My Trip to the Hospital After Healthcare Reform Passed

So, healthcare reform passed and I decided that the angry, old, white men in my area had to have something right. I mean, they are like American heroes. Right?

Representing the red, WHITE and blue!

In order to get a better perspective, I decided to head to most socially regressive state I know: Arizona.

I hopped into my old model Chevrolet (that’s American enough to blend in. Right?) and headed to my destination. Entering Arizona was really obvious; the sun seemed to get 100 degrees hotter and the sweltering, black road seemed to be caressing my wheels in an abusive relationship (One false move and it’ll pop them, but they won’t leave it, they know it loves them!). I parked a block away from the state capital building and got out to experience the atmosphere that is Arizona. The atmosphere was fucking on fire! After one step on the sidewalk I collapsed from the heat and lost consciousness.

Hours later, I awoke to the gentle face of a man with long, black hair and strange garb. He smiled gently and I took stock of my surroundings. I appeared to be in some sort of space shuttle; the small capsule shaped aluminum craft had many foreign artifacts all over the walls. No man could fathom what each of these strange devices were capable of.

“Hello, visitor…” I spoke calmy and looked the creature in the eyes trying to imply that I meant no harm and that maybe we could go hang out at the bar sometime.

“What?” he replied seeming very lost.

“You have strayed far from your home planet!” I asserted hoping to fill him in.

“Dude, I think the sun fried this guy’s brains.” he laughed toward another creature I had not previously noticed. Did they have invisibility cloaks?

AHHH!!!! ALIEN!!!

“I would love to explore then sexually, culturally and environmentally ravage your home land but I have some serious journalism stuff to get to.” I informed them, standing and heading for the hatch. They stared blankly at me as I fumbled with their locking mechanism and ultimately fell down their stairs and began wandering back toward the city. The aliens were conversing about whether or not they should’ve given me the special tea. But, I was already too far away to care.

The sun shone brightly on my back which was a good thing I guess. Boy scout manuals didn’t have enough nudity to keep my pubescent mind interested.

Pornmaster Pornberto Pornstar?

Soon, the dry desert landscape began to change. It seemed brighter and more significant. Clues to our existance lingered on the whispering wind and the tip of every saguaro spine. The sand flowed like an ocean and rattled like a snake. Wait, what was that? I spun toward the rattling sound and was confronted by a mountainous figure.

“Seth Meadows.” it spoke vacantly and raspy. Then a bright light emminated from the figure’s black robe.

“The card says his name is Seth Meadows and he is some kind of ‘reportoir”

Seth Meadows, Reportoir

“I think he’s coming to!” Another voice echoed outside of my head.

“WHY DON’T YOU ALIENS JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!?!” I screamed at the men in lab coats.

“Sir, you have been wandering around Phoenix drunk on dangerously high amounts of peyote tea and rattlesnake venom.”

“I’ve got a snake for you! In my pants!” I said defiantly at the man.

“We know, you ran out of pockets and started stuffing them in your underwear.”

“We need your insurance information, sir.” a chirpy, blonde nurse spoke up.

“Insurance? I don’t buy into that scam. I pay with cash (read: stolen goods/unwanted sexual favors)!”

“Sir, you don’t have any money in your wallet.” she replied, tilting my large rupee bag upside down to illustrate the sad reality that Internet writers only make fictional money and then blow it all on moonshine ingredients.

Fucking showoff!

“Well, we can arrange something else.” I said winking at the now horrified woman.

“It doesn’t matter. Money or not, you don’t have insurance. That’s a crime now.” Said a doctor, destracting me from flirting with the nurse. She seemed relieved that the racially charged dirty talk had stopped.

“What?” I stammered

“It’s part of the new healthcare reform. Every citizen has to have health insurance or face fines.”

“Oh, well, allow me to—” were the last words anyone in the hospital heard. So, now I’m on the run in Mexico. Also, got some decent medical care here. They give me all the pain killers I can eat. I guess America has become the new Canada. We had better learn Spanish. I already have it down a little.

“Yo tengo herpes! Muchos herpes!”

[Via http://diaryofseth.wordpress.com]

Caffine

Both times I’ve had coffee in the past week, I feel like I’m snorting a fat line of cocaine.  Granted I never drink the damn drug, but I swear it’s potency is comparable.  Damn I feel like dancing in the coffee shop amongst all the junkies.  I’m an introvert who’s drugs of choice make them surf the wave of extroversion.  My whole life I’ve been searching for ways to naturally make myself turn inside out.

[Via http://plasticgun.wordpress.com]

Michele Bachmann on Health Care Bill, March 20, 2010, Tea Party Rally, Washington, DC, Fox News, Sean Hannity interview, Bachmann fights health care bill and explains truth, IRS big brother

Michele Bachmann on Health Care Bill, March 20, 2010, Tea Party Rally, Washington, DC

Congresswoman Michele Bachmann of MN was in Washington DC on Saturday, March 20, 2010 to speak out about the Health Care Bill and assure millions of Americans that if Obama and the Democrats pass this tax and control bill, she will fight to repeal it. She also assured Obama and the Democrats that they will lose control of Congress in November.

March 20, 2010, Tea party rally Washington DC, Tea party last stand

Michele Bachmann was interviewed by Sean Hannity on Fox several days ago. She has studied the bill and speaks about over 16,000 new employees being hired by the IRS to enforce provisions of the Health Care Bill. This is one of the clearest manifestations of Obama and his thugs ratcheting up the level of government control and becoming the big brother of “1984.”

[Via http://citizenwells.wordpress.com]

Longing for sleep

I am having trouble sleeping. As in, I am most awake between midnight and 2 a.m. I lie in bed, eyes buzzing behind the mask I wear to fool myself into the deeper darkness that is sleep, body begging for rest, mind for the longed for slowing to come.  When they do come, the moments before sleep are delicious, like that moment right before one goes out before having a medical procedure, when they’ve given you the amnesiac drug so that you are obedient when they tell you to turn over so that doctor and assistants can put a tube up your butt to make sure that there are no nasty things growing invisibly inside you. You can be obedient but not embarrassed, though perhaps you are embarrassed even though you’ve been given the drug, it’s just that you don’t remember it. Which is fine with me.

