Entertainment Dignitaries and Celebrity Trash

About a year ago, I watched a national morning news program that devoted over half of its broadcast time toward promoting a ridiculous looking band that was already exceptionally popular. To aide in your imagination, visualize three scruffy thirty-five year old men with perms dressed up as teenage girls. They kept “checking in” with them between segments and at one point a member of the band assisted with the weather report. I would have said he “helped” but it doesn’t really feel like the right term. He just spent most of the time mugging for the camera. I suppose it doesn’t really matter because nobody has ever benefited from one of those national weather reports anyway. I’m rarely in Phoenix and New York at the same time so it has never occurred to me that I need to know what the temperature might be in both places. After a few minutes of commercials they returned to the studio where they proceeded to have a gorgeous young woman show the hosts several new products. She would go around and explain what they were and who might appreciate them as gifts. There were even a few items that she insisted everyone must own. One was a remote control for an air-freshener and the other was a tiny bathtub solely for your feet. This was followed by a short interview with a major Hollywood actor, whose God is an alien, and a brief clip from their new film.

At this point I realized that I had previously heard several people in my life refer to this show as “the news” and was starting to get really upset. I had been fooled into watching an hour of commercials. I went to make myself a cup of coffee and once I had returned there was a celebrity chef making healthy desserts and then the band finally went on to do their performance. The show ended and, despite having never been given any actual information, I still learned a valuable lesson. People are spending billions upon billions of dollars to ensure that you like what they want you to like. A few of these celebrities are pretty detestable human beings. That’s all well and good for the short lived fame of reality television but some have amassed legitimate wealth and true star power partly because of their clownish behavior.

It’s gotten to a point where we almost cannot see them as real people anymore. It’s easy to forget that they continue to exist off screen, have families, fears and thoughts. You can’t expect every celebrity to be as immaculately classy as Tom Hanks but even people famous for being human garbage have feelings. Consider our relationship to these people for a moment. They are paid so we can collectively hate them. The television converts our attention, disgust and morbid curiosity into money and they get a portion of that. That’s a pretty incredible way to make a living but it should probably bother more of us that this can even exist as a career.

Then we go and validate these people and some of us even begin to look up to and idolize them. We’re a culture that has no trouble giving away time that could be spent on self improvement, deep reflection and socializing for a few extra hours of low brow entertainment. As it turns out, all that attention is profitable to advertisers and television networks so even more money is put into make sure your attention remains held. Oddly, we seem pretty eager to participate in the parade of ridiculousness that the media puts on every second of every day. If someone took a crap on a plate and then published a photo of it in People Magazine, you had better believe it would only be a matter of weeks before it was starring in the next romantic comedy with Jessica Biel.

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I should be clear and say that I do think it’s alright to have favorite celebrities and television shows. But I’m not entirely convinced that we can be trusted to moderate ourselves. We are like a society of alcoholics but, instead of alcohol, it’s famous people. Ryan Gosling is a wonderful actor and every bit as handsome as the tabloids say but we’re getting status updates each time he gets new glasses. That feels a little bit excessive. We don’t need to be stressing over each little thing and creating an industry where people can make money stalking celebrities. If we’re going to be spending every spare second we have obsessing over Hollywood, we should at least be asking important questions. For example, why do they keep making Judy Greer the “ugly” friend in every movie? I would much rather be going out with her than Helen Hunt, Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Garner or pretty much any other female lead. Every time the two lovers finally kiss I’m always left thinking “I wonder what Judy Greer’s character is doing right now.” It doesn’t make sense and, in my opinion, is an utter travesty. But, until we all band together and tell the studios that we won’t go and see another boring and soulless romantic comedy until she’s the star, nothing is going to change. Absolutely nothing.

Despite advancing technology to a place that has given us more leisure time and access to leisure activities than ever before; we’ve developed a pretty weak attention span combined with a terrible need to be obsessed and continuously shocked. When we don’t get enough of it, we create new celebrities (seemingly from nothing) and enter into this strange relationship with them. Love, hate, envy and disgust all sort of meld together while we give them money and encourage them to try and shoot for the stars. The worse they act the more we hate them but the second they become upstanding or normal, our attention usually dries up. We are absolutely obsessed with being obsessed, yet we rarely take a time out for an examination. It’s as inexplicable as it is bizarre. We’re a part of this culture that rewards freaks while also condemning them. It sexualizes children but doesn’t give the right to touch their butts. There are mothers and daughters lusting after the same child stars and families sitting down to watch a marathon of teenagers who didn’t know that they were nine months pregnant. Sure, it’s entertaining and makes us feel better about ourselves but why? Time is the most precious and fleeting commodity we have and I’m not sure any of this has really earned ours.

