A Quote From Robert Browning

"When the fight begins within himself, a man's worth something."

The Subject of Lindsay Lohan and the Recklessness of Dr. Drew Pinsky

I would guess most of us are probably aware that “notorious party girl” (the words of an ABC News anchor) Lindsay Lohan’s legal troubles continued yesterday in a Los Angeles courtroom, where she was found in violation of her probation for missing a court date and ordered to wear an alcohol detecting ankle bracelet, attend substance abuse classes and remain in Los Angeles, despite the fact she is working on a project in Texas.

Now I have nothing whatsoever to say about the decisions of the court. Ms. Lohan obviously failed to live up to the terms of her probation, a situation that apparently has been going on for some time. That’s her problem and her responsibility.

However, I take umbrage with the dishonorable and uninformed opinions on the subject of Ms. Lohan spouted by Celebrity Rehab’s “Dr. Drew” Pinsky on the Larry King show last night. Mr. Pinsky, along with a representative of the Los Angeles District Attorney’s office and Mark Geragos, overrated attorney extraordinaire, were invited to Mr. King’s show to discuss Ms. Lohan and the recent events surrounding her life.

The attorneys were professional and unremarkable in sharing their legal analysis of her situation. But Mr. Pinsky, who to my knowledge has never personally diagnosed Ms. Lohan, had a number of outrageous opinions to share with America, despite the fact that he has no personal knowledge of the real facts of this woman’s life. In response to some Mr. King’s questions, Mr. Pinsky was heard to remark, “She’s an addict… she’s not thinking clearly. She doesn’t have the usual priorities that the rest of us do… how far down is she going to have to go?”

This isn’t the first time this fraud has shared his opinions on Ms. Lohan’s life. In a famous “warning” he issued in 2009, Mr. Pinsky said:

"I'm convinced that she'll get sober one day. But I'm afraid that between now and then, she may get a nearly mortal wound of some type. I'm really convinced that something horrible is going to have to happen to her before she really gets over it and embraces sobriety. She needs to give it up. And it's going to be a while before she does. I have this image that she's going to lose a limb or something before she does. And it scares me."

Who does this guy think he is? No matter how well intentioned, his opinions are irresponsible, uninformed and slanderous. To go around calling someone you don’t really know an “addict” is the height of recklessness, especially from a person who is supposed to observe the highest ethical standards. Would we tolerate a doctor diagnosing an individual as insane on national television without having ever conducted any kind of medical investigation into this fact? Of course we wouldn’t. But because the subject is addiction and this guy presumably is motivated by a desire to help poor, suffering Lindsay, he gets an incomprehensible pass. (But what are his real motivations? They couldn’t possibly be related to his burgeoning career, could they?) And what in the world is this “image” he had of her losing a limb? Please Doctor Soothsayer, look into your crystal ball and tell me my future. Very scientific, so professional.

The facts of Lindsay Lohan’s life are completely irrelevant, most importantly because none of us really know anything about it. What is at issue here is far more important. Just say no to Doctor Drew Pinsky: quack with a soapbox.

Our Many Splendored Things

I was watching television last night, and came across a Hoarders marathon on A&E. I am quite simply in love with this show and the people it portrays, with whom I feel an odd kinship. I watched two or three episodes in a row as I cooked dinner, consciously, deliberately and unhappily not drinking or getting high.

Sometime during my meal of short ribs and asparagus, there was a dreaded commercial break, so I switched over to the History Channel, where the fairly new show American Pickers was on. For those of you who are not familiar, American Pickers features these two huckster scoundrels who scour people’s farms, warehouses and homes in search of their hidden and largely unknown valuables, then offer these folks a fraction of the value of these possessions in order to procure their sordid profits. At the end of each episode, the show tallies what these guys paid for the items versus what they are actually worth. It is a truly repulsive display of greed and opportunism in our national life.

What makes this juxtaposition particularly interesting to me is the fact that many of these people who are being taken advantage of in American Pickers are in fact hoarders themselves. So we have, side by side on our TV “dial,” one show where health care professionals enter people’s homes to inform the pack rat occupants that: 1) their possessions are valueless and 2) they are mentally ill for keeping them, and another show where two assholes roam the country making a very good living raping these same character types of their “hidden gems,” which reinforces to the viewer the whole reason for hoarding in the first place.