The last time I had a colonoscopy, the anesthesiologist administered the potion into the tube in my arm and that sweet everything letting go feeling started to take over my consciousness. I looked up at my GI doc. “God, I love drugs,” I said. The last thing I remember is his slightly startled but understanding expression. We are both of a certain age. We can afford to remember those days generally — and inaccurately — referred to as The Sixties, with nostalgia. We did not burn out. Our eyeballs do not bug out of our heads as we panhandle on street corners. Nor are we glassy-eyed visionaries. We are highly respectable functioning members of society.

I wonder if he can sleep.

[Via http://newyorkrosie.wordpress.com]

Drug Advice and Support Session In Progress

Drug Advice and Support (DAS) has now been running for more than 2 years. Over a million messages has already been sent on and over our service. On DAS we offer advice to people abusing and people affected by drugs. Here are some of the counselors hard at work and offering their time to help others. Salute  to all the guys and to their families that allow and release these men do this work and help others that are destitute out there. All glory to God for giving us the ability to do this work.It is only by His grace.

[Via http://brentsjourney.wordpress.com]

Nine Grateful Things

I don’t know why the number 9, but I was asked to name 9 things that I am most grateful for in life. Maybe 10 is just too many, even though there is possibly a million things to choose from. It does sort of make it more interesting.

1) That my mother survived near-death from breast cancer. That is is alive today, and will meet my own daughter, and that I have the chance to (slowly) build the relationship with her that we never had. I love her with all of my heart.

2) That said, I’m so grateful that my parents gave me a sister, and that she is alive and well, despite her difficulties in life. The same goes for my Dad. I’m grateful for my family. That they’re alive for the moment, that no matter how terrible they can be, or how horrible I am, they love me, and I have them to love.

3) I’m grateful for RJ. I don’t know if we are a match made in heaven, soul-mates, or anything else so cosmically connected. But I know he excepts me and loves me and protects me fiercely, despite whatever problems he himself also has. He tries, and when he can’t do it for himself, he does it for me. He makes me feel like I am on my way to becoming the person I’m meant to be, even if it takes a lot more work because I have to help him most of the way too. His support is a much different kind than mine. It’s raw and it’s full of strength and honest love. Mine is more thoughtful, more intellectual. Together, it works. I’m grateful for RJ. I’m grateful to him for giving me the daughter I’m about to have, who I’m also extremely grateful for.

4) I’m grateful to have the use of all of my senses. Some stronger than others, some weakened over time or by unnecessary force, or through abuse of various kinds. But I have them all for now, and I’m grateful for them, even if they sometimes work against me.

5) I’m grateful to have been born in North America. I’m grateful to be from one of the freest places I can possibly be from. I’m proud and grateful to be a Canadian. I could have been born into a life of hatred, abuse, death, and pain. But these things have only been elements of my existence, not my existence entirely. And for that, I am grateful.

6) I am grateful to be off of drugs. I am grateful to have survived those years relatively unscathed. I’m grateful that I still have hope, and that through it all, I never lost the ability to find a positive outlet, a peaceful way to purge myself of the toxicity of my existence at times… through music, through writing, through just the deep spiritual feeling of being connected so intimately to my pain, and being able to direct it towards creative adventures.

7) I’m grateful for my ability to inflect. I’m grateful that that ability extends to others, and that I can help those I love the most, when they need it, with advice I may not always be able to take, but that I care enough to give, and that it helps.

I’m grateful to have survived everything that I have come through. All that had the potential to become of me that never did, all of those terrible situations that I was able to escape from. The fact that I was able to keep some spark of hope and dreams alive during the younger years, and that I wasn’t permenantly damaged by the events in my older ones. I’m grateful that my heart has not always lead me astray, but has often saved me, through the sheer power of its will.

9) I am grateful for the great diversity of our planet, and I’m grateful when I have the energy and the foresight to plan ahead and then be able to witness this diversity in action. I’m grateful for my travels, for what I see while I’m away, for what I survive, the close calls I escape, the awe, inspiration, and spirituality I feel. I am grateful for the presence of God in my darkest hours.

These are 9 things. I’m glad I put a limit on this, otherwise, I think I would have been able to get into a very detailed list. I was able to attach some things on the tails of others, but all in all, I have a lot to be thankful for, or grateful for, and these are probably just a handful of them.

What are you grateful for today? Can you make a list if your own? Does it make you feel better to have that down in front of you, to see the good things about your life, amongst whatever else you’re dealing with? Does it bring back good memories for you? Does it make you feel like there is a life worth living? Does it make you feel like your life has already been worth something, something other than what you thought it might have been? Do you feel like, with things like this, with possibilities like this, with things to be grateful for, you can make it through whatever your troubles are? They can be the smallest things possible. Like the fact that I am so utterly grateful for my ability to love and appreciate music – because making it or listening to it, music has saved my life, many, many times. Whatever you’re grateful for, I can only hope it multiplies and spreads and grows, into a million more things for you to love about your life.

[Via http://sundaygrace.wordpress.com]

california over all

Battling the Antichrist by Outlawing Microchips – an interesting piece written by a guy I presented with at a conference last year about crazzzy Christians trying to stop control of the Beast (damn him!)

Ted Leo and The Pharmacists playing a cover of Tears For Fears’ “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”

Stupid hipsters with their stupid food stamps

Sassy Gay Friend: Romeo & Juliet

Sassy Gay Friend: Hamlet

Sassy Gay Friend: Judge Jim Gray on the Six Groups That Benefit From Drug Prohibition. Oh wait, that’s got nothing to do with being sassy or gay. Or a friend. It’s worth a watch, nevertheless.

