Astoria: In your apartment.

Daisy: In my apartment. On a Tuesday.

Astoria: Okay back up, because you skipped the part where this is supposedly weed.

Daisy: It IS weed. That's the whole problem. It's the strain everyone's been losing their minds over.

Astoria: Wait, the burger one?

Daisy: Hash Burger. Yes. Leafly named it Strain of the Year. Like, officially. For 2025.

Astoria: And you felt obligated.

Daisy: I felt obligated.

Astoria: Obligated by who, the weed magazine?

Daisy: By the algorithm, Astoria. By society.

Astoria: Society did not tell you to buy a strain called Hash Burger.

Daisy: They kinda did though.

Astoria: Okay so what's in it. Like, what is the burger.

Daisy: It's a hybrid. Sixty-forty, indica-leaning. The parents are Han Solo Hash Plant—

Astoria: That's a real name?

Daisy: That's a real name. Crossed with Double Burger.

Astoria: Double Burger.

Daisy: I know.

Astoria: Someone in a lab coat picked that.

Daisy: Someone in a lab coat with a dream. And the THC on this thing is like twenty-eight to thirty-five percent.

Astoria: That's a wide range.

Daisy: That's a "you'll find out" range.

Astoria: Okay—

Daisy: That's a "depends on the batch and your tolerance and also God" range.

Astoria: So you went in blind.

Daisy: I went in confident. There's a difference.

Astoria: There's not.

Daisy: There's a vibe difference.

Astoria: Continue.

Daisy: So the budtender pulls out the jar. And immediately—immediately—my whole face was like, what is happening.

Astoria: Because?

Daisy: Because the official flavor profile, and I'm not making this up, is earthy, ammonia, umami, onion, and funk.

Astoria: You're—

Daisy: That's published.

Astoria: That's not a strain, that's a French dip.

Daisy: I KNOW.

Astoria: That's a sad French dip.

Daisy: Astoria, it smelled like if a gym sock fell in love with a burger. And they had a child. And the child was a vapor.

Astoria: Stop.

Daisy: I'm describing it accurately.

Astoria: And you brought it home.

Daisy: I brought it home. Because I am a professional.

Astoria: You're a podcaster.

Daisy: Same thing.

Astoria: Sure.

Daisy: So I'm in my kitchen, I open the jar—

Astoria: In the kitchen?

Daisy: Yes, because that's where my snacks are, and I had a plan.

Astoria: The plan being get high and eat the snacks.

Daisy: The plan being curate the experience.

Astoria: Okay. What happened.

Daisy: I open the jar, and my neighbor knocks on the door within ninety seconds.

Astoria: No.

Daisy: Within ninety seconds.

Astoria: What did she say.

Daisy: She said, and I quote, "Did something die in the hallway."

Astoria: Oh my god.

Daisy: I said no. She said are you sure. I said yes ma'am, that was me, I'm so sorry.

Astoria: You apologized for your weed.

Daisy: I apologized for my weed.

Astoria: To a stranger.

Daisy: To my NEIGHBOR. Whose Wi-Fi I steal.

Astoria: Daisy.

Daisy: It's a complicated relationship.

Astoria: So then what.

Daisy: So then I'm like, the smell is a feature not a bug, allegedly. I grind a little. I pack a tiny bowl. Tiny. Like a thimble.

Astoria: Smart.

Daisy: One hit.

Astoria: One.

Daisy: One hit. And I'll be honest with you—

Astoria: Yeah—

Daisy: I don't fully know what an indica-dominant hybrid is SUPPOSED to feel like at thirty-something percent. Like in theory I know. In practice—

Astoria: In practice you melt.

Daisy: I melted. Astoria, I melted into the linoleum.

Astoria: Okay.

Daisy: The effects, on paper, are sleepy, relaxed, and euphoric.

Astoria: That sounds nice.

Daisy: It IS nice. Until you remember the OTHER paper says possible headache and possible paranoia.

Astoria: Oh.

Daisy: Yeah.

Astoria: Which one did you get.

Daisy: I got the relaxed one. But I was on alert for the paranoia one, which is its own paranoia.

Astoria: Wait, you can be paranoid about getting paranoid?

Daisy: That's the entire experience of being me, Astoria.

Astoria: Okay fair.