Now, I’m not saying that the people on Hoarders don’t need help. They are the most extreme examples of a pretty common method that humans have of externally and perhaps inappropriately dealing with stress and attempting to exert some level of control over their existence. (We’ve all heard of pregnant mothers “nesting,” for instance.) But there is a certain level of unacceptable contradiction in the message these competing programs are sending.

People in general, but American’s in particular, love their possessions. Some might call this love “materialism,” but I think there is an important difference in the common usage of the word that differentiates the two, at least much of the time. And it seems quite logical that we should love and be proud of these things of our making, for what else separates and distinguishes the human race from the rest of the animal kingdom more than our ability to shape and form the natural world into these myriad manifestations of our will?

This little discourse is not meant to solve the riddle. But, in watching these two programs last night, I couldn’t help but wonder where that hidden boundary between sickness and normalcy lies. More importantly, I wonder what our societal motivations and consequences are in creating these seemingly imaginary, constantly moving lines of acceptability.

Another Quote From Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"At that point I ought to have gone away, but a strange sensation rose up in me, a sort of defiance of fate, a desire to challenge it, to put out my tongue at it. I laid down the largest stake allowed-four thousand gulden-and lost it. Then, getting hot, I pulled out all I had left, staked it on the same number, and lost again, after which I walked away from the table as though I were stunned. I could not even grasp what had happened to me."

- The Gambler

Grandma Caught Slingin’ Rock

Here’s a lovely little tidbit I found today. I once smoked weed with my buddy’s seventy-five year old grandmother, (“This is some good shit,” she remarked as she inhaled deeply.) but Ms. Ola Mae really takes the cake. I found the article on about.com. The author is Sean O’Reilly.


PENSACOLA, FL -- An 87-year-old Escambia County woman is out of jail after being arrested for selling crack cocaine.

Ola Mae Agee is charged with one felony count of selling cocaine after deputies say she sold a $20 piece of crack to undercover deputies.

The Sheriff's Office conducted an undercover narcotics investigation over the past month in the area of East Desoto Street and Dr. Martin Luther King Drive in Pensacola.

Investigators say surveillance video shows an undercover officer knocking on the back door of Agee's house located on the 900 block of MLK Drive. Deputies say Agee answered the door and took the officer to a room in her house where she retrieved crack from a couch and exchanged it for money.

Investigators believe Agee wasn't the only person selling crack cocaine from her home. Deputies executed a search warrant at Agee's residence on Thursday in their ongoing county-wide narcotics investigation.

Sgt. Ted Roy, a spokesperson for the Sheriff's Office, said deputies suspect the other people who sold crack at Agee's house also sold cocaine from other homes throughout Escambia County. Detectives anticipate making additional drug-related arrests stemming from this investigation.

Family members took Agee to the Escambia County jail so she could turn herself on an outstanding warrant. Roy said Agee was released on her own recognizance because of her age.

Agee had no criminal record prior to her arrest on Thursday.

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

The good Doctor and I had been planning a big night out for quite a while, but something, usually employment obligations, always got in the way. Finally, last Friday, we were able to make it work. But the Doctor was concerned that we not lose a single moment in our quest for a proper buzz.

“Let’s start the party in the early afternoon, so we get in bed at a reasonable hour and have something left for the next day,” he suggested. I agreed, and we met up around 3:45 at Scoma’s in Sausalito for a drink. After two vodka-tonics, he suggested we call my connection in the City.

“Can’t do it,” I informed him. “He doesn’t begin his rounds until eight o’clock.”

The Doctor sighed. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted to get started early?”

Not really believing in my new mission, I began scrolling through the numbers in my cell phone for some inspiration. When I came across the Jew, the proverbial light bulb went off over my head. He was always down for a good time, and fairly well connected. I called him and he luckily answered. Even more luckily, he informed me that he was sitting on a gram and a half of blow right there in his apartment.

“We’re coming over,” I said brusquely. He agreed.