[Via http://welcometoflavorcountry.wordpress.com]

WARNING!!! FLUORIDE IS RAT POISON a Deadly Toxin...Our KIDS are Drinking, Washing, & Brushing W/ It!!! VIDEO

Story on Mystery Substance Distracts from Fact Fluoride is a Deadly Killer

Kurt Nimmo

Infowars.com

March 13, 2010

The “investigative” team at WCVB TV in Boston ran a story yesterday about an unknown substance in fluoride imported from China. “Team 5 Investigates found the Amesbury Water Department pulled fluoride from its system amid concerns about its supply from China,” the news station reported. “Department of Public Works Director Rob Desmarais said after he mixes the white powder with water, 40 percent of it will not dissolve.” Desmarais said the residue clogs his machines and makes it difficult to get a consistent level of fluoride in the town’s water.

In the video report below, WCVB mentions melamine in food products and the heavy metal cadmium in toys imported from China while completely ignoring the larger and more important issue — fluoride is an extremely dangerous toxin that kills.

“Fluoride is added to the water most of us drink because the government believes it’s a safe and inexpensive way to prevent tooth decay.”

Fluoride does not prevent tooth decay. According to numerous studies, water fluoridation actually increases tooth decay. The AMA and others fallaciously claim that fluoride added to over 62% of U.S. water supplies reduces tooth decay. However, no less than six studies from dental journals show it does not and, in fact, may increase the likelihood of dental cavities.

Exposure to fluoride often results in dental fluorosis. Large numbers of U.S. young people — estimated up to 80 percent in some cities — now have dental fluorosis, the first visible sign of excessive fluoride exposure. Dental fluorosis consists of damage to tooth-forming cells, leading to a defect in tooth enamel. It is also an indicator of fluoride damage to bones.

WCVB TV’s own report reveals that fluoride is a deadly chemical. Near the beginning of the video, we are shown an industrial sized bag of fluoride at the Amesbury Water Department. “Sodium Fluoride,” a label on the bag warns, “Danger! Poison-Toxic by Ingestion.” The label states the chemical targets the heart, kidneys, bones, central nervous system, the gastrointestinal system, and teeth.

Studies reveal fluoride also attacks the immune and respiratory systems. It negatively affects blood circulation and accumulates in the bones. It attacks thyroid function. Fluoride also accelerates aging. Austrian researchers proved in the 1970s that as little as 1 ppm fluoride concentration can disrupt DNA repair enzymes by 50%. When DNA can’t repair damaged cells, advanced aging occurs. Researchers from Harvard University and the National Institutes of Health knew in the 1960s that fluoride disrupted collagen synthesis and increased aging.

Instead of the in-your-face danger of fluoride presented in the “investigative” news report, the intrepid reporters at WCVB concentrate on the mystery substance from China and connect it to melamine and cadmium. Talk about missing the forest for the trees.

The fluoride added to 90% of drinking water is hydrofluoric acid which is a compound of fluorine that is a chemical byproduct of aluminum, steel, cement, phosphate, and nuclear weapons manufacturing. “In this form, fluoride has no nutrient value whatsoever. It is one of the most caustic of industrial chemicals. Fluoride is the active toxin in rat poisons and cockroach powder,” notes Prevent Disease.

Moreover, hydrofluoric acid is used to refine high octane gasoline, to make fluorocarbons and chlorofluorocarbons for freezers and air conditioners, and to manufacture computer screens, fluorescent light bulbs, semiconductors, plastics, herbicides, and remarkably toothpaste.

Fluoride is a big time neurotoxin. Substantial research reveals it results in widespread brain damage and learning disabilities. Extensive research on fluoride and the brain has been prompted by studies from China, India, Iran, and Mexico discovering that elevated levels of fluoride exposure are associated with IQ deficits in children.

“Repeated doses of infinitesimal amounts of fluoride will in time reduce an individual’s power to resist domination, by slowly poisoning and narcotizing a certain area of the brain, thus making him submissive to the will of those who wish to govern him,” the chemist Charles Perkins wrote to the Lee Foundation for Nutritional Research in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, on 2 October 1954.

Perkins explained how the Nazis exchanged ideas with the Russians on mass medication of a population through drinking water prior to invading Poland in 1939. “I was told of this entire scheme by a German chemist who was an official of the great IG Farben chemical industries and was also prominent in the Nazi movement at the time. I say this with all the earnestness and sincerity of a scientist who has spent nearly 20 years’ research into the chemistry, biochemistry, physiology and pathology of fluorine — any person who drinks artificially fluoridated water for a period of one year or more will never again be the same person mentally or physically.”

Both Nazi and Soviet concentration camps maintained fluoride administration to inmates to decrease resistance to authority.

However, of vital importance to our eugenics-minded rulers, fluoride has repeatedly been found to interfere with reproduction. “A few human studies suggested that high concentrations of fluoride exposure might be associated with alterations in reproductive hormones, effects on fertility, and developmental outcomes,” the National Research Council reported in 2006. In 1994, the Journal of Toxicology and Environmental Health published a study demonstrating a correlation between fluoride and reduced fertility and birth rates.

Fluoride is no longer confined to drinking water. According to the Agricultural Research Service, as of 2004 fluoride was present in 400 separate food and beverage items.

None of this was mentioned in the WCVB TV news report. Instead we are told to worry about melamine and cadmium, both certainly dangerous but nowhere approaching the threat level posed by massive fluoride poisoning.

As for the story researchers at WCVB TV, one has to wonder if maybe their cognitive ability to get to the bottom of the real story was seriously affected by a lifetime of fluoride ingestion.

[Via http://ctpatriot1970.wordpress.com]

I Don't Get Drunk. I Get Lit.

I had a realization this week.

Before I tell you what it is, though, I have to articulate why this is significant.  At least for me.

If I’ve had any extended conversation with you, you probably know that I’m not much of a partier.  I prefer a small group of friends at a coffee house or diner to the bar/club atmosphere.  I seldom drink (though when I do, it takes maybe two or three to turn me into a puking mess), and I’ve never been high (unless you count that time that, in a post-breakup haze, I was fed sleeping pills by my Gran and hallucinated a room full of Technicolor cobwebs emanating from the ceiling fan).

In scientific terms, I am Totally lame.