Daisy: I sat on my floor and watched the freezer hum for forty minutes.

Astoria: That's a vibe.

Daisy: I felt CONNECTED to my appliances.

Astoria: B...

Welcome back to Highly Recommended, where Leah G. is coming to you live from her living room floor because her couch is currently acting way too judgmental. In this hazy mid-May session, we’re navigating the post-Solar Flare world of 2026 and trying to remember how to put shoes on our actual feet instead of our hands. Leah dives deep into a review of the "Static Shock OG" strain, which apparently has the power to turn your bones into marshmallows and make your Wi-Fi sound like a polite British man whispering trivia.

The chaos hits a peak when Leah recounts a disastrous trip to a Taco Bell-Tesla hybrid charging station. From forgetting the word "taco" and describing it as a "crunchy orange envelope with meat confetti" to accidentally attempting to pay with a library card, it’s a masterclass in social anxiety and drive-thru panic. It's a relatable reminder that sometimes the car really is judging you, and maybe we aren't ready for that much power at one window.

To wrap things up, we’re getting into a spicy hot take on the "AI Nostalgia" trend that's sweeping the media. Leah questions why we’re obsessed with reanimating the 90s like a denim-clad Frankenstein just to watch a digital Ross Geller explain NFTs. It’s a call for original thoughts, proper hydration, and a plea to stop trying to code the specific sarcasm of the Friends cast. Grab a glass of water and settle in—it’s going to be a weird one.

This week on the pod, Leah G. takes us on a wild ride from the depths of moving hell to the celestial casting choices of Hollywood. Kicking things off from her new, box-strewn apartment, Leah shares the universally relatable struggle of unearthing forgotten treasures (and horrors) during a move, including a cringe-worthy high school diary that reveals her past ambitions as a professional unicyclist.

To combat the existential dread and past awkwardness, Leah introduces us to her new favorite strain, 'Temporal Tapestry'. She raves about its mango and peppery scent and its ability to flip her mood from mortified to "good for her" with its giggly, euphoric sativa lean, making it her go-to for any "shame-based emergencies."

Finally, Leah delivers her hot take of the week, questioning the baffling casting of Timothée Chalamet as George Jetson in the upcoming live-action *Jetsons* reboot. She passionately argues for "justice for George Jetson," highlighting the cosmic vibe mismatch and advocating for Hollywood to let Chalamet play roles more suited to his angelic, sad indie music aesthetic.

Your host Leah G. kicks off this week's episode from her official pillow fort office, ready to dive into her latest recommendations. First up is a review of a sativa strain called "Galactic Lemon Haze," which turned a regular Saturday into an incredibly productive, astronaut-level cleaning spree. While the experience left her apartment spotless, it also led to an alphabetically organized spice rack that has made finding the paprika a brand new adventure. Use with caution if you want to find your spices, but highly recommended if you want to feel like a sparkly spaceship who scrubs baseboards.

Later, Leah recounts her journey to a trendy new vegan spot to reward her cleaning frenzy, only to be met with a mushroom burger that cost a soul-crushing thirty-seven dollars. She breaks down the internal monologue of paying for the burger and delivers her final verdict on whether a mushroom on a bun can ever be worth that much (spoiler: it can't). To wrap things up, Leah dives into a hot take on the current state of movies, pleading for a return to standalone films that don't require homework to understand the post-credits scene.

Leah G reviews Alien Rock Candy, an indica-dominant hybrid from Legacy Cannabis in Minneapolis, describing its unique citrusy and spicy aroma and full-body relaxing effects perfect for low-stakes creativity. She also shares a hilarious mishap with runaway bread dough and passionately rants about the misuse of "I could care less."

Key Highlights:

• Leah G highly recommends Alien Rock Candy from Legacy Cannabis, an indica-dominant hybrid known for its full-body relaxation.

• The Alien Rock Candy strain features a unique aroma profile of sour lemon, rose petal, and pepper, with a bright, earthy taste.

• Leah recounts a comical incident where her no-knead bread dough escaped its bowl and oozed down her refrigerator.

• Leah passionately argues that the phrase "I could care less" is grammatically incorrect and should always be "I couldn't care less."

