was also a hottie who was hitting on her but everyone was calling him a fuckboy, until he made a dreamy toast. This moment, I understood, was the first hit of Verdi's Traviata. 

The effect then took me into a delirious and melodramatic time that consisted of many simultaneous sensations as if I was taking a bite of a rainbow. In my head, I devised an Opera about my life in which I was the protagonist. I saw myself in those costumes, in those songs, and in that deeply toxic romantic love.

I'm not going to review it for you because I think you should do it for your next gummy session. In fact, you should do it in style and dress fancy. Even if you watch it in your living room and put it on the big screen (on TV, that is).

But I did feel the rage of a tragedy that kept me in a daydream between the music and the telenovela drama they had going on. It seemed that the gummies had raised my cheesy senses and I was grateful for receiving the smack of the music and not seeing it all from a screen, no matter how many special effects or headphones are available. 

In the end, I walked with my gummies coming down and I was so hungry it seemed I had two stomachs to feed. I approached a backlit stall that was not yet closed and decided to get closer to find none other than Don Guillermo, having a delicious hamburger. A fatty greasy delicatessen that would get him closer to the grave. Irresponsible Don Guillermo. As I approached to place my order I heard his voice wrapped in a compliment on my blue suede shoes. I raised my eyes and winked at him. The body language used by dandies. It was the beginning of a friendship. I smiled then, discreetly at my last sweet joke, the one that would lift the audience's spirits during Don Guillermo's funeral by telling the story of the day we met.