Archive for February, 2012

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“They can make right look like wrong, and wrong like right.” -Black Hawk

February 24, 2012

TONAWANDA INDIAN RESERVATION — Synthetic marijuana and other merchandise have been seized from four retailers on a western New York Indian reservation in raids carried out by scores of federal agents.
Officials with the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration told local media outlets that they conducted Thursday’s raids on the Tonawanda Indian Reservation at four smoke shops owned by Native Americans. . Authorities say the raids were prompted by recent local cases of medical emergencies blamed on the pot-like substance, a chemical-coated herb mixture that can have dangerous side effects.
There were no arrests at the reservation, which straddles the Niagara, Genesee and Erie county borders .
-Democrat and Chronicle

First of all, this brief synopsis neglects to mention the fact that they also seized all of my cigarettes. And yes, I know I know I know…smoking is bad. But we all have our vices, and whoomp, there it is.
Secondly, this is bullshit, and I’ll tell you why.
Synthetic marijuana (henceforth referred to as “spice” because I don’t want to keep writing “synthetic marijuana”) is not illegal. It should be, but it isn’t. In fact, you can go pick it up at a mini-mart not too far from me. It’s kind of easy to access…I’ve seen it at the flea market, the Rez, and I assume that either Terrapin or Decades would carry it…if not, there’s a dozen other mom-and-pop head shops that do. Also, it says right on the package that it’s not for human consumption. So you know what you’re doing if you’re doing it. This is, to me, not a whole lot different than kids doing Whip-its. You shouldn’t do it, but no one stops selling whipped cream, do they?
Given, I think Spice is worse, as research has clearly shown. But it’s not illegal. It should be. I cannot stress enough that it should be.
What I think happened is that the towns surrounding the Rez had some idiot kids smoking things they shouldn’t be smoking. Complaints ensue, authorities are notified, and the DEA waltzes onto the Rez to take their shit. Which seems so fishy to me, but apparently it’s legal. If I’m mistaken and it’s not, please tell me. I love adding fuel to my fire.
Here’s what I don’t think happened. I don’t think the parents of these kids ever told them not to smoke this. I don’t think the parents of these kids even knew what it was until their kid was in the hospital. Further reason why you should, in my humble opinion, perform biweekly search and seizures of their bedrooms. (It’s easy…just pretend you’re the DEA, and they’re the Tonawanda Nation.) But that’s another story. I’m not talking about bad parenting, I’m talking about kids who can’t read warning labels.
There are two reasons why I want Spice to be illegal.
1. It’s terrible for you. It makes you hallucinate, get sick, have seizures, etc. I saw a youtube video of a kid jumping out a window while smoking it. Seriously. It’s just awful.
2. It’s ruining the good name of pot.

Yeah. I said it. And if you’ve ever smoked pot and liked it, then you know I’m right.
I have been told, by those who are in the know, that Spice is more like shrooms than pot. One person I know smoked Spice and spent the next half hour thinking some kid was outside waiting for him with a shotgun. I refuse to believe that things like that happen when you’re smoking ganja. I have never known anyone to have any side effects besides eating a sandwich and falling asleep. Marijuana has never killed anyone. Ever. (Fun fact, neither has LSD. Well, it may have killed a horse one time.) There is an estimated 75 deaths a year in which the person was high on marijuana at the time of death, but no conclusive evidence that marijuana was linked to these deaths. Health reports don’t say it’s harmless, of course, but it is listed as being less harmful than cigarettes and alcohol. And yes, medical marijuana is something of a joke in pop culture as people make up symptoms in order to get prescriptions, but it has also helped many and saved them countless hours of suffering.
Spice lands people in the hospital.
So stop calling it “synthetic marijuana,” and start calling it what it really is: “crazy chemical dust that will kill you.”

I feel terrible for the people on the Rez. I assume that was a very scary moment, and my heart goes out to them. I can’t imagine going into work one day, and then having the door bust open to show a DEA agent with a gun. Because that’s what happened…they came in armed. To a store, where hardworking employees were just trying to make it to the weekend. It’s not a Columbian drug cartel. Just some people whose shops happened to sell an item that idiot kids couldn’t read the warning label on. Apparently, for that, you need guns.

So next week, when I go get my gas and cigarettes (which will hopefully be there, as they apparently confiscated all bagged cigarettes…my “brand,” if you will,) I am going to sign whatever the hell petition they have going around. There’s always one going around. Because between the spice and the cigarettes and the traumatized natives, I don’t agree with any of it.