Topics: Leah G, Minneapolis, Legacy Cannabis, Alien Rock Candy, cannabis review, indica hybrid, stress relief, creative pursuits, bread making, grammar rant, podcast, MN Cannabis Hub

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TRANSCRIPT

(Upbeat, slightly chaotic synth intro music fades in and then fades to background)

What is UP, my highly recommended people, and welcome back to the podcast. I’m your host, Leah G, coming to you live from my apartment in Minneapolis, where my cat, Bartholomew, is currently trying to… lick a running blender? Okay, that’s a problem for… future Leah. This week has been a WEEK. You ever have one of those where you forget to eat until like, 4 PM, and then you just stand in front of the fridge eating shredded cheese out of the bag like a goblin? No? Just me? Cool, cool, cool. Anyway, my point is, it was a week that required some… specific herbal assistance. And I found something that I am genuinely, deeply obsessed with, and I cannot wait to tell you about it. So let’s get into it.

(Slight shift in tone, more focused but still energetic)

Alright, so for this week’s review, I ventured out to Legacy Cannabis. It’s a great little spot on Lyndale, super friendly staff who don’t make you feel like a moron for asking questions. And I went in looking for something to just kinda… shut the brain goblins up for a minute, you know? And I found it. It’s called Alien Rock Candy. First of all, amazing name. Ten out of ten. It’s an indica-dominant hybrid, so you’re getting that nice, cozy body feeling without immediately turning into a fossil on your couch.

The effects are… okay, you know that feeling when you finally take your hair down after it’s been in a ponytail all day? It’s like that, but for your entire skeleton. Just a full-body sigh of relief. But what’s really wild is the smell. It’s not your typical weed smell. It smells like… if you were at a fancy hotel, and they left a weirdly specific bowl of potpourri made of, like, sour lemon peels and maybe a single, very confused rose petal, and then someone in the next room over spilled a bottle of pepper. It’s citrusy and a little spicy, but in a way that makes you keep wanting to smell it. The taste is kinda similar, very bright and a little earthy. It’s weird, but it’s a good weird.

This is the perfect strain for when you need to do something creative but low-stakes. I spent three hours rearranging the books on my bookshelf by color, and it was the most satisfying, zen experience of my entire month. So if you’re looking to de-stress and make some questionable but aesthetically pleasing organizational choices, I highly recommend Alien Rock Candy from Legacy Cannabis.

(A beat of silence, then a sigh)

So. Speaking of questionable choices. On Tuesday, I decided I was going to be a person who makes their own bread. Why? Absolutely no reason. I just woke up and chose violence, I guess. So I find this no-knead recipe online, seems simple enough. I mix all the stuff together in a bowl, this sticky, horrifying glob of flour and water. The recipe says to let it rise for 12 to 18 hours. Perfect. I stick it on top of the fridge, because I read somewhere that it’s warm up there, and I go to bed feeling very domestic and capable.

Fast forward to the next afternoon. I had completely, utterly forgotten about the dough. I’m making coffee, and Bartholomew is just staring, laser-focused, at the top of the fridge. He’s not a big jumper, so I’m like, what is your deal, my furry little dude? And then I see it. The dough… has escaped. It has more than doubled in size, it has breached the confines of the bowl, and it is slowly, menacingly, oozing down the side of my refrigerator like something out of a sci-fi movie. It was a dough glacier. A dough-cier, if you will. It took me forty-five minutes to scrape this sticky, fermented monster off my fridge, all while Bartholomew watched, judging me, I’m sure. The worst part? I still tried to bake what was left in the bowl. It came out looking and feeling like a fossilized frisbee. So, yeah. That was my week.

(Slight pause, then a sharp inhale)

Okay, you know what I’ve been thinking about this week? And I have a very, very strong opinion on this. Why do we, as a society, accept the phrase “I could care less”? It’s wrong. It’s fundamentally, grammatically, spiritually wrong. Think about it. If you *could* care less, that implies you have some level of care left to give. You’re saying there is a capacity for caring that you have not yet exhausted. The phrase is “I *couldn’t* care less.” As in, I have reached the absolute basement level of not caring. My caring well is dry. There is not a single drop of care left to give.

