Published in the 4/22 edition of La Vie (Lebanon Valley College's weekly rag). I wrote the case for cannabis, the perspectives editor wrote the case against. Yes, I schooled her. I schooled her good.
***
There is no other way to say it: marijuana prohibition is the dumbest, most harmful thing America has ever done to its citizens. It is the culmination of American legislative stupidity - placing the welfare and pocketbooks of every taxpaying citizen in jeopardy.
To legalize or not to legalize is not even a question. The defense for prohibition formulated in the 30s has been debunked by the magic of science and mathematics. Crazed reefer addicts aren’t cruising our streets looking for helpless virgins to rape. Drugs sold by Pfizer wreak more havoc on the brain than the finest Moroccan hashish.
It is time for America to face the music: the slew of prohibition laws are stupid. There is no shame in admitting to the mistake; oversight happens all the time and people make stupid mistakes everyday. Now it is high time for the mistake of marijuana prohibition to be corrected. Are these swine going to acknowledge the harsh truth that they were, and still are wrong?
Ah, the truth. A rare and dangerous commodity in this day and age. The truth of the $150 billion we spend per year on enforcement and court costs, with 50% of arrests being marijuana related. Or the truth of the $68 billion per year we spend on prisons, with 33% of those in jail there on marijuana charges.
No, President Obama, perhaps legalizing marijuana won’t help us “grow our economy”. Maybe it would save us, the taxpayers, the billions we lose annually on this waste of a war. Maybe it would help trim the profit margins of the Mexican drug cartels that make $25 billion every year off of American drug habits. On that note, if drugs were legalized, would there be violent drug dealers at all?
This isn’t just about the Mike Phelps and Andy Goetz’s of the world anymore. Marijuana legalization is no longer a case of “fight the power, man.” Our economy is hurting, and while legalization marijuana wouldn’t be a cure-all it would certainly be a boon. Mexico is burning, and the reason why there are violent drug dealers is because America created drug laws. Prohibition has created more problems for the US and the world, in terms of money as well as quality of life, than will ever be worth it.
***
I think I could have done better, but I'm happy with what I had. With a 400 word count limit, I couldn't lay down as much as I would have liked, but I think I got the point across.
- Rev.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
More Empty Promises
Updates coming soon! I promise. Its sort of a "yes, but not now" type of thing.
The harsh rigors and realities of Academia leave me disheartened and drained, so writing has been a challenge. LVC... W.T.F.?
I'm on Twitter now, bt-dubs. RevGonzo19. Check it out. There was a time when I would have considered this selling out, but I'm realizing I was born on the cusp of a generational gap that I have to bridge if I want success.
Too young to be a proper journalist, too old to have been raised on this Web 2.0 carp. I remember a time when there was no Internet in my home. We had to beat each other with sticks for fun.
Anyway, here's an excerpt from a blog I did for PennLive.com that didn't get published. (The Friday Post was published.)
***
To make matters more interesting, there was a nice drunk lady named Barb sitting next to me during the set and we struck up some conversation.
“This is the happiest Ring of Fire I’ve ever heard,” said Barb. “Do you come here often?”
“Zounds,” I thought to myself. “It’s only eight o’clock and she’s already a sheet or two to the wind.”
“Oh sh*t!,” she exclaimed, nearly falling out her seat. “Could you just forget I said that?”
This was getting weird. But she seemed to be having a good time, and I didn’t want to ruin it for her. It was a good thing I’d only had one drink, otherwise the urge to burst out laughing would have won out over my better judgement.
“Oh no,” I said, smiling back at her. “I’m flattered, really. So what do you think of his cover of Bob Dylan...”
She mumbled something unintelligible and made for the bathroom. I signaled the bartender, held up three fingers, and said “whiskey, rocks.” Thank god for Kentucky’s finest.
It was my original intention to interview Stu Huggens after his set, but things were about to kick off at the Chameleon, and the scene was getting too weird for my young blood. I had stepped outside for a cigarette and when I returned my seat next to Barb was taken. It looked like some yuppie scum looking for a quick lay, and who was I to stop him? Huggens was also playing his rendition of Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars. It was all a blaring message that it was time to go...
***
And that's all folks.
- Rev.
The harsh rigors and realities of Academia leave me disheartened and drained, so writing has been a challenge. LVC... W.T.F.?