Pretty much, I feel that mood-altering substances are undesirable because they disrupt my cognizant perception of my surroundings, and interfere with my ability to act rationally.  And if there’s one thing I value, it’s my rationality.  If I decide to deviate from this and get drunk, it’s strictly social and in an atmosphere in which I feel secure.  And where the people will forgive me in the morning.

But what I’ve always disliked about drugs and alcohol is how people use them as a means to escape.  Had a really bad day?  Get smashed.  Girlfriend cheated on you?  Do some coke.  You just need to forget for a little while!

Except that…no.  It doesn’t help the situation, it just puts off a solution.  If anything, it’ll make things worse.

Since discovering that drinking can, in fact, be fun, I’ve relaxed on this position a bit.  I still cringe, though, every time I hear one of my friends talk about getting drunk to ease the effects of a shitty situation.

But I might be just as bad.

I’ve been slacking on my reading lately.  Other things have taken precedence, like Bioshock 2, the bread-baking kick I’ve been on, and generally having a social life.  Yet this week, amidst new-roommate worries and hair-pulling situations at work, I put all of that aside and picked up The Shining for a good, nostalgic re-read.

And it hit me.

Like a ton of bricks

I’m an escapist reader.

When the chips are down, I retreat to my nice, safe world of fiction.  It’s not just this week.  During the holidays, when I was losing my mind with stress, I devoured four books over two weeks.  And when I look back, it’s something I’ve always done, starting with my discovery of R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps series at the time of my parents’ divorce.

A library is to me what a crack den is to Amy Winehouse.

Why am I okay with this?

It’s always nagged at me that I read so much, when I could be out in the world experiencing more.  Shouldn’t I be sad that words on a page are more exciting than my actual life?

Rationalize, Mal, rationalize.

I value whatever bit of intelligence I am capable of exhibiting.  Hence my avoidance of activities that kill off brain cells – alcohol, drugs, and reality TV.  According to multiple sources, though, reading makes you smarter.

I know, duh, right?

But this isn’t confined to reading non-fiction, which will undoubtedly give you more information about the world.  Reading anything will make you sharper, expand your vocabulary, and hone your analytical skills (well, maybe not anything; we’ll have to cross off Twilight, as well as 90% of the Internet.  But anything else is fair game).  I can vouch that my thinking is clearer if I start my day off by reading a few pages, rather than hitting the snooze button five times.

So, if I want to maximize my understanding and perception of this world which I hope to explore, it’s not only my pleasure, but my duty to read as much as I can, right?  I mean, it’s one thing to see the Louvre, but another experience completely to be able to place its artifacts in proper historical and anecdotal context.

I’m not a literature-addicted shut-in.  I’m the intrepid traveler, belongings on my back and book in hand.

At least, that’s what I would like to think.

Reading also tends to relieve stress and mellow a person out.

Well, there you go.  That explains why my manner is so easygoing, and why new acquaintances always ask me if I’m a stoner.

But most importantly, I think, reading can show you things, desires and goals, that you never would have recognized in yourself otherwise.  In my literary adventures, I’ve collected a lengthy laundry list of places I want to see, and things I want to do (I vow, at some point in my life, to work with a traveling carnival in the Midwest).  Reading can spark feelings and ideas within you, from dark, uncharted corners of your psyche, that might never have seen daylight.

Don’t you see?  It’s your psychological duty to rescue these marooned inclinations from their desert island fates.  Pick up a volume of Burroughs, Rand, or Tolkien and enrich your existence!  Become intoxicated on the rich prose of Proust.  Hook up a literary IV, and nourish yourself with some Nabokov.

Whew!  Calm down, kid, before you hurt yourself.

Anyway, that’s the justification I’m putting forth for my disgusting acts of escapism.  I’m improving myself.  Yeah.  Suck on that.

What’s that?  You’re partying tonight?  I’ll just be here with my (::sunglasses::) book.

[Via http://malsies.wordpress.com]

I Hate to Break it to You, but Mary Jane is a Filthy Whore

Incredibly, these 2 guys weren't the least bit high when this was shot.

Okay, so here’s the deal. I’m going to be honest with you, because I like you. I work at a convenience store. More like an inconvenience store, but it’s only a temporary inconvenience. I will pretend it doesn’t bother me for the time being. I guess if it’s good enough for Kevin Smith, then it’s good enough for me and if the Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough for Cyndi Lauper, then I suppose they’re good enough for me. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Again, surprisingly not high. Except for Josh Brolin. He was probably high.

I could write blog upon blog upon screenplay upon book upon suicide note about all the crazy/annoying shit that happens on a nightly basis at the living hell that is my workplace, but for the purpose of this entry, I will stick to just one of the things that annoys me about my job. It’s something that has bothered me for a long time, but being a clerk has kind of put the microscope on it that much more often.

I hate t-shirts that glorify pot smoking.

This is one of the better ones and I still couldn't see myself wearing it.

I don’t give a shit if you smoke pot. I used to smoke pot. Most of us have. It’s not a big deal. And that’s exactly why you don’t need to announce to the world that you do so by wearing a silly t-shirt–usually one of those oh so funny ones that uses a famous brand name and/or logo and replaces it with a word or a pot leaf that lets everyone know just how edgy you are. McDoobies? Pot Milk? Marijuana-Mart? Weed Thins? Sativa Night Live? All so brilliant. Ugh. Do we really need more proof that marijuana destroys your brain cells with the delicacy of Hitler? I mean, c’mon. You don’t think the people that make these shirts are straight edge, do you? Are you even reading this right now, or are you riding a flying liger to Jupiter? Snap out of it, Smokey. Nobody gives a shit about your “hobby”. I don’t really care about the glorifying pot part so much. I just hate stupid t-shirts.