 

*Disclaimer: This author does not make a habit of following celebrities or reality television. This post was the result of seeing a morning show at the residence of a family member who shall remain nameless.
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How Headaches Have Changed My Life

I have never made the mistake of having exceptionally high expectations for my birthday but, despite my best efforts, other people always anticipate that it’s going to be this magical moment for me. It is widely held belief that a birthday is supposed to be filled with favorite things and good times. This year mine began with me waking up with a slight headache. I had not slept well the previous night, attributed the pain to that and left for work. However, while there, my headache went from a Three Mile Island to a full on Chernobyl. By noon, I found it impossible to keep my eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time. Looking at my computer screen, it might as well have been the sun because staring into it felt exactly the same. I began to adjust the levels of natural and fluorescent light in the office and quickly realized that anything other than complete darkness was still going to be a problem. I had been getting rather serious headaches fairly routinely but this one felt different. This one felt special.

By one my capability to do work had completely and utterly dissolved and I was amazed that I could even still hold a conversation. However some of my responses were not entirely effective at conveying complete thoughts. The rate at which my brain could process external stimuli had dropped off dramatically so I routinely found myself talking in circles while still trying to assess what had been said to me. On several occasions I had to use random filler words to give myself the extra time needed to retrieve information that the headache simply wouldn’t let go of. A sentence would often begin and then sort of meander until it wasn’t quite what I had originally intended to say. For example, if someone had asked me if I had planned on grabbing lunch, my response might be:

“Yeah, I uh… was probably going to be…with… my… uh, computer… working on it all day today.”

Honestly I thought it was pretty impressive that I didn’t just start crying, but I’m a master at keeping my cool. Still, things kept getting worse and I was starting to feel ill and little bit worried. I concluded that if I ventured out to get some caffeine and a small amount of food, there might be a way to turn this all around. I had already decided that there was no way I was going home because nothing is more suspicious than going home sick on your birthday.  Saying you’re too sick to work on your birthday is the social equivalent of cracking open a beer, pulling down your pants and skateboarding all the way out of the building to Smash Mouth. While every single person probably should have the right to take the day off for any reason, that’s not the way our culture works. We are supposed to lie and then feel really guilty about it. That way we never know if we can trust each other.

So I shambled to the elevator and, once inside, proceeded to hate every person on it for making normal human sounds. Breathing and soft coughing all sounded like explosions and the pressure behind my temples intensified. By the time we had reached the first floor, my stomach had soured and I felt like I might pass out. My sense of balance was off pretty dramatically and it made me stumble around like a drunk. As I made my way to the café, I began to become convinced that I had somehow managed to poison myself by accident. By the time I made it back upstairs and into work it was pointed out to me that I looked terrible. After examining myself in a mirror, I had decided that terrible was an understatement. I was pale and sweaty with dark circles under my eyes. I also looked like someone had just given me the worst news that I had ever heard. It was also becoming painfully clear that, at some point, I was going to need to throw up… a lot.

I made it back to my office and attempted to craft some kind of plan. Once I began involuntarily shivering, grimacing every few seconds, I figured that the best case scenario was that everyone would assume I was a drug addict going through severe withdrawals. There was absolutely no way I was going to make it through my upcoming meeting, let alone the remainder of my day. I didn’t care that it was my birthday or whether or not people thought I was faking it, I needed to get out of there. I gave a sweaty rambling rundown on how I felt and made a few confusing phone calls to postpone any birthday plans before running down into the city streets. I was half-convinced that I had contracted malaria so I immediately made for the most crowded public place I could think of: the subway. If I was patient zero for some new doomsday virus, I was going to make damn sure I was going to be the most famous sick person in history.