It drives me absolutely bonkers. It’s like saying “Yeah, I could be more quiet.” No! You couldn’t be more quiet! You’re at maximum quiet! It’s the little things, you know? The tiny little fractures in our language that reveal the chaos underneath. People just walking around, saying they *could* care less about things they clearly despise. It’s a lie! A bald-faced, grammatically incorrect lie! And I, for one, will not stand for it. It’s “couldn’t.” End of rant.

(Music starts to fade back in)

Alright, that is all the time I have for this week, my friends. Thank you for letting me occupy your earholes for a little while. Next week, I’m going to be reviewing something that smells like it came from another dimension, so you’re not gonna want to miss that. For real, actual, non-chaotic Minnesota cannabis news and updates, please go check out the folks at MN Cannabis Hub. They do great work. Until next time, stay safe, make good choices, and for the love of all that is holy, check on your bread dough. This is Leah G, signing off.

(Outro music swells and fades out)

This week, host Leah G reviews LKF Egg Roll, a hybrid cannabis strain with 19.2% THC, purchased from Minnesota Canna in Edina. She shares her experience with its unique sweet and sour sauce aroma and creative, low-stakes effects, including a hilarious mishap involving a ground beef and apple pie tater tot hotdish.

Key Highlights:

• Leah G reviews LKF Egg Roll, a hybrid cannabis strain with 19.2% THC from Minnesota Canna.

• The LKF Egg Roll strain boasts a bizarre yet captivating aroma reminiscent of sweet and sour sauce with earthy undertones.

• Experience the strain's true hybrid effects, perfect for low-stakes creative activities like crocheting or contemplating dust.

• Leah recounts a hilarious cooking disaster, accidentally making a ground beef and apple pie tater tot hotdish while under the strain's influence.

Topics: LKF Egg Roll, hybrid strain, Minnesota Canna, Edina, THC 19.2%, cannabis review, podcast, Leah G, tater tot hotdish, cooking mishap, creative effects, MN Cannabis Hub, Minneapolis

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TRANSCRIPT

(Upbeat, slightly chaotic synth intro music plays for 10 seconds, then fades into the background)

What is UP, my highly recommended people, and welcome back to the podcast. It’s your host, Leah G, coming to you live from my slightly-too-warm apartment in Minneapolis. My cat, Bartholomew, has been on a real tear this week. He learned how to open the cupboard where I keep the rice, and for three days straight, I’d just randomly find single grains of rice in my shoes. In my bed. One was in my hair. I have no idea what his endgame is, but honestly? I respect the commitment to chaos. It’s a lifestyle.

Anyway, that’s the kind of week it’s been. The kind of week where you just need something to… smooth out the edges, you know? Which brings us to this week’s main event. I ventured out into the world, mask on, ready for an adventure, and I found something that just called to me from the dispensary menu. It’s a name that’s so weird, so specific, I had to have it.

This week, we are talking about a hybrid strain called LKF Egg Roll. Yes. Egg. Roll. I got it over at Minnesota Canna, which is technically in Edina, but it’s, like, right there. Close enough for our purposes. So, Egg Roll is a hybrid, and it’s got a THC percentage of 19.2%. So, respectable. Not gonna send you to another dimension against your will, but definitely gets the job done.

Now, the smell. This is where it gets wild. You’d think, "Egg Roll," okay, it’s gonna be savory, maybe like… cabbage? No. Not at all. It smells like sweet and sour sauce. Like, that weirdly specific, bright orange sauce you get in the little plastic packets. There’s this sharp, citrusy, almost tangy thing happening, but underneath it, there’s this earthy, kinda doughy smell. It’s bizarre and I am absolutely obsessed with it. The taste is less "egg roll" and more just… pleasantly sweet and a little bit peppery on the exhale.

The effects are a true hybrid. It hits you right behind the eyes at first, this little wave of "hello, I am now stoned," and everything feels a little brighter, a little funnier. But it doesn’t get racy. It just kinda… settles. It’s the perfect strain for doing something creative that doesn’t require, you know, intense focus. I spent three hours last night trying to teach myself how to crochet a tiny hat for Bartholomew. I have not successfully crocheted a tiny hat for Bartholomew. What I have is a weird, lumpy circle of yarn and a very happy memory of watching a single dust bunny float through a sunbeam for ten minutes. So, yeah. Pairs well with low-stakes crafting and contemplating dust. Go find LKF Egg Roll at Minnesota Canna. Tell them Leah G sent you. They won’t know who that is.