If I had to guess, in Hawaii (my home state) alone, I’d say 2/3 of people, if not more, smoke the sticky icky at least occasionally. I’d be willing to bet that as many people smoke pot in Hawaii as listen to Bob Marley. (By the way, on a side note, Bob Marley shirts have just about jumped the iron lion shark in Zion, too. Certain Bob shirts can slide, like the awesome one I got for 4 bucks on eBay that’s very understated and also features Bunny Livingston and Peter (McIn)Tosh, which makes it way cooler and far more authentic than the average BM garment. But most of the shirts featuring the undisputed legend are gaudy and disposable. {Oh shit. Now I fear that any heavy pot smokers reading this post will try to put their shirts down a garbage disposal. I don’t have the patience to explain to them what I mean by “disposable”. Just die instead.} Case in point: somebody walked in wearing a shitty Bob Marley tee the other day and my co-worker immediately knew which store the dirty hippie had purchased {or bartered for some “wicked rad, totally mellow, but still organic incense, bro” and/or awesome homemade bracelets “made with love”} the shirt/future cum rag from. Lawda mercy.) And pretty much everybody in Hawaii listens to Bob Marley. I swear to Jah.

Stop. You'll never be as cool as these guys. Just get over it.

There was a time when smoking pot was a pretty cool thing. Back when stoner films such as Up In Smoke may as well have been dubbed in Russian, because your parents had no idea what the hell everyone was talking about. But nowadays, even your mom smokes buddha. The soccer dad next door puffs that la. Your algebra teacher from high school dabbles in the dro. Even though I have no personal problem with smoking weed, it’s actually become a much cooler thing to say that you don’t smoke it. It’s just become too fucking popular. And yet I see a handful of customers enter my living nightmare clad in sparkly t-shirts proclaiming their profound love for all things pakalolo on a daily basis. (Pakalolo is the Hawaiian word for “marijuana”, which is funny because “lolo” means stupid. It literally translates to “the plant that makes you a complete dumbass when you smoke it…oh, and you’ll probably want to get some Cheetos while you’re at it. Those things are amazing. Did you hear an echo?”)

Vampire Weekend: Proof that awesome music can be made by guys who are not high on drugs or their own egos.

The only things that feel really cool to me anymore are things that are totally basic, but not very popular, or obscure parts of semi-popular things or obscure things in general that are only popular among really cool people, or the occasional popular thing that just so happens to be super awesome (see: Vampire Weekend). Marijuana doesn’t fall into any of those categories. Coming into 7-Eleven at 2 in the morning and staring at snacks for 15 minutes is not cool and neither is smoking pot. There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s not cool either. It’s just a thing. A very popular thing. And we don’t feel the need to wear shirts that tell people we love those other really popular things.

So much better than pot.

That’s the best argument I can think of. It’s very simple. Pot has become as mainstream as alcohol. Even though marijuana is a specific type of drug, it’s still somehow super basic. It’s like a shirt saying “Drugs”. No one wears shirts saying “alcohol”. I don’t think Jack Daniels shirts are particularly cool either, but even those are cooler than an Ed Hardy ripoff shirt that instead says “Dred Party” and features a picture of a spliff that’s big enough to make Cheech & Chong comatose. Wearing a shirt that tells the world you love pot is like wearing a shirt telling people that you enjoy eating food. I would think that was stupid, too and I fucking love food! Wearing a shirt with a pot leaf on it is like wearing a shirt with a slice of meatloaf on it. (If you like meatloaf)

Not high. Just borderline criminally insane. But in a good way.

I’m wearing a Dunder Mifflin shirt right now, so I reserve the right to tell you how idiotic you look wearing a marijuana-hyping parody shirt. In my day, we just smoked pot. We didn’t talk about it. The coolest thing about it was how awesome it made Pink Floyd and Type O Negative sound. We didn’t need shirts. We had conversations. And music. And conversations about music. We didn’t talk about the pot or tell people we smoked pot. We’d just smoke it and then do stuff that was actually awesome, or stuff that would be normally really boring unless you were smoking pot.

Quiksta. He smokes the bombudd.

I will say one thing though, in defense of pot-ularizing marijuana: For some reason it still sounds cool (sometimes) when (some) people sing about smoking pot. It has worked wonders for DJ Quik, People Under the Stairs, Tom Petty and countless others. But talking about it ad nauseam, or wearing a hat or shirt em-blaze-oned with a pot logo or homage is played out like Cross Colours. It would be cooler to wear a shirt paying homage to heroin, cocaine or pcp at this point. And much bolder, too. Saying you smoke pot is about as edgy as admitting to downloading music illegally. Actually, that would be a lot edgier in 2010.

You don't NEED pot to enjoy Cpt. Beefheart, but it don't hurt.

Ah yes. Your sweet little Mary Jane used to be there whenever you needed a good time. She was fun and innocent. She’d come over every now and then and wouldn’t get too clingy. She smelled so sweet and always felt so good on your lips. With each breath you took in her presence, you’d fall more in love. But now Mary Jane is far too available and has spread herself way too thin. She’s the popular chick now. The skanky one. When you invite her over everyday, she becomes a problem. Not to mention the fact that she’s hanging out with everyone you know. Mary Jane is a slut now. She’s not something you wear as a badge of honor. She’s become a guilty pleasure. Smoking pot is like listening to the Backstreet Boys, or eating Pop Tarts for “dinner”. I would say she’s a “dark, dirty secret”, but there’s nothing secret about it anymore, which is why you should take those shirts off and burn them. If they’re made out of hemp, enjoy the sweet aromas and throw on some Captain Beefheart. Then put on a tie-dyed t-shirt instead. Even those are cooler than shirts about weed. Especially if it’s dyed with the blood of Cheech and the urine of Chong. Let your freak flag fly like a gay pride bumper sticker. Just don’t do it while wearing one of those silly t-shirts. It’s time to grow up there, Sparky.

Those days have gone up in smoke.

[Via http://sprsncyth.wordpress.com]

meh with a bit of meh thrown in there

if by when the train comes you’re not here, i’m going to get on it. every time she walks down the street she glances back to see if i am looking. i am, i cannot help it.