The ride home was nothing short of a nightmare. After five minutes, it became abundantly clear that the odds of me vomiting on a stranger were incredibly high. I started to look around and decide who would receive the brunt of my fury when the time came to unleash it. Time was running out and every bump and clack brought me that much closer to oblivion. I was so zeroed in on how awful I felt that I would lose track of short spans of time. I kept lying to myself that I would make it home but continued to plan for the contingency. I had finally narrowed it down to throwing-up on a business man or this attractive young woman who refused to give up her seat to an elderly person three stops earlier. But, somehow, I made it to my stop and walked all the way back to my apartment without looking up from the sidewalk once. All sounds had vanished and my peripheral vision turned into this creeping gray haze. I fumbled with the locks, collapsed onto the bathroom floor and screamed out my internal organs. If there is a god, it was pretty obvious that he was punishing me, probably for sentences like this one.

When I regained consciousness, I was pretty unhappy. Whatever energy I had left was used to crawl into bed and will myself to sleep. Historically, this was not my favorite birthday, but it was a memorable one. These migraines are among the worst things I have ever experienced physically (and I’ve been hit in the crotch with a pipe before) but they are only growing in frequency and intensity. Normally they vanish after a string of debilitating attacks but I have begun to wonder what would happen to me if they continued to remain a prevalent part of my life. Would I become a stronger willed person? We can’t let life’s inconveniences, no matter how invasive or terrible, keep us from doing the things we love to do. It’s too easy to make up an excuse not to do something, let alone actually have a legitimate one. It’s important to reach for that brass ring, no matter how broken down the marry-go-round might be. So, despite a rather serious headache, I still managed to draw this really great comic:

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A Half-Hearted Attempt at a Political Cartoon

I may have taken a slight detour with the political aspect of this terrible, yet powerfully earnest, drawing. Any subtext here is purely coincidental and anything you might read into was probably a total accident on my part. Someone once told me that I should “try drawing political and op-ed cartoons” and this was the end result. However, after looking at the work of Donna Barstow, I am beginning to feel as if I may be on the right track. As a cartoonist, her illustrations have been posted in The New Yorker, Newsweek, Time, Daily News, Slate and a slew of other publications both on and offline. She is the author of the What Do Women REALLY Want? Chocolate! and an expert on Psychology Today. While there has been a bit of controversy surrounding her as an artist, I believe that her work speaks for itself as well as for her ability as an artist and social commentator.

Saying anything other than this is absolutely incredible would be an untruth. Often her pieces are so impressively complex that she is required to write a paragraph explaining the image and why it’s funny. As someone who enjoys writing as much as drawing, I can really identify here.

“Oops. Has Obama confused Libya for England, or is he more concerned with having been rejected by the future King of England as a guest at the Royal Wedding of Prince William and Katherine Middleton? In other words, just a little joke. We think Obama is concerned about the problems in Libya, but he’s really thinking about the Royal Wedding. For the men in my audience, good manners (and wedding protocol) dictate that one sends a wedding present to the couple, IF one has been invited to a wedding, even if you are unable to attend. But in this case, he wasn’t invited, so…”

Then again, it’s a lot of work to think up an idea for a comic, draw the comic and then do a write up about it explaining what it all meant. Most political cartoonists avoid those extra steps by just labeling every portion of the illustration so that you can immediately tell what each portion represents. I feel like I did alright when I did my satirical drawing of a muppet that had been shot in the face. But I still worry that it would be difficult for me to convert a complex and multifaceted issue into a single frame illustration that accurately represents the issue, while also ensuring that it remains as entertaining as it is informative. Perhaps it is better to leave the political cartoons to professionals, like Glenn McCoy, who can create social awareness with the measured hyperbole and a somewhat tempered political bias that readers deserve.

 

*For additional examples of the fine work by Donna Barstow and Glenn McCoy, please visit their websites.
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Pillow Talk: A Brief History of Romance

I have definitely touched on the subject of romance a few times in the past and have even allowed myself to get rather serious on the subject. But love is a pretty boring read when it’s going perpetually well. Romeo and Juliet would have been the worst story ever if their families got along, encouraged their relationship from the start and were just having cookouts all the time. The best part of that entire book is when they (spoilers) both decide to kill themselves because the world won’t allow them to be together. That drama makes for wonderful fiction but not such a desirable reality.

But that is sort of what it’s all about, it’s all part of your own personal story. No matter what the outcome, all you can really do is try your best and be alright with whatever follows. That way you will ensure a meaningful relationship, regardless of whether or not you wake up next to that person every morning. They will remember and you will remember and it will still mean something to both of you.

