Why do people who have just started smoking pot feel compelled
to inform others of their altered state?
“Oh man,” they invariably begin. “I am sooooo fucked
up right now.”
First off, it is usually apparent when one is “fucked
up”--the red eyes and the non sequitors, not to mention the perpetual cloud
of incense and cologne hovering about the inexperienced stoner, typically
cue others in on the upness of the fuck. To those who have just entered
into the world of bong hits and roll papers and who think they can get
away with being clandestinely high: You aren’t fooling anyone.
After establishing the apparent, an inexperienced pot-smoker
follows up the statement with either “That s**t was harsh!” or “Man, I
need some Doritos” in an annoying, slightly offensive Latino accent.
I have been around the over-achieving experienced variety
as well, a more tolerable kind if you’re trying to watch TV but not at
all useful for conversation. The mellow, perpetually-baked toker will respond
to questions put to them but it usually takes them ten to fifteen minutes
to realize they’ve been spoken to, process their reply, set their mouth
in motion (followed a bit later by the tongue and lip movement) and, at
last, speak in slow, measured syllables that seldom have any correlation
with the original question. For example:
The Question:“Hey man, where are the donuts?”
The Reply:Pause.
Extended pause.
Spark of consciousness.
Processing.
First indications of speech, beginning with a grumble
in the throat.
Mouth opens. Shuts. Opens. Grumble becoming louder.
Pause. “Did... you say something, man?”
Repeat entire conversation three times while other stoned
individuals, smitten with The Munchies, polish off the dozen donuts in
question, which were (naturally) in a back bedroom beneath a pile of dirty
clothes and empty CD cases.
More annoying than the recently-initiated weed-smoker
is the weed-smoker/acid-tripping combo. Because of my rather unconventional
personality, it is assumed by a great many people that I am under the influence
of LSD most of the time, which is patently false. I will admit to trying
acid in high school but I didn’t like not being in full command of my faculties
and, besides, I am weird and paranoid enough without drugs. At the time,
I thought mind-altering substances such as acid and mushrooms (I refuse
to call them “shrooms” because it takes very little effort to say “mu”)
would help me write like Allen Ginsberg or Jack Kerouac, but instead I
ended up writing stories on the level of second graders, only stupider
and with less coherence (I won’t even go into my “I want to write like
William Faulkner--where’s the whiskey?” phase).
While it is disconcerting to be thought of as constantly
tripping (usually by people who have no idea what a tab of acid looks like)
it is more odd that people who are dropping acid feel the need to discuss
their trips with me. In detail. As if the thoughts and ideas they formulate
on their aimless vision quests are intensely profound observations with
as much insightfulness as Plato’s Republic or Heidegger’s Existence and
Being when, in actuallity and to the sober (or sober-friendly) mind, the
insight is about as engaging as an episode of Touched by an Angel (sober
non-sequitor: Does that title sound vaguely pornographic or is it just
me?).
Timothy Leary advocated the use of LSD, primarilly because
he felt that the drug assisted the mind in reaching its full potential.
He did extensive research on the subject while at Harvard (and then while
not at Harvard). He might have been correct. It seems to me impossible
to improve mental states, however, while “becoming one” with Pink Floyd’s
The Wall, trying to imagine what God was thinking when he made platypuses
(platypi?), detailing to someone else (usually me) what it feels like to
drop acid and then have sex with imaginary gnomes, or else spending the
entire trip in a closet because you’re convinced the Man is about to raid
your hovel.
I could be wrong. I know Leary had a methodology and
was, indeed, a very intelligent man. But he must not have encountered certain
individuals who shall be nameless here forever more, who find themselves
incredibly witty and urbane when they get high, but are actually quite
vapid and boring.
I don’t condone drugs. I don’t scowl at people who use
them either. I have my own drugs: nicotine and caffiene, so who am I to
judge? All I have to say is, just because you use mind-altering substances,
it does not mean you are a rebel, an interesting person, or harbor a misunderstood
genius. Naturally, the same goes for sanctimonious teetotalers who disapprove
of tweaking reality every now and then: just because you’re intense and
pure does not make you a smoldering tower of intelligence, a landmark of
moralism or a Republican.
On an unrelated personal note, the UNA Departments of Communications and Theatre and Music will present Guys and Dolls on March 16, 17, 18 and 19. I’m playing Harry the Horse and am lucky enough to be working with some wonderful performers, most of whom have very little time to engage in illicit acts. If you are interested in attending a performance, call (256)765-4247 for general ticket information.