Last night i had two dreams about you. or maybe you were in my dream twice. you seemed happy, you were smiling both times. i never see you do that. also, in one of the times, you were jogging, but you weren’t as skinny. you looked gorgeous. and you didn’t see me but you were smiling to yourself like you liked yourself and i thought that was brilliant because you never seem to like yourself.

if you touched me right now i would dissolve into millions of pieces. if i ever see you in real life, i will muster up the courage to tell you how perfect we are for each other. if i can’t, then i will drink a lot and then tell you. if you reject me i will be even happier. no one will ever love me like you do in my head.

tomorrow is going to be a shit day. without you, shittier. but maybe I’ll meet you at that party i’m going to. beach party? in 8 degree weather? that sounds like the type of shit you’d be into.

so i heard about this antidepressant that is not an ssri and it doesn’t kill your libido or hunger. i will be talking to my doctor about that. also, keep yuour fingers crossed for no lithium prescription. tomorrow i have a class that i haven’t attended more than once: we have a midterm next week i believe. fuckin a.  i am really considering going home for a long time this summer. mostly because my summer plans kind of went to the shitter and i dont have any money to stay. or  a job. i also miss my mum. everything that’s happened lately is rough.

I’ve been thinking about what could have triggered my bipolarism. i have no clue, it just started acting up over the summer. then i i read an article that said people have no fucking clue why bipolar people are bipolar. and that 25% of us commit suicide. i also think that before being bipolar i was unipolar. i didn’t think more bullshit names existed for depression, but i was wrong.

do you think it’s crazy if i want my life to be a TV show? i don’t even care which one.

no, more like this one:

[Via http://filthyfrenchthings.wordpress.com]

As simple as it gets, in 8 minutes, Judge Jim Gray explains why the war on drugs must end via Reddit

“The Minister of Health of Holland held a press conference and said,’We, in our country, have only half of the marijuana consumption per capita as you do in the United States of America both for adults and for teenagers’…then he went on to explain why. You know what he said? He said, ‘We have succeeded in making pot boring.’ People supporting the status quo are on the wrong side of history.”

[Via http://jkdanh.wordpress.com]

Longevity secrets of France's invalid writer Voltaire - part 7

Was Voltaire’s dyspepsia really due to the illness, or to all of the purgatives with which he treated himself?  From a young age, he got into the habit of taking up to eight medicines and twelve enemas a month.

During his trip to England, he discovered a perfected machine for taking enemas.  He was delighted.  “It is a chef-d’oeuvre of the art!”  he exclaimed.  “You can put it in your gusset and use it when and where you like, you can use it all the time and wherever you are.”

Cassia and rhubarb were his favourite remedies, to which he added soap enemas.  On this subject, something amusing happened while he was in Prussia as the guest of Frederic.

From Berlin, Voltaire had asked the king to give him permission to visit the different German courts.  The monarch ordered a general, Count de Chazot, to accompany him and to pay for all of his travelling expenses.

Upon his return, the Count presented the bill to Frederic.  The first article was a fairly hefty sum “for soap enemas at two kreutzers each” taken by Voltaire during the trip.

“What is this?”  cried Frederic.  “What apothecary’s bill are you presenting me with here?”

“Sire,” replied Chazot.  “I will not deduct one denier for Your Majesty; for my bill is of the greatest exactitude.”

And the king had to pay it.

Another remedy which Voltaire used frequently was Stahl powder.  He obtained the prescription from King Stanislas, Duke of Lorraine.  We know the formula for this powder, which is a mixture of potassium sulfate, potassium nitrate and red sulphur of mercury.  This powder was taken in pill form.

In 1747, Voltaire sent a message to Frederic:  “I am tempted to believe that the Stahl pills would do some good to the King of Prussia;  they were invented in Berlin and they have almost cured me of late.”  Two days later, he wrote to the same sovereign, now his friend:  “I haven’t yet found anything which does me more good than the real Stahl pills, and we have only bad copies in Paris…  I beg Y.  M. to be so gracious as to send me a pound of Stahl pills… “

Upon which, Frederic answered:  “There would be enough to purge the whole of France with the pills you ask of me, and enough to kill your three academies [the Academy of Medecine did not yet exist];  do not imagine that these pills are sweets:  you would be mistaken…  I have ordered d’Arget to send you the pills, which have such a big reputation in France and which the late Stahl used to have made by his coachman.  The only people here who use them are pregnant women.”

The Prussian king knew how to turn an epigram.  Doctor Frederic was giving a lesson to Patient Voltaire.

In 1736, Voltaire had only just entered into relations with Frederic, when the king started worrying about Voltaire’s indispositions, taking upon himself to seek medical advice for the writer, and begging him not to give him continual alarms by his frequent health problems.  “Your Royal Highness,”  wrote Voltaire.  “Is too good to have consulted doctors for me and to be gracious enough to send me a recipe which is better than all of their prescriptions.”

This recipe is contained in the post-scriptum of one of the king’s letters to his chamberlain:  “I have a bit of amber for Cirey and I have some Hungarian wine which, I have been told, will be a balm for my friend’s health.”

Although Voltaire drank moderately – a demi-setier of wine at each meal is more than he needs -  he likes to have excellent vintages, which his guests know how to appreciate.  As for himself, he sticks to burgundy, or corton, which he tries to get as cheaply as possible.

The wine sent to him by the king is appreciated by him more for the thought than for the wine itself.  He answered as usual by increased flattery.  “I only have confidence in doctors,” he wrote to Frederic.  “Since Your Royal Highness is the Aesculape who is gracious enough to watch over my health.”

The advice given to him by the king was not always to his taste, however.  In answer to certain rather libertine offers, Voltaire declared to him “that he needed furs in summer, and not girls, and that he needed a good bed, but for himself alone, a seringe and the King of Prussia”.

The king was extremely attentive.  If Voltaire had a temperature, he sent him the best quinquina that he could find.  Was there a dish which pleased him, he was instantly served it.  But what did Voltaire think of all of these favours?

“Digestion is the biggest point.  When I have a colic, I chase away all of the kings in the universe.  I have given up these divine suppers and find myself a little better for it.”  The king had to leave him “entire liberty” to sup alone at home or not to sup, when he felt even more ill.  Thanks to this tightening of his diet, he declared himself to be tormented less by his bowel problems and no longer held his abdomen with both hands.