I once wrote the following in an article about cannibalism:

If a person kept up being civil, somewhat kind and helpful, there is no telling what might happen.  They could even find love, I suppose.  It’s important to be close to people and give a piece of yourself to them, metaphorically.  And it’s imperative that you let them know how you feel, using your own words.  You never forget when someone important tells you something special.

Posted in animation, Dark Humor, friendship, humor, Life, love, true stories, web comics | Tagged , , , , , , | 28 Comments

After the Hurricane Everyone Was a Better Person (For Two Days)

I couldn’t help but notice how happy everyone in New York was after the hurricane was over. Despite the massive scale of the destruction, people seemed genuinely enthralled just to have made it through and see that others had done the same. Likewise, the level of cooperation and community achieved this week was absolutely astonishing. It is sort of a twisted shame that it required a storm that completely obliterated several neighborhoods, kept everyone from their jobs, closed schools, killed dozens of people and flooded our entire subway system to achieve a better way to treat each other.

Of course, I suppose we all have to get back to reality eventually.

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High Winds and Low Enthusiasm

Now that everyone has probably made up their mind on who they are voting for, I’m going to get so political. Have some propaganda.

If you want to see the drawing in gruesome color, that’s an option available to you. Hurricane Sandy  is starting to really bust a move around here. If the power goes out and everything floods, I’m going to convert my motorcycle into a skiff and go on raids all week. I’ll probably make plenty of time to write and draw before I go completely feral though.

It’s party time.

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Getting Old: The Side Effect of Aging

While some people grow older with grace and maintain their beauty, others age like a curse has been put upon them. But, eventually, we will all start to resemble rotting jack o’ lanterns in both appearance and smell. Your pants start to slowly creep up your body and you become increasingly concerned about the state of your lawn. I may, technically, still be a young man but I can sense the passage of time starting to chip away at the best parts of me. I used to go on dates with gorgeous women but it’s probably just a matter of time before I’m sending them creepy anonymous emails instead, like so many of my friends’ dads.

Getting older often means allowing novelty to be slowly superseded by nostalgia. You start talking about “the good old days” which was a time when music was better and people had their priorities in line. It was also a time that never existed. You’re suddenly afraid of new ideas and angry about things that don’t quite fit in with your loose dogmas. You’re worried about keeping a job that makes you unhappy so you can continue to afford living the lifestyle that you’ve grown accustomed to, while expecting the rest of the world to do the everything exactly the same way. This is how wealthy fifty-five year olds can complain about subtle tax increases from the bow of their yachts. It’s an incredible and mystical process.

This might not affect everyone on the planet, but it’ll happen to enough of us to really cause some serious problems. Voters and politicians everywhere fall victim to it every day. There are already a lot of people that are much more worried about their living room furniture than how they treat other people, let alone broad social issues or more complicated philosophical concepts. I know this because QVC and the Home Shopping Network have based their entire businesses model off it. For a lot of us, getting older means not worrying about changing the world anymore. New ideas will be a thing of the past and problem solving will become impossibility. If you know anyone’s parents that own a dog, go to their home and watch how they interact with it. They’ll just yell and yell and the dog will bark and bark. They’ll try absolutely nothing and spend zero hours thinking critically or problem solving. In fact, until a friend or the television offers new advice, they’ll actually claim to have tried everything. So often it seems like anytime someone tells me that they are getting older, they are really just telling me that they’ve decided to start giving up on things. There is no conciliable way that can end well.

There is this culture of cannot that is at the heart of getting old. This is why there are millions of old people that never figured out how to use the internet. That’s sort of criminal because if there ever was a demographic that had a lot of free time and money to spend on online shopping and pornography, it’s the elderly. But they just couldn’t quite figure out that dag-nabbed computing machine. Chemically speaking, your brain actually does get worse and worse at handling dopamine as you age so you derive less pleasure from learning a new skill. But that doesn’t really excuse you entirely from becoming so out of touch that people mouth “wow” to each other behind your back every time you finish a thought.

Rest assured that tomorrow’s youth will always know more than your generation will. While you’re too focused on prime time television and work to bother educating yourself on anything new, they’ll be learning your history while simultaneously mastering the future. You’ll be reminiscing like crazy about how soft toilet paper used to be while the rest of the world is deciding upon which retirement home to put you in. If that isn’t a good reason to stay active, relevant and thoughtful, I don’t know what is. But the worst part about getting old isn’t having food perpetually trapped in the corners of your mouth or possessing a smell that is reminiscent of pee (which we all know probably is pee), it’s the potentially wasted life that leads up to that point.