Our journey from then on out was a tale in itself, a book of stories and adventures, many of which we will hopefully explore here someday. We drank, we smoked, we talked and danced and sang. We met a motley host of companions, all friendly and full of life. Dealers came and went throughout the evening. What else can be said? It was one of those nights.

And at seven forty-five in the morning, after fourteen hours of partying, back at the Doctor’s house in Sausalito, as the sleeping pill was just kicking in and the last drink was being polished off, I couldn’t help but observe:

“Good thing we got started early, buddy. Now we can truly tackle the day.”

A Quote From George Orwell

"Many people genuinely do not want to be saints, and it is probable that some who achieve or aspire to sainthood have never felt much temptation to be human beings."

Slam Dunk

It was my junior year in high school and three of us were walking to a well known and often used wooded area just off campus on the banks of a small, trash laden stream behind the football field to get high. The weed was Melinda’s, a friend I had known since we were five years old. With us also was Caleb, a sophomore and relative newcomer to our expanding group and the lifestyle we were so vigorously pursuing. I remember him in the months that surrounded this day displaying an enthusiasm for his nascent drug use which was sometimes fatuous and at other times absolutely contagious.

We were talking about something as we passed through the basketball courts, and I recall experiencing an odd feeling, like the three of us were somehow outsiders to the scene. At this moment a ball bounced and then rolled my way. I used my foot to stop it, and then picked it up in the manner of a soccer player to get it into my hands. I dribbled the ball a few times. I hadn’t played ball since I flaked on the varsity squad, much to the chagrin of the coach.

“Hey, pass it over here,” on of the guys on the court called out.

I dribbled the ball a few more times, feeling the exterior, rough and worn from outside use.

“You deaf or something,” he called to me again. “I said send it this way.”

I began running toward the hoop, pounding the ball into the concrete. I rose up as I got near and dunked it down with force. It felt good and reminded me of my recent athletic past, which I was not yet consciously aware was gone forever, at least in an organized sense.

The ball fell to the ground and I walked back toward my friends. Caleb was beside himself.

“Awesome, man,” he said, grinning as he patted me on the back. “You give us druggies a good name.”

At the time I was so proud to hear this from one of my mates, because that’s exactly what I was going for. Today this memory is fraught with complexity and paradox and I don’t always know what to make of it.

Classic Anti-Pot Commercial: "I learned it by watching you!"

Okay, folks, one more commercial for the archives. This has to be one of the most memorable anti-pot ads from my youth. I remember wishing that my parents smoked weed. Too bad that wasn't the case.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y-Elr5K2Vuo

Great Anti-Drug Commercial: Oh Meth!

I really enjoyed watching this one...hope you enjoy it too. Very catchy tune.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fY1Pl1zGowc

A Quote From Alexander Dumas

"When you return to this mundane sphere from your visionary world, you would seem to leave a Neapolitan spring for a Lapland winter - to quit paradise for earth - heaven for hell! Taste the hashish, guest of mine - taste the hashish!"

Good News For Smokers

Finally, a reason to be proud, smokers of the world: you think quicker and remember better. This article was forwarded me by Onkel. My thanks. The source is DiscoveryNews. The author is Teresa Shipley.

SMOKING IS GOOD FOR YOU

*Um, not really.

But nicotine does enhance our ability to think, perform and take tests. Thanks to new research, scientists now know it increases our memory function, too.

Up to now, results about nicotine's effects on boosting human performance were mixed. Dr. Stephen Heishman, a scientist with the National Institute on Drug Abuse (part of the National Institutes of Health) said that in the past, researchers kept doing studies on the effects of nicotine and human performance without taking into account the drug's harsh withdrawal effects. Instead, they'd ask subjects to go eight or 12 hours without smoking before testing their brain functions. He says it wasn't surprising that as soon as nicotine was administered in those cases, performance improved.

"Without knowing what their baseline level of performance is, you can't really say whether that increase is a true increase or whether you're just bringing that person back to their baseline," Heishman told Discovery News. "Those early studies didn't provide the pre-deprivation performance, [as in], what's their performance when they're normally smoking?"

So Heishman and his colleagues studied all the literature they could find on nicotine and performance published between 1994 and 2008. In all, they reviewed and coded 41 studies and looked at how nicotine affected everything from fine motor skills to short term memory. Their results were published online in the journal Psychopharmacology.