This brings me to a story from Tuesday. So, I’d just enjoyed a little bit of said Egg Roll, and I decided it was the perfect time to make my grandma’s famous hotdish. Tater tot hotdish. A Minnesota classic. It’s not complicated. It’s ground beef, cream of mushroom soup, some veggies, cheese, tater tots on top. A culinary masterpiece. I’ve made it a hundred times.

So I’m vibing, I’ve got my music on, I’m browning the beef. I reach into the pantry for the cream of mushroom. Grab a can. Plop it in. Stir it all up, put it in the dish, layer the tater tots on top like a beautiful, starchy mosaic. Into the oven it goes. I’m feeling like a domestic goddess.

Forty-five minutes later, the timer goes off. The tots are golden brown. My apartment smells… weird. Not bad, just… sweet. Really sweet. I’m thinking, man, this Egg Roll strain is really messing with my senses. I pull out the hotdish, and it’s bubbling, it looks perfect. I scoop a big portion onto my plate, take a huge bite, and… it’s apple pie.

I had grabbed a can of apple pie filling instead of cream of mushroom soup. I made a ground beef and apple pie tater tot hotdish. And the worst part? The absolute worst part is that for a solid ten seconds, my stoned brain was like, "You know… it’s not… terrible?" The sweet and the savory… maybe I’m a genius? I took a second bite just to be sure. It was, in fact, terrible. It was an abomination. Bartholomew wouldn’t even look at it. So I ordered a pizza. And I learned a valuable lesson about organizing my pantry. Or maybe the lesson is that I shouldn't be allowed to cook unsupervised. Jury’s still out.

Okay, I need to get something off my chest. We, as a society, need to stop saying "no worries." It’s a lie. It’s a fundamental lie. Someone bumps into you and goes "Oh, sorry!" and you say "no worries." Worries? Of course not, why would I be *worried*? Annoyed? Maybe. Mildly inconvenienced for a fraction of a second? Sure. But worried? Were you concerned I was going to crumble into a pile of dust because you grazed my elbow?

It’s the same energy as "no problem." Oh, you thought it might be a *problem*? You thought holding the door for two extra seconds was going to derail my entire day? It’s this weird, passive-aggressive, low-key dismissive phrase. What happened to a good, old-fashioned "you’re welcome" or "it’s all good"? "No worries" implies a baseline level of anxiety that I just do not have about 99% of daily human interactions. Stop telling me not to worry about things I was never, ever going to worry about. It’s linguistic clutter. It’s filler. Let’s bring back sincerity. Or at least, like, a simple "you’re good." Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Alright, that’s all the time I’ve got for you this week, my friends. I need to go figure out if I can salvage that casserole dish or if I have to burn it in a ritual sacrifice. Next week, I’m going to review something that smells like it came from another dimension, a place where flowers are made of gasoline and fruit. It’s gonna be a trip. In the meantime, for the real, actual, grown-up news about the cannabis scene here in Minnesota, you should be checking out the MN Cannabis Hub. They’re the pros. I’m just a chaos agent with a microphone. Be good to each other, stay hydrated, and give your pets a little smooch for me. Bye!

(Upbeat synth music fades back in and plays to finish)

Host Leah G reviews Super Boof, a 50/50 hybrid cannabis strain purchased from BlooMN in Northeast Minneapolis. She describes its unique sour cherry and gasoline aroma and praises its giggly, euphoric, yet focused high, perfect for tackling chores with a good mood. Leah also shares a hilarious story about attempting to build a cat tree and rants about the generic farewell "have a good one."

Key Highlights:

• Leah G introduces Super Boof, a 50/50 hybrid strain from BlooMN, a cross between Black Cherry Punch and Tropicana Cookies.

• The Super Boof strain is described as having a unique aroma of sour cherries, gasoline, and nutty sweetness, leading to a giggly, euphoric, and focused high.

• Leah recounts a comical and ultimately failed attempt to assemble a complex cat tree while experiencing the effects of Super Boof.

• The episode features a rant against the vague farewell "have a good one," advocating for more specific and intentional well-wishes.