I'm on Twitter now, bt-dubs. RevGonzo19. Check it out. There was a time when I would have considered this selling out, but I'm realizing I was born on the cusp of a generational gap that I have to bridge if I want success.
Too young to be a proper journalist, too old to have been raised on this Web 2.0 carp. I remember a time when there was no Internet in my home. We had to beat each other with sticks for fun.
Anyway, here's an excerpt from a blog I did for PennLive.com that didn't get published. (The Friday Post was published.)
***
To make matters more interesting, there was a nice drunk lady named Barb sitting next to me during the set and we struck up some conversation.
“This is the happiest Ring of Fire I’ve ever heard,” said Barb. “Do you come here often?”
“Zounds,” I thought to myself. “It’s only eight o’clock and she’s already a sheet or two to the wind.”
“Oh sh*t!,” she exclaimed, nearly falling out her seat. “Could you just forget I said that?”
This was getting weird. But she seemed to be having a good time, and I didn’t want to ruin it for her. It was a good thing I’d only had one drink, otherwise the urge to burst out laughing would have won out over my better judgement.
“Oh no,” I said, smiling back at her. “I’m flattered, really. So what do you think of his cover of Bob Dylan...”
She mumbled something unintelligible and made for the bathroom. I signaled the bartender, held up three fingers, and said “whiskey, rocks.” Thank god for Kentucky’s finest.
It was my original intention to interview Stu Huggens after his set, but things were about to kick off at the Chameleon, and the scene was getting too weird for my young blood. I had stepped outside for a cigarette and when I returned my seat next to Barb was taken. It looked like some yuppie scum looking for a quick lay, and who was I to stop him? Huggens was also playing his rendition of Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars. It was all a blaring message that it was time to go...
***
And that's all folks.
- Rev.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
On Transition Points, New Adventures, and Marijunana
Somewhere between getting on board the plane at the ring of hell that is LAX and tonight, I lost the impetus to write. I possessed a drive to do well with my studies, but there was little inspiration to actually write. Tonight, however, is different.
I suppose for me inspiration and motivation are like a freight train. It only takes one leap to grab on to it, but it requires some serious god damn gumption and diligence to ride the mother fucker to the last stop.
There have been some hastily scrawled notes in my cellphone, left over from the past two weeks. I've been meaning to put them down into the semi-legible genius I make readers choke down. On that note, I am finally announcing my first little project. A lot of my faithful readers have told me the Highways on Fire series should be put into print, and I (humbly) agree. After I get all the jumble in my head from the first few weeks of school, I believe that there will be something pseudo-worthy of ink and paper. The working title is going to be Transition Points. Comments, suggestions, and insults happily accepted.
In other news, I'm planning a new adventure with Rev. Hartman up to the North Country of Pennsylvania and New York. He started a blog and everybody is encouraged to check it out.
News aside, here's some content:
On January 11, Andrew Carroll stood in downtown Keene, New Hampshire with some marijuana in his hand. While surrounded by 30 protesters and several camera crews, he was arrested by a couple of Keene police officers. The two part video can be found here on Current.com.
Very interesting stuff.
I would like to commend Andrew Carroll on being such a brave soul. His peaceful protest is one of the things we should be doing to garner a greater public scrutiny of the War on Drugs. There are a few things I found surprising and/or upsetting about the video.
First of all, props to the cop who spoke to the cameramen in the police station. He handled the situation exactly as he should have (in the eyes of the law) and did not lose his shit for even a second. The officer calmly explained the situation, both without lying to the camera and without comprising himself. He was just doing his job, after all. I agree that this may not be a valid defense, but for the sake of realism I am sticking to it.
I found the protesters heckling the arresting officers to be nonconstructive and annoying. Yes, they are enforcing ridiculous laws, but if they didn't, especially at such a publicized event, they would get fired. And the economy is bad. Let's be real, people. Please.
In the end, I do not think that it was a question of Carroll's protest being the "best" way to protest marijuana laws. In reality, it was A way to protest marijuana laws in a peaceful fashion, and that's what counts. This won't get changed going directly through the legal system, because we first have to show the legal system that the public will not stand for this.
Anyway, enough of sounding like a revolutionary hack, and more of getting to the point. If you have made it this far, you now get the "hidden track". The most offensive picture that I could find today:
I suppose for me inspiration and motivation are like a freight train. It only takes one leap to grab on to it, but it requires some serious god damn gumption and diligence to ride the mother fucker to the last stop.