What they found surprised them. Not only does the drug help with fine motor skills and alertness, it improves short term memory for tasks like remembering a list of items.

"We knew that the effect on attention was well known, but I was somewhat surprised about the effects on memory," Heishman said. "Smokers say that one of the reasons that they smoke is to help them concentrate, focus on tasks and do their work, and obviously a lot of our daily work involves memory. So on the other hand, I guess it shouldn't be too surprising."

Having a better understanding of nicotine's effects, including withdrawal effects, can lead to more effective quitting tactics, Heishman said. If we know that nicotine is the reason why we feel more alert when we smoke, for example, developing medicines that mimic nicotine's role can make quitting seem like less of an impossible task.

Near Misses Are Like Wins to Problem Gamblers

This is a very interesting article I found on medicalnewstoday.com. I can attest anecdotally to the accuracy of these findings. The article was posted yesterday. The author is Becky Allen of the University of Cambridge.


The brains of problem gamblers react more intensely to near misses than casual gamblers, new research from the University of Cambridge has found. The results could help explain what keeps problem gamblers betting even though they keep losing.

The study involved scanning the brains of 20 gamblers using functional magnetic resonance imaging while they played a computerised slot machine. Participants' gambling habits ranged from regular, social gamblers to those with severe problem gambling.

Dr Luke Clark of the University of Cambridge, who led the study, found that the parts of the brain involved in reward processing - the so-called dopamine centres - were more active in problem gamblers than in social gamblers.

During the experiment, volunteers played a computerised slot machine with two spinning wheels of icons and won 50p when the two icons matched. An icon mismatch was a loss, but when the wheels stopped within one icon of a match, the outcome was considered a "near miss."

Dr Clark found that near misses activated the same brain pathways as wins, even though no reward was given, and that this reaction was stronger in those gamblers who had more symptoms of problem gambling.

In particular, the study found strong responses in the midbrain, an area that is packed with dopamine-releasing brain cells. The dopamine system is associated with addiction and targeted by drugs of abuse. The study also found the near misses were linked with increased activity in a brain region called the ventral striatum, an area associated with reward and learning.

The results help explain why problem gamblers find it hard to give up.

According to Dr Clark: "These findings are exciting because they suggest that near-misses may elicit a dopamine response in the more severe gamblers, despite the fact that no actual reward is delivered. If these bursts of dopamine are driving addictive behaviour, this may help to explain why problem gamblers find it so difficult to quit."

Dopamine, a neurotransmitter, plays an important role in signalling "rewards" such as money and chocolate, and the dopamine system is also targeted by drugs of abuse.

"The results highlight some of the links between problem gambling and drug addiction, and have implications for both psychological and drug treatment for problem gamblers," Dr Clark says.

The findings are published in the new issue of the Journal of Neuroscience.

Me and Timothy Leary

It was 1993, and I was with my buddy Danny and a few other college chums at Lollapalooza in Mountain View, California. Primus and Alice in Chains were the headliners, though Danny and I were most excited about the side stage offering, a fairly new band we were into named Tool. It was sometime toward the middle of the festival that we headed over to check them out.

The crowd was only a couple of hundred strong, and we made our way toward the front. A few minutes later, an elderly, frail looking, grey haired man meandered out on the stage and said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce some good friends of mine. Put your hands together for Tool.”

The mushrooms and alcohol I had been consuming that day clogged the rusting gears of my brain, but eventually visual recognition kicked in. “Jesus Christ,” I yelled in Danny’s ear as the deafening music began to play, “I think that was fucking Timothy Leary.”

The show was great, though I remember it as pretty short. Lead singer and frontman Maynard had hardly broken a sweat on the scorching day before the band left the stage. I recall being a little disappointed as the two of us headed over to the bar for a drink.

But then, to our collective glee, we saw that Mr. Leary was sitting at a small, round table in the bar area with a fortyish, heavy-set man. Leary was staring into space and his companion seemed to be looking for something to say or do. We approached them aggressively, unable to contain our excitement.