Some of the best conversations that I’ve ever had have been with an old person over coffee. Sure, you have to deal with the occasional impressively racist sentence, but it’s worth it in the end. After retirement they reacquire the gift of having a real conversation about life, and they always give me the same advice about it. They say not to waste my time working for a big organization, not to let other people’s rules box me in, build quality relationships and consider all time as “my” time. This advice is in direct contrast to almost every single adult I knew as a child and most of the ones that I know now. Nobody has to be trapped in a job they hate, surrounded by mediocre people while their thoughts stagnate in a mental swamp. You don’t have a lot of time to be wasting. So you can take all of those little reminders that you’re getting older and use them to keep yourself motivated or you can use them as an excuse to move into that culture of cannot.

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Popular Propagand

I have been noticing a few new trends on social media sites. What about you?

 

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Needless Honking and, by Extension, People

If I could go back in time and change history, I would travel back and kill every single person that was involved with developing car horns. I don’t know if you know this but car horns have gotten progressively louder over the decades. Sound dampening advancements in automobiles have reduced exterior noise so that car horns now have to be even louder in order to be heard. There are also more cars on the road today than ever before and countless pedestrians to watch out for. So, instead of improving public transportation or creating self driving automobiles, we just went with louder horns.

This would not be a problem if horns could be used properly but, since just about anybody can get a license, the concept of “honking” immediately spins into chaos when put into practice. When a person holds their horn down they aren’t saying, “Careful, friend, I’m in your blind spot and just want you to know that I’m here so that we can both remain happy and safe!” They are saying that they’ve decided they are more important than everyone else on the road and that you are human garbage.

This has gotten to be such a problem in Manhattan that they’ve employed a fine for honking in certain high traffic areas. Granted, I am not convinced that people are normally supposed to live in as close proximity as they do in New York. In most places people choose to live, the honk will not endlessly echo and amplify off the tall buildings until everyone of a weaker mental fortitude is left in a screaming heap upon the sidewalk. But this does not make the noise any less grating in other parts of the globe. No matter where you are, the prolonged honk almost always heralds in arrogant stupidity. I bet scientists could correlate poor driving habits with how often someone uses the horn.

There would definitely be outliers though. I passionately hate cab drivers because they absolutely refuse to adhere to any standard of driving safety or courtesy. Anytime I’m on my motorcycle, there is a pretty good chance I’ll have to avoid being killed by one. They pull out in front of you, cut you off, use multiple lanes, never signal, slam on the breaks directly in front of you and then accelerate as quickly as possible through a red light. However they are the only people I know that routinely use horns for their intended purpose. Horns are for alerting pedestrians wandering around in the street that you are about to crush them and for letting someone know that you are in their blind spot.

The long sustained honk is pointless because it doesn’t offer any extra information. It just conveys that the driver is in an agitated state while upsetting everyone else. I don’t know if you’ve ever been cursed out by someone in a foreign language, but it feels exactly the same way. You have no idea what the person is trying to tell you but you but the deepest and most primal part of you needs them to stop. Anytime someone yells at me in a language I don’t understand the first thought that runs through my mind is “If I crushed their windpipe, I bet that noise would stop.”

There are polite ways to honk the horn. One or two short taps suffice for almost all situations. It almost sounds cheerful. The sheer relief of hearing it end abruptly could probably be considered a form of emotional therapy. It’s a shame people are so unwilling to cut each other a break that any observable civility seems downright incredible to us all. Long-winded honks are just the tip of the iceberg. We live in a society of bewildering entitlement. So many people feel like the world owes them something when, in reality, success never goes anywhere without failure. Honk and frown all you want, it isn’t going to make traffic move any faster or your children love you. It won’t garner you any extra respect or help you achieve your dreams. All it does is help to contribute to all of the problems with society that are beating you down in the first place. We shouldn’t be sitting in our cars honking at each other, we should be setting those cars on fire and pushing them into banks and office buildings.