Topics: Super Boof, BlooMN, Northeast Minneapolis, cannabis review, hybrid strain, Black Cherry Punch, Tropicana Cookies, cannabis effects, cat tree assembly, podcast rant, farewell phrases, MN Cannabis Hub

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TRANSCRIPT

(Upbeat, slightly chaotic synth intro music fades in and then fades to a low background hum)

What is UP, you beautiful people, and welcome back to Highly Recommended. It’s your host, Leah G, coming to you live from… well, from a pile of laundry in my living room that has officially gained sentience. I think I saw it reach for my coffee this morning. Bartholomew, my cat, my furry orange agent of chaos, has been sleeping on top of it, so now all my clean clothes are covered in a fine ginger glitter. He also knocked over my entire collection of novelty salt and pepper shakers this week. There’s a tiny ceramic Bigfoot leg in my heating vent. I’m not getting it. It can stay there. That’s its home now. Anyway, I haven’t eaten a real meal in two days and I had a dream last night that my teeth were dissolving like bath bombs, so it’s been a week. Which is why I am so, so excited to talk to you today about a strain that has single-handedly been holding my brain together. Let’s get into it.

(Slight shift in tone, more focused but still enthusiastic)

Okay, so. This week’s little miracle is called Super Boof. And yes, I picked it because the name sounds like a ghost trying to be scary and failing. Super Boof! Like, what are you gonna do, mildly spook me? But I’m so glad I did. I grabbed this from BlooMN over in Northeast Minneapolis, and whoa. Just… whoa. So, Super Boof is a hybrid, a nice little 50/50 split between indica and sativa, which I love. It’s a cross between Black Cherry Punch and Tropicana Cookies. And it smells… okay, it smells like someone dropped a bag of sour cherries into a bucket of gasoline that a cartoon mouse was also, for some reason, cleaning with a lemon-scented wipe. It’s got this weirdly specific nutty sweetness under a whole lot of citrus. Like, it smells like a fruit salad made by a mechanic. It’s funky, it’s a little weird, and I am obsessed with it. The high is just as interesting. It’s super giggly and euphoric, but also really focused. It’s one of those where you feel your mood just… inflate, you know? Like one of those wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube men outside a car dealership. That’s your brain on Super Boof. It’s perfect for when you need to clean your entire apartment but you also want to have a good time doing it. You’ll be organizing your spice rack by alphabetical order and laughing your ass off at the sheer existence of paprika. Highly, highly recommend.

So, speaking of needing to get things done and having it all go completely sideways. The other day I was feeling the full effects of some Super Boof, right? I’m in that focused-but-floaty headspace, and I decide, this is the day. This is the day I finally build the ridiculously complicated cat tree I bought three months ago. It’s been sitting in its box, judging me. Mocking my lack of ambition. So I drag this enormous box into the middle of my living room. I dump out what looks like a thousand pieces of beige carpet-covered wood and a bag of screws that could build a small car. Bartholomew is, of course, immediately trying to eat the instructions, which are written in what I can only describe as IKEA-inspired hieroglyphics. I’m on the floor, I’ve got this tiny Allen wrench, and I’m trying to decipher whether Diagram C is telling me to attach the little crow’s nest platform or summon a demon. The instructions are useless. It’s just pictures of a smiling, genderless cartoon person effortlessly screwing things together. Liar. I’m sweating. I’ve got carpet fuzz in my hair. I put the first two pieces together and they immediately fall apart. I try again. They fall apart again. I realize I’ve been trying to screw a screw into a hole that doesn’t have any threads. It’s just a hole. For aesthetics, I guess? So now I’m just balancing things. I’m using pure hope and gravity to hold this thing together. I get about three feet up, I’ve got a wobbly tower of beige carpet, and Bartholomew decides this is the perfect time to test its structural integrity. He leaps. The whole thing sways like a drunk giraffe. He’s clinging to the top piece, his eyes are huge, and the entire pathetic structure just… folds. It collapses in on itself in this silent, carpeted implosion. Bartholomew rides it down like a cowboy on a bucking bronco and lands softly in the wreckage, completely unharmed, and starts purring. So now the cat tree is just a pile of abstract sculpture on my floor. And you know what? It’s staying there. It’s art now.