But he had another problem.  He said that he was suffering from sciatic gout which kept him in his room, at a bad inn in Lyon.  He left this town shortly after, and went, all crippled, to the Prangins chateau, in the canton of Vaud, where “he waits for the end of a life filled with suffering”, in the hope “of going soon to the Aix baths”.

Unable to go, he fell back on drinking the mineral waters of Prangins, which he declared superior to the Forges waters, of which he definitely had a bad memory.

Eighth part tomorrow.

[Via http://marilynkaydennis.wordpress.com]

Illegal substances

Sweden has very hard laws prohibiting narcotics and steroids. There is also almost no debate in about the possibility of legalizing drugs such as marihuana for medical use ether. Enforcement of the laws varies form of widespread drug testing, and penalties ranging from rehabilitation treatment, fines, and up to a 10-year in prison. Also a report by the UNODC lauded Sweden for having one of the lowest drug usage rates in the western world, however According to the European Monitoring Centre for Drugs and Drug Addiction in 2005 the rate of drug-related deaths per capita in Sweden was more than twice that of the Netherlands.

However I don’t agree with Sweden’s drug laws, I believe that marijuana should be legal both fore recreational and medical use, but when it comes to heavier narcotics my thoughts are thorn… if it were legal it would take a lot of the funding away from criminal organizations, but it could increase the abuse. And even thou Sweden see itself as a country in the forefront on the fight on drugs, I know a lot of people have tried illegal drugs and almost everyone know how to get drugs.

[Via http://kevinrov.wordpress.com]

Longevity secrets of France's invalid writer Voltaire - part 5

Up until the age of fifty, Voltaire’s stomach will be the seat of his tortures, the source of all his apprehensions.

He started talking about his bad digestion from 1720, at the age of twenty-six.  Three years later, he wrote to one of his correspondents that “his health and his business affairs are in an incredibly delapidated state [...] that he is so ill that his pen is dropping from his hand”.

That is when, on the advice of people who had benefited from it, he thought about taking the waters at Forges on his way back from his first trip to Holland, where he went as an exile, and where he led “a life of dissipation, which went as far as disorder”.  He had hoped that the Forges waters would restore his health but, far from being successful, they tired him more.

“I won’t take waters again,” he declared.  “They do me a lot more ill than they do me good.  There is more vitriol in a bottle of Forges water than in a bottle of ink.”  Which didn’t stop him from returning to these same waters the following year.

He started to feel better, but the amelioration didn’t last and, with his habitual exaggeration, he declared that these waters were more than harmful.  “The Forges waters have killed me,” he wrote to a friend.  At most, their prolonged use would have made his dyspepsia worse.

This is when he decided to treat himself with whey.  However, almost at the same time, he called in a doctor who made him take cinnamon essence, while another doctor prescribed something entirely different.  In the end, he didn’t know which drug to take.

On the advice of Mme de Bernieres, he decided to consult Silva, the fashionable doctor to see at the time, the doctor for delicate dispositions.  The oracle assured him that “the pieces of an iron ball were as good as the whole ball”, and that there is nothing better for the digestion.  Voltaire was weak enough to believe the oracle but, after experimenting, he gave up this weird digestive remedy and recognized that “diet is better than all the balls in the world [...]“.

“Health has at last been given back to me,” he wrote joyfully to Mme de Bernieres.  “I have found my gaiety again [...].  I warn you, my dear queen, that Mr de Gervasi and all the doctors of the Faculty of Medicine will be of no use to you, if you do not have a strict diet, and with this diet you will be able to do marvellously well without the waters… “.

However, Voltaire cried victory too soon.  This calm will be short-lived.

Sixth part tomorrow.

[Via http://marilynkaydennis.wordpress.com]

Making A Killing: The Untold Story of Psychotropic Drugging

Psychotropic drugs. It’s the story of big money-drugs that fuel a $330 billion psychiatric industry, without a single cure.

The cost in human terms is even greater-these drugs now kill an estimated 42,000 people every year.

And the death count keeps rising. Containing more than 175 interviews with lawyers, mental health experts, the families of victims and the survivors themselves, this riveting documentary rips the mask off psychotropic drugging and exposes a brutal but well-entrenched money-making machine. Before these drugs were introduced in the market, people who had these conditions would not have been given any drugs at all.

So it is the branding of a disease and it is the branding of a drug for a treament of a disease that did not exist before the industry made the disease.

WATCH IT HERE

[Via http://freeviewdocumentaries.com]

An Open Letter to the People & Government of Ireland

To Whom It May Concern:

I feel compelled to write this as again it is in the headlines about the miss-treatment of the young people of our country. In the Dáil today there was a debate about the publicising of the report into the death of the tragic Tracey Fay. Tracey was a girl with a troubled background who eventually made it into the care system and died as a result. Last September the RTE programme Prime Time reported on her case and the deaths of a total of 20 young people in care in the last ten years. On this programme Minister Barry Andrews the Minister for Children spoke about the improvements that have since been made and inferred that a case like Tracey’s could never happen again.

Having worked on the periphery of the services that deal with cases like Tracey’s I can categorically say that this is not true. They system that is being talked about is that of ‘Out of Hours’. The Out of Hours system deals with young people whose care or home placements have broken down and there is not a suitable mainstream placement available. It is intended to be an emergency system but in reality young people can end up spending months and in some cases years within it.

The heart of this system is a social work placement service which is facilitated through Garda stations. It requires the young ‘out-of-home’ person to present at a Garda station after 8pm and request to be placed by Out of Hours (OOH). The Gardaí then ring the OOH social work team and inform them of the young person requiring placement. The team then come and assess the young person and if it is not feasible for them to return home they are placed in emergency accommodation. For the over twelve’s this takes two forms: a new residential unit in Donabate, North Co. Dublin, which provides 24hr emergency care to ‘new presenters’ (that is any young person that has not been though the OOH system before) and a hostel in Dublin city centre which provides shelter from 8pm until 9.30am.