There have been some hastily scrawled notes in my cellphone, left over from the past two weeks. I've been meaning to put them down into the semi-legible genius I make readers choke down. On that note, I am finally announcing my first little project. A lot of my faithful readers have told me the Highways on Fire series should be put into print, and I (humbly) agree. After I get all the jumble in my head from the first few weeks of school, I believe that there will be something pseudo-worthy of ink and paper. The working title is going to be Transition Points. Comments, suggestions, and insults happily accepted.
In other news, I'm planning a new adventure with Rev. Hartman up to the North Country of Pennsylvania and New York. He started a blog and everybody is encouraged to check it out.
News aside, here's some content:
On January 11, Andrew Carroll stood in downtown Keene, New Hampshire with some marijuana in his hand. While surrounded by 30 protesters and several camera crews, he was arrested by a couple of Keene police officers. The two part video can be found here on Current.com.
Very interesting stuff.
I would like to commend Andrew Carroll on being such a brave soul. His peaceful protest is one of the things we should be doing to garner a greater public scrutiny of the War on Drugs. There are a few things I found surprising and/or upsetting about the video.
First of all, props to the cop who spoke to the cameramen in the police station. He handled the situation exactly as he should have (in the eyes of the law) and did not lose his shit for even a second. The officer calmly explained the situation, both without lying to the camera and without comprising himself. He was just doing his job, after all. I agree that this may not be a valid defense, but for the sake of realism I am sticking to it.
I found the protesters heckling the arresting officers to be nonconstructive and annoying. Yes, they are enforcing ridiculous laws, but if they didn't, especially at such a publicized event, they would get fired. And the economy is bad. Let's be real, people. Please.
In the end, I do not think that it was a question of Carroll's protest being the "best" way to protest marijuana laws. In reality, it was A way to protest marijuana laws in a peaceful fashion, and that's what counts. This won't get changed going directly through the legal system, because we first have to show the legal system that the public will not stand for this.
Anyway, enough of sounding like a revolutionary hack, and more of getting to the point. If you have made it this far, you now get the "hidden track". The most offensive picture that I could find today:
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Highways on Fire: The Beginning of the End
It's a strange day in a strange land, here in Arizona.
Last night, as I stood outside drinking in the cool desert air mixed with a camel cigarette, pondering Scorpio's never ending pursuit of Orion, it struck me that we were on the eve of the last leg of this great journey. Run on sentences abound.
Today, we face one last trip until reaching our destination. One final burn through the Mojave desert, and then into the heart of Los Angeles traffic. While this is the shortest part of our trip, I feel that LA alone will make it the most arduous. I've mastered Harrisburg, and Philadelphia, and even Jersey... but the convoluted traffic system of LA seems a little daunting, even to me. And all the bastards have guns.
After today, my sister will as far away from home as possible without needing a passport, and I will have completed this little pilgrimage. To be quite honest, I could give two shits about Los Angeles. From what I've seen, it is noisy, polluted, and big. If I never cared for New York City, how will I feel about the City of Angels? No, my friends, this trip has never been about my personally getting to California. It has been about going west, and seeing what this great nation has to offer. It has been about getting as far away from the insignificant toils and snares as possible... those little things that distract me and weigh heavy on my mind, while in the end the answers are simple, and the problems small.
This has been about whiling away the long highway hours deep in thought. Just set the controls, son... let the on board computer take care of the speed while you untangle your brain and your sister sleeps.
And, above all, this has been about getting my lovely sister safely across the country on her way to her own great adventure... hopefully teaching her a thing or two about loosening up in the process. She needs this California thing, just as much (if not more) than I needed the trip itself. A change of scenery, a change of mind? This will be good for her, through all the good and bad it may produce.
And so, we ready for the last dance. All that lies between us and Los Angeles is 380 miles of open road, a lot of sand, and the most high strung, cracked out, traffic jam of America.
It's a good thing I brought my crowbar, folks, because this is Bat Country, and there's no stopping now.
- Rev.
Last night, as I stood outside drinking in the cool desert air mixed with a camel cigarette, pondering Scorpio's never ending pursuit of Orion, it struck me that we were on the eve of the last leg of this great journey. Run on sentences abound.