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The Low Down on Getting High

I often find myself wondering about drug laws because there doesn’t seem to be any real rhyme or reason to them. Some potentially harmful synthetic drugs are regulated and sold as medicine, while other more natural and less harmful ones remain illegal. Alcohol is legal as long as you meet the age requirement, don’t drive with it, and purchase it at the correct locations between the correct times as county laws dictate. But, if you go through the correct channels, there is a veritable buffet of prescription medications that can do everything from taking away a headache to creating a terrifyingly massive erection. There are also a number of, completely legal, store bought items that can get you loaded. A balloon full of nitrous oxide will get you feeling great for a few minutes and, I’m told, computer duster will put you on Neptune for brief periods of time. You can even soak a rag in varnish and just go to huff city until you piss yourself and slip into a coma, and the police can’t do a thing about it. Honestly, if you think creatively, just about anything can get you so high that only dogs can hear you. Take a look around, what constitutes a drug is only limited by your own imagination.

That’s kind of why I get so confused about marijuana. We already have drugs that act as painkillers that come with a warning label, why not try one without? Marijuana has been proven to alleviate pain and is practically impossible to overdose on. I could go take a bottle of Tylenol, hop in the bathtub and be dead in a few hours. If I tried that by eating a dozen pot brownies, I’d just end up talking about the exceptionally intense and weird night I spent in the bathtub and how much extra sleep I got. The chances of something terrible happening seem pretty negligible.

I don’t really use marijuana, mostly due to its ever fluxing legality, but I’m aware that the science seems to point to it being a viable solution to a lot of physical and mental ailments. I had two friends that both suffered from schizophrenia and both claimed that smoking pot was one of the best ways to suppress their anxiety, stabilize their mood and prevent an undesirable episode. Sure, there are plenty of people out there getting high just for the sake of getting high. They range from everyday people seeking a recreational activity to these dusty and musty underachievers who just want to watch bad television, eat cheese puffs and feel good all day. Both of these types of people exist in, and out, of the drug culture though. So why do we care if someone is smoking weed all day? I would be content to live in a world where we could continually  dislike something without imposing some kind of rule that stopped everyone else from doing it. If someone wants to enjoy a drink after work, that’s fine. If someone wants to smoke crack until they look like they could host Tales from the Crypt, that’s their business too. We should be offering help, not giving people a criminal record so they can be guaranteed a future of difficulty in finding a good job and achieving a fulfilling life.

How can we have freedom of religion and freedom of speech without also having the freedom of substances and our own bodies? People across the country are angry because other people are trying to regulate their food choices. They are outraged and fighting against the guidelines restricting the use of trans-fat and sugar, and why shouldn’t they be? It should be your right to fill your body with garbage if you want to. It is definitely against someone’s best interest to binge on crystal meth but putting them into jail for possession isn’t helping them out. It’s just ensuring that their life is ruined for the long term. With background and credit checks, you can’t afford to stray too far out of the guidelines set by society. It’s sort of strange because, the more you think about it, the more pervasive and needlessly rigid it all seems.

The “because I said so” argument didn’t work on me when I was six and it isn’t going to work any better now that I am an adult. It hinges entirely on coming from a place of authority and could easily be substituted for “because I am in charge.” It’s a quick way for parents to assert dominance and maintain the status quo without offering understanding– and it works identically when issued by your government, church or school. If you have access to information (and everyone reading this does), then you can’t really accept this as a valid argument. Everything is so much more complicated than that and drugs are no exception. They don’t express a morality or have an agenda; they simply do what their chemical properties allow them to do. Stimulants offer an additional burst of energy and the focus required to get much needed work finished. Opioids eliminate physical pain and relax the body. Psychedelics offer a new way to perceive reality. They give perspective and a change of venue that would be otherwise unachievable. The novelty offered by drugs can breed creativity and wisdom instead of something purely negative.

I sometimes cannot believe that I live in a country that will allow me to buy a case of Tussin DM and a handgun but not one lousy jazz cigarette. I’ll probably have a lot more fun with the guns and Tussin, but it seems strange that I can’t have a sprig of some plant to smoke. In the end, I don’t really care if I can’t purchase marijuana or have my own personal supply of Benzedrine, but I would like to understand why that choice was made for me and the reasoning behind it. We live a life that is often far removed from the decisions that have been made to shape it. People, even the really stupid ones, need to be able to make up their own minds. We should all do some serious and sober thinking about how, and if, we should be getting totally high.

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