The logic behind the 9.30am ‘check-out’ time is that young people of this age should be attending school. However, if a young person’s life is in so much chaos that they arrive in the OOH system it is reasonable to expect that they are not attending school. This means that during the hours of 9.30am and 8pm these children have nothing to do but roam the streets of Dublin. In the past there were drop-in centres for these young people to attend but the same attending school logic removed these services. In their place was put an appointment only keyworking service which also provides lunch from 12-1pm. To make up for this lack of services children between the ages of 12-17 can be given a social welfare type payment at the discretion of their social worker. This is in the region of €30-€60 per week. How anyone can feel that this is a means of caring for these vulnerable children one is never to know. This system leaves children wandering the streets of Dublin city with nothing else to do but get in trouble. It can, and does, lead to crime, drug abuse and prostitution. It also leaves children vulnerable to predators and the negative influence of the adult homeless (many of whom are a product of the same system).

How can a wealthy country (and even in this current recession we are wealthy) justify treating its young in this way is beyond me. Minister Andrews speaks of the difficulty of providing care for the ‘challenging’ children; however, if the interventions were put in earlier it may never have got to that point for many of the young people. Tracey Fay was identified by the health services when she was 8 months old. She was not taken into care until she was 14 years old. I was astounded when the Prime Time programme came out in September and what I had known for a long time was now in the public domain yet the massive outcry and demand for reform that I expected did not happen. What does this say about our society? Do we not care? Are we that self absorbed that children being left to rot in a seriously dysfunctional system does not concern us? I call on the people of Ireland to speak out; to tell their friends, neighbours, colleagues and the government that this is not acceptable, that we will stand for this no longer, and that there must be change. Tell me, do you care enough?

[Via http://niamhfeeney.wordpress.com]

Eat Fresh!

     When I was 18, I started to head the route of college by enrolling myself at the local university in my hometown. I declared graphic design as my major and started taking classes, one of which included typography. I went for exactly one month before I decided that I’d rather kill myself than trace fonts on sketch paper six hours each week for an entire semester. No, really, I tried to kill myself; I’ve got the hospital records to prove it. It was that bad. After some further psychological evaluation, I was cleared to be on my own again. Yeah, you heard me correctly. The hospital deemed me sane enough to enter back into society. Now you’ll know who to blame when I take over the world and force all of the stupid people to get red “X” tattoos on their foreheads. Hey, it’s a fantastic idea; my aim is much better when there’s a target.

     I decided after my brush with death that either I really needed to study up on effective suicide methods, or I needed to figure out what it was that made me happy. Considering the fact that I had already eaten my entire bottle of Costco-sized Ibuprofin and secret hoard of Vicodin the week before, I chose the latter and did what any single white 18-year-old female looking for stability did: I jumped ship and moved to New York City. From Idaho. With $400 in my bank account. Even at a young age I must have been a master manipulator to get my parents to go along with this; my Mom is pretty much a free and encouraging spirit, but my Dad just recently came to terms with the fact that I am no longer a virgin, so you can imagine how hard it was to give his seal of approval. He’ll tell you that moving to NYC was the worst decision I’ve ever made because that’s where I discovered cocaine. I say it was the best decision I’ve ever made because I learned so much about life. Plus, that’s where I discovered cocaine.

     One late night, I was riding in the subway with my three female roommates. As usual, we were slightly inebriated and giggling as if we had just watched a stranger viciously club George Bush in the back of the head, when Becky stopped abruptly and stared directly behind me with a look of horror on her face. I sensed her sudden change in mood and instinctively turned my head to see what could possibly have ruined her jovial mood.

     “Tsk!” She reprimanded suddenly to catch my attention. When I looked back at her, she slowly leaned into me and, with a whisper, said, “Whatever you do, do not turn around.”

     Whenever anyone tells you to not turn around, what do you do? You turn around. She could have told me that the most repulsive thing in the world was behind me and I would have turned around. Even if she said that Roseanne Barr and Tom Arnold were giving each other sweaty fellatio right next to me, I would have looked. Oh god. Just thinking about that made me vomit a little in my mouth. Sorry, give me a second to compose myself and I’ll continue. C’mon Miki, think good thoughts…Ryan Reynolds naked circa Amityville Horror. Brad Pitt beating the shit out of Angelina Jolie in Mr. and Mrs. Smith and then fucking her on the broken debris. Telling Heidi Montag she’s fat. Ok, I’m back. I apologize.

     I think you get the gist of it: I turned around. And there it was. Not within the vicinity of my face, not near my face, not even close to my face; right in my fucking face. An Asian dick. No, not Jet Li, like an actual Asian penis. The first and only one I’ve ever seen. Within cumshot of my eye. There’s nothing like a midnight subway flasher to sober you right up. I didn’t know what to do so I gasped, turned my head and shrank away to the left. I hoped that it was all just a figment, a miniscule figment at that, of my imagination. Well, it wasn’t, but thankfully the dude got off at the next stop, where I proceeded to yell, “That dude just put his dick in my face!” repeatedly while pointing in his direction. Thankfully, we weren’t the only intoxicated group on the train, and some man’s man ran off to chase him. I’m hoping it was to kick the shit out of him, and not to get a piece of that action.

     I was shaken, but I recovered quickly and soon I was back to myself, slightly less innocent after being exposed to the cruel reality that was the underground New York City Asian pecker flashers. If Jared tried this form of the Subway diet, I’m sure that he would lose more weight; this 6-incher, make that 3, would make anyone lose their appetite.

[Via http://oomikioo.wordpress.com]

Oh no!

It seems I have lost the ability to get drunk.

This will not do.

So, I said I’d give it up. It lasted a month. I just want to feel some chemical joy. Let me pretend that my laughs are real and that I am jolly and the life of the party. Let me pretend that I am comfortable talking to people and that I have no fears.

Let me be the fierce woman my peers seem to think I am when I swager out with the boys, bottle in hand and belt out some crazy Rock Band vocals.

Let me escape my mundane world.

[Via http://bittercupgonemad.wordpress.com]