Today, we face one last trip until reaching our destination. One final burn through the Mojave desert, and then into the heart of Los Angeles traffic. While this is the shortest part of our trip, I feel that LA alone will make it the most arduous. I've mastered Harrisburg, and Philadelphia, and even Jersey... but the convoluted traffic system of LA seems a little daunting, even to me. And all the bastards have guns.
After today, my sister will as far away from home as possible without needing a passport, and I will have completed this little pilgrimage. To be quite honest, I could give two shits about Los Angeles. From what I've seen, it is noisy, polluted, and big. If I never cared for New York City, how will I feel about the City of Angels? No, my friends, this trip has never been about my personally getting to California. It has been about going west, and seeing what this great nation has to offer. It has been about getting as far away from the insignificant toils and snares as possible... those little things that distract me and weigh heavy on my mind, while in the end the answers are simple, and the problems small.
This has been about whiling away the long highway hours deep in thought. Just set the controls, son... let the on board computer take care of the speed while you untangle your brain and your sister sleeps.
And, above all, this has been about getting my lovely sister safely across the country on her way to her own great adventure... hopefully teaching her a thing or two about loosening up in the process. She needs this California thing, just as much (if not more) than I needed the trip itself. A change of scenery, a change of mind? This will be good for her, through all the good and bad it may produce.
And so, we ready for the last dance. All that lies between us and Los Angeles is 380 miles of open road, a lot of sand, and the most high strung, cracked out, traffic jam of America.
It's a good thing I brought my crowbar, folks, because this is Bat Country, and there's no stopping now.
- Rev.
Highways on Fire: Of Cacti, Aliens, and Other Green Things
If I scared anybody by not posting last night, deal with it. The muses were travel weary.
After burning across the vast expanse of New Mexico and crossing into Arizona, we arrived safely in Tempe to the home of Miriam Turney. Our wonderful hostess is a friend of our parents from Millersville, and has been kind enough to put us up for these couple of nights as we recover from our travels and ready for the last leg of our journey. She has five chihuahuas and one bichon. Their names are Fernando (aka, Fat Baby), Vaccarro (Spanish for cowboy), Fluffy, Angelica, Tanner, and Chubbs. This is about 58 pounds of dog.
We had been planning on arriving around 8 or 9, but got held up in Roswell due to a severe bout of ADD.
I had mentioned yesterday that Pete, a biker I met in Texas, had suggested we go to Bottomless Lakes State Park just outside of Roswell. The detour was worth it.
Bottomless Lakes is a series of sinkholes in the New Mexico desert caused by underground springs eating through the salt and gypsum strata, first forming caverns, which eventually collapsed, forming "lakes" that are about 40-50 feet in diameter, but anywhere from 17 to 90 feet deep.
Nature is a weird thing.
We happened across two men fishing in one of the sinkholes, Carlos and Arthur. Apparently, the lake water is salt, not fresh, and you can find some pretty sizable rainbow trout in some of the lakes on a regular basis.
Carlos is a tattoo artist who runs a parlor in Clifton, AZ called Forever Tattoo. Arthur was sporting some of his work, which was good enough for me to feel obliged giving Carlos a plug here.
After checking out the largest sinkhole, Lea Lake (as deep as lake Chateguay and a fraction of its size) we went back into town to check out the International UFO Museum and Research Center. Erika said it left her thoroughly unconvinced, and that it was boring because there was "too much stuff to read". I felt it was interesting, and provided an unbiased overview of the Roswell incident back in 1947, and did a good job of documenting how many times the government changed their story on the event (a bunch). First it was a weather balloon, then it was some sort of radar device, and then they argued that the "bodies" seen by witnesses on the scene were, in fact, glorified crash test dummies. I don't know about you guys, but I believe. I even bought a bumper sticker saying so.
After going through these touristy motions, it was on the road again. Nothing of note, just more of The Big Empty.
I've never been in this region of the United States before. In fact, most of this journey has been through uncharted territory, and every minute of it has been a joy (save for the occasional obligatory tiff with my lovely sister). I find myself now in a region of the country that has wide open spaces and big horizons. As I travel through this strange and beautiful land of friendly people and cheap cigarettes, I find myself going through a bit of a location-identity crisis. After all, in this part of the country the speed limit is 75 MPH and its 70 degrees outside in the middle of January...
But enough musings on that. The writing is constipated today, so instead of continuing this rant I'm just going to tune in, sign off, and veg out.
A demain, mes amis.
- Rev.
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