Alright, you know what time it is. It’s time for a rant. My hot take this week is that we, as a society, need to stop telling people to "have a good one." A good *what*? A good minute? A good day? A good impending sense of doom? It’s so vague. It’s the verbal equivalent of a shrug. It’s the gray sweatpants of farewells. There’s no commitment. There’s no passion. "Have a good one." It says, "I am legally obligated to wish you well, but my heart’s not in it." What happened to "take care"? Or "see you later"? Or even a good old-fashioned, slightly dramatic "farewell"? "Have a good one" is the participation trophy of pleasantries. It’s what you say when you can’t remember someone’s name and you’re making your escape from a conversation. It’s lazy. It’s uninspired. And I, for one, am taking a stand. From now on, I’m only wishing people specifics. Have a good Tuesday afternoon! I hope your next sandwich is amazing! May you find a twenty-dollar bill in your pocket! Let’s put some effort in, people. Let’s wish each other well with some actual intention. The "one" has had its day. We can do better.

(Upbeat outro music begins to fade in)

Alright, that is my time, my beautiful, highly recommended listeners. Next week… who knows. I might review something that smells like it came from another dimension, or maybe I’ll just talk about the existential dread of folding a fitted sheet. You’ll have to tune in to find out. In the meantime, if you need the real, no-nonsense news about cannabis here in Minnesota, you have to be checking out the MN Cannabis Hub. They’re the grown-ups in the room, and we love them for it. Until next time, stay safe, make good choices, and for the love of god, wish someone a good, specific something. Bye!

(Music swells and fades out)

In this chaotic episode of Highly Recommended, Leah G. reviews Alien Rock Candy, an indica-dominant hybrid from Legacy Cannabis in Minneapolis, describing its unique gummy worm and mint aroma and relaxing effects. She also shares a tale of her cat Bartholomew's passive-aggressive rejection of a gourmet treat and rants about the linguistic plague of "No worries."

Key Highlights:

• Leah G. details her experience with Alien Rock Candy, an indica-dominant hybrid from Legacy Cannabis in Minneapolis, noting its happy, floaty effects.

• She describes the strain's unique aroma as a mix of gummy worms and fresh mint, perfect for relaxation or light tasks.

• Leah recounts her cat Bartholomew's deliberate rejection of a gourmet charcuterie board in favor of dry kibble, leading to a humorous attempt to understand his perspective.

• Leah G. passionately expresses her pet peeve with the phrase "No worries," advocating for a return to "you're welcome" or "no problem."

Topics: Legacy Cannabis, Alien Rock Candy, indica-dominant hybrid, Minneapolis, Minnesota cannabis, cat stories, pet peeves, podcasting, relaxation, humor, MN Cannabis Hub, weed review

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TRANSCRIPT

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Hey, what's up, you're listening to "Highly Recommended" with me, Leah G. So, my week. My week was… weird. I had this dream that my cat, Bartholomew, could suddenly do my taxes. And honestly, the scariest part was that I was, like, relieved. I was like, "Oh, thank god, Bartholomew, I have so many questions about quarterly estimates." Then I woke up and he was just licking his own shoulder, so, back to square one on that. And of course, in the process of not doing my taxes, he managed to knock a full cup of cold brew directly onto my laptop. So I am recording this on a loaner from 2014 that sounds like a tiny airplane taking off. It’s fine. Everything is fine. This is the energy we're bringing into today's episode: the energy of a cat-induced financial and technological crisis. Which, honestly, is the perfect energy to talk about some truly excellent weed.

So, let's get into it. This week, I took a little trip over to Legacy Cannabis in Minneapolis—great spot, by the way—and I picked up something that just sounded like it was invented by a hyperactive space nerd, which is a vibe I can get behind. It's called Alien Rock Candy. First off, amazing name. It’s an indica-dominant hybrid, which is my sweet spot. Not gonna put you on the floor, but definitely gonna tell your shoulders to unclench for the first time since, I don't know, 2019? The effects are super interesting. It’s got this immediate happy, floaty feeling, but without the anxiety that can sometimes come with that initial rush. It’s like being lifted up by a very gentle, very stoned UFO. The smell is where it gets really fun. It’s not your typical pine or citrus. It smells like… and stay with me here… it smells like a bag of gummy worms that you accidentally dropped in a patch of fresh mint. It’s sweet, it's a little bit earthy, and it’s got this weird, sharp herbal thing going on that I am super into. This is a perfect strain for putting on a really long, atmospheric movie you've already seen a hundred times, or for finally organizing your junk drawer. You’ll get really into it for about twenty minutes, make a beautiful little home for your spare buttons, and then you'll get distracted and spend the next hour staring at the ceiling, thinking about… well, probably about alien rock candy. So, yeah. Alien Rock Candy from Legacy Cannabis. Highly, highly recommended.

