Yo, you smoke? I mean, you like to get high? I like to smoke pot on occasion. I don’t remember if the character and fitness application for bar admittance asked about drug use, but I think it probably did. It doesn’t matter, of course. Just another brick in the wall of hypocrisy that our nation’s drug laws and attitudes have become. Or have always been. I don’t really know. But seriously, you smoke?
I’ve never been terribly enthusiastic about smoking weed. To be honest, I’m too lazy to develop a serious pot habit. To me, it’s no different than collecting stamps or reading literature. It takes effort. And that’s just something that I don’t have much of in large amounts. This is all to say that if I were a harder worker or had more motivation to do something/anything, I’d probably be a pothead. I mean, I like smoking pot well enough.
This weekend, the New York Times blew up your bubby’s spot. And Rand Paul went on national television and said a whole lot of sensible things that no one in their right minds could disagree with. And, well, it got me thinking.
Yo, you smoke?
The Times published one of its magnificent trend pieces and, unlike previous efforts that confused anecdote for fact, this one carried with it the sweet herbaceous whiff of truth. As it turns out, old people like to get blazed to the bejeezus belt. Just ask Cher Neufer, a bluehaired bitty with time to kill and joints to blaze:
“It’s nice,” Ms. Neufer said. “It’s just a social thing. It’s like when people get together, and they crack open their beers.”
Say word? This is no different than the revelation years ago that old folks in nursing homes were giving each other STDs as if their Social Security checks depended on it. Old people, they’re not unlike you and I, brother. In fact, they’re probably just a whole lot cooler. I spent several of my formative years watching my grandpa clown on people at a Hardees. Sitting there drinking coffee and eating biscuits and gravy, a clutch of old men lived life without regret or shame. Talking sh*t and acting like fools. Old people, despite their obvious physical handicaps and poor driving skills, deserve our respect.
Anyway, back to Cher, who’s probably so high right now, she can’t see straight. You care if anyone knows about your relationship with the sticky-icky?
“Most of us are either retiring or are retired,” Ms. Neufer said. “You don’t have to worry about your job knowing, so it’s a little easier for us. I don’t care if you use my name, I don’t care if they know!”
Hell to the naw.
And why should Cher or anyone else care about whether someone knows they smoke pot. Well, one reason is that people are getting locked up in this country for not much more. Yesterday, Rand Paul was on the TV saying why this country’s insane drug laws are… well, just that. Insane:
While arguing against mandatory minimum sentences for smoking pot, Paul pointed out that both President Bush and President Obama could have seen their lives destroyed by marijuana-related arrests, reports the Hill. “Look, the last two presidents could conceivably have been put in jail for their drug use,” Paul said. “Look what would have happened. It would have ruined their lives. They got lucky. But a lot of poor kids, particularly in the inner city, don’t get lucky. They don’t have good attorneys. They go to jail for these things. And I think it’s a big mistake.” Host Chris Wallace replied with a laugh: “Actually, I think it would be the last three presidents, but who’s counting?”
Chris Wallace’s response is a priceless distillation of our country’s attitudes. A chuckle about laws that lock up thousands of young men and women. I suppose I’m no better, though. It’s far easier to yuck it up than admit we are captive to an insane junta hellbent on perpetuating morally corrupt policies of increasing insanity. LOL.
But anyway, this is all a sidelight to the important question. Yo, you smoke? If I was just estimating the number of attorneys who smoke weed based on my group of friends and acquaintances, I’d say it was roughly eighty percent. Maybe ninety. But I recognize that my group may be a self-selecting crew of misfits and ne’er-do-wells. Whatever, only God can judge me.
Yo, you smoke?