“Mr. Leary, oh God, it’s so amazing to meet you,” I exclaimed. “You’ve been a big influence on me. You’re life’s work is, like, an inspiration.”

The Acid King said something, but I couldn’t hear him.

Danny chimed in, “You like Tool? How long have you known those guys?”

The Harvard professor mumbled and muttered unintelligibly. His eyes looked upward, as if searching for just the right word or phrase. Alas, the proper verbiage eluded him, though he continued speaking in his incomprehensible tongue. We waited for what seemed like several minutes on his every garbled word for some piece of wisdom, some kernel of truth; we waited in vain.

“Mr. Leary is very tired, gentlemen,” his companion-handler finally interceded haughtily. “I’m going to have to ask you to give him some space.”

We turned and departed the company of this legend of drug culture, disillusioned by the unexpected lesson we had received.

The Chameleon

The Oakland A’s have a “Tuesday Night Free Parking” promotion. So, being the cheapskates we are, Rick and I decided to head over to the game last night after a devastating session at Hometown Buffet. As the crowd was pathetic (an announced 10,125, but not even close to that number) our nine dollar tickets got us decent seats not far from the A’s bullpen.

We were taking in the game when Rick recognized Dave, a sixty-something supervising usher and former colleague. Dave came over and we all started talking. Soon the conversation steered toward the days when the stadium allowed access to the upper level. (Two years ago, the club decided to tarp over the highest level of seats, due to the fact that hardly anybody, other than people getting high, like Rick and myself, would sit there.)

“Oh man,” Dave said, “it was a real nightmare patrolling up there. Kid’s were smoking and everything.”

“I’ll bet they were even smoking dope,” I chimed in.

“You're right, they were,” he replied, his light blue eyes bulging like distended marbles.

“Damned druggies,” I added offhandedly.

Dave gave me an approbatory nod and said goodbye to the two of us. We enjoyed the rest of the game unmolested.

4/20 Rally in Denver

This picture was taken from a 4/20 rally that took place in Denver, Colorado this year. I used to think that I was pretty handy with produce, but these kids take the blue ribbon in the MacGyver category! It's good to see the youth moving forward.

Apples are the best, but I also like potatoes and yams.

A Quote From Henry Ward Beecher

"All men are tempted. There is no man that lives that can't be broken down, provided it is the right temptation, put in the right spot."

Inconvenient Timing and the Golden Mean

What a beautiful day for the races it was. The sun was shining. It was neither hot nor cold. The smell of grilled burgers filled the air. There were literally dozens of hot women wandering around the track in their sun dresses and fancy hats. The scumbag regulars and well to do, once-a-year outsiders mixed genially. There is no event in American life that compares to Kentucky Derby day.

My buddy Nick just had two teeth pulled a couple of days earlier, so he arrived with a fresh container of Vicadin to ease his pain. He offered me one. I accepted it, broke it in two to offset the effects of the time release coating, and washed it down with a Budweiser. As I was on an empty stomach, I began feeling the benumbing effects of the drug fairly soon.

Rick arrive soon thereafter, and within an hour or so we had pounded a couple more beers and went off to the bleachers to smoke some chronic. When we returned, I enjoyed a nice Cohiba Nick’s fiancés mom had brought back from Mexico. I was really flying high.

But it turned out that, like Icarus, I was flying a little too high. The three of us were in the interior hallway at the track, surrounded by people, watching the preliminary events leading up to the Derby on an antiquated television. Just as the singing of “My Old Kentucky Home” was coming to an end, I was overwhelmed by a strong claustrophobic sensation which was coupled by an immediate cold sweat, shaking and the feeling my heart was going to burst. I immediately went outside and walked around in circles for a minute or two, breathing deeply and telling myself I’d had this feeling a million times before. (Which is true, but this fact never makes it any easier.) I tried to return to the simulcast, but came back outside again.

I returned inside once more, just as the horses were entering the starting gate. My panic had seemingly peaked, though I was still very high and shaken by the experience. I watched the race and even hit on one of my plays, garnering a one half return of my total wager. But the event had been somewhat tarnished by my adverse chemical reaction. I had obviously overdone it. And I felt stupid and just a little bit juvenile.