Okay, so speaking of getting distracted, this strain led to a bit of a situation this week. So, Bartholomew, post-coffee-disaster, was being suspiciously sweet. You know, rubbing on my legs, doing that little chirpy meow thing. He’s usually more of a "stare at me from across the room like a tiny, furry gargoyle" kind of guy. So I’m feeling the Alien Rock Candy, I’m feeling relaxed, and I decide to make him a little gourmet treat. Like, a cat-safe charcuterie board. I’m talking a little pile of shredded salmon, a couple of those fancy dehydrated chicken hearts, the whole deal. I arrange it all on this tiny little plate I have. It’s adorable. I feel like the world's best cat mom. I present it to him, and he just… sniffs it. He looks at the beautiful, artisanal plate of food, then he looks at me, and then he deliberately walks over to his bowl of dry, boring kibble and starts crunching away. It was the most devastatingly passive-aggressive thing I have ever witnessed. I was genuinely hurt. So then, because I’m high, I decide the only logical thing to do is to try and understand why. I spent the next forty-five minutes on the floor, trying to see the world from his perspective. I'm smelling the kibble, I'm smelling the salmon, I'm trying to get on his level. My neighbor Carol walked by my window and saw me on all fours, sniffing a bowl of cat food, and I just sort of… waved? There was no explaining it. Bartholomew just sat there, watching me, with this look on his face like, "Yes, human. Grovel." The chaos is real.

Alright, you know what I need to get off my chest this week? It's the phrase "No worries." Oh, it drives me up a wall. Someone will ask you for a favor, a totally reasonable favor, and you do it, and they say "thank you," and you say, "No worries." Why? Why are we saying that? It implies that there was a potential for worry. It suggests that me passing you a napkin was a task fraught with potential peril that I heroically overcame. Like, were you concerned I was going to have a full-blown anxiety attack about whether I could complete the napkin hand-off? No! Of course not! Just say "you're welcome"! Or "no problem"! "No worries" is this weird, hollow, corporate-speak phrase that has infiltrated our daily lives and it minimizes the thank you! It’s like saying, "Don't worry your pretty little head, I managed to handle that incredibly simple task without spiraling." I want to bring back a hearty "You are most welcome!" or even just a simple "You got it." Anything but "No worries." It's a linguistic plague, and I, for one, will not stand for it any longer. End rant.

Alright, that is my time for this week. I'm already looking at a strain for the next episode that smells like it came from another dimension, so you've got that to look forward to. In the meantime, if you want the actual, serious, non-chaotic news about what's happening in the Minnesota cannabis scene, you should definitely be checking out the MN Cannabis Hub. They know what they're talking about. I'm just a girl with a cat and a microphone. This has been "Highly Recommended." I'm Leah G. Talk to you next week.

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No-fluff product recommendations and honest reviews — things we actually use and love, from home and tech to everyday life. New episodes weekly. Find more at mncannabishub.com.

Your favorite highly recommended host, Leah G., is back in your earbuds for a late March ramble through the highs and lows of her recent life. She kicks things off with a review of a uniquely named Sativa-dominant hybrid, "Unicorn Farts & Existential Darts," taking listeners on a journey through its creativity-inducing highs and its sudden, philosophical, reality-questioning lows. It's a strain for the adventurous, the philosophical, and anyone who doesn't have immediate plans.

Following her cerebral adventures, Leah shares a humbling culinary catastrophe involving an ambitious gourmet grilled cheese, three types of fancy cheese, and one very distracting dust bunny. The story of her grilled charcoal sandwich serves as a hilarious reminder of how easily our grand plans can go up in smoke. To round out the episode, she drops a hot take on the trend of AI-penned celebrity memoirs, questioning whether efficiency is worth sacrificing the messy, human details that make stories truly compelling. It's a call for more grit, more genuine reflection, and maybe an AI memoir about its own existential dread.