I really need someone to explain to me how the raid was legal. And then I need them to explain why that legality is acceptable.

... to crazy chemical dust that will kill you.

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i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

February 10, 2012

This Tuesday is Valentines Day. Notoriously, I hate Valentines Day. Every year, in my old blog, I would post an essay I wrote back in college about how much it sucks, whether or not you’re with someone on this day of days. Then last year, for the first time, I actually had a Valentine. Never mind the fact that he was 400 miles away. I decided that having someone special in my life didn’t actually make me hate it any less…I still saw it as a money guzzling waste of time designed to make lonely people feel even more lonely and coupled people feel stressed or disappointed. And then…
…and then I realized that this Valentine’s Day is my first REAL Valentines Day, and now I think it’s great. Give me candy and flowers and unadulterated adoration because I DESERVE IT, DAMNIT.
Then I smacked myself across the face.
And I felt a lot better.

I always said that I don’t see why we pick one day a year to celebrate love, when it should be celebrated daily. But the truth is, if we’re going to have a holiday, shouldn’t it be based upon the one truly universal force we have? After all, love makes the world go round…or is that money? I think it’s money. But love makes it a better place, by far.
So here is what I love. I love my parents, who are weird and funny and special. I love my sister, even if she does insist upon being a teenager. I love my extended family, which is a kaleidoscope of human beings that I feel very proud to have descended from. I love my cousin Grace (not necessarily more or less than the rest of them, but mainly because the half hour of playtime we usually have on Sunday is a high point in my week.) I love my friends, those both near and far, who know me in ways other people never will. I love each and every kid at work, even when they are driving me bananas. I love the girls I work with, and my job, which is probably the first I’ve had where I am truly happy. Last but not least, I love my boyfriend, Mark, who is not perfect, but perfect for me.
I think that I am lucky. Some people have no one to love or who loves them, and I’ve got boatloads. But the problem with Valentines Day isn’t the love, it’s the money. It’s dinners and presents and flowers and chocolate. At the end of the day, yes. It is a Hallmark Holiday.
But this year, instead of watching Freddy vs Jason and eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s laced with bitter resentment, I am going to appreciate and celebrate the people I love, and be grateful for their place in my life.
So to everyone reading this blog, whether I know you or not, Happy Valentines Day, and I love you. Because we all deserve it, damnit.

I want to give this card to Mark on Tuesday.

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If you go out in the woods today, you’re sure of a big surprise.

February 6, 2012

There is an app on Facebook called The Truth Game. Your fb friends are asked questions about you, and have to guess the answer. Then, after you answer about 56,000 questions about some kid you sat behind in 4th grade, they tell you who guessed these answers.

Now, I am not interested enough to unlock all these friends. Nor do I particularly care what people think. But, I do find it to be amusing. So, here is a sample of questions, with the answer provided by my secret Facebook friends. And followed by the actual truth.

Q: If you were being chased by a bear, would you trip Stagequeen to save your own life?
A: Yes.
My A: Yes. You totally should. Because I don’t care who you are, I would do it, too.

Q: Is Stagequeen fun to be around?
A: No.
My A: Clearly, you don’t know me very well. I’m a hoot and a half.

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen would ever do community service voluntarily?
A: No.
My A: Taught religious education for 8 years. Youth theater group for over 5 years. Volunteer drama club coordinator. Ronald McDonald house volunteer. About 50 single day various volunteer projects. A lot of that was required by either high school or Girl Scouts, but most was actually voluntary.

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen scored above 1500 on the SATs?
A: Yes.
My A: BAHAHAHAHAHAHA…oh…oh, you’re so sweet.

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen is a tree hugger?
A: Yes
My A: My carbon footprint is so big, it’s politically incorrect. I’m not proud of it, but there it is.

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen would look good in a mini-skirt?
A: Yes
My A: That is just RIDICULOUS.

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen has ever cheated on a test?
A: No
My A: Of course not, that’s how I got a 1500 on my SAT.

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen has good credit?
A: Yes
My A: What’s credit?

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen voted for Obama?
A: No
My A: Oh my god. Someone out there thinks I’m a Republican.

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen still sleeps with a teddy bear?
A: No
My A: His name is Honey Joe. My grammy brought him home from Super Duper in 1986.

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen thinks shopping at Wal-Mart is classy?
A: No
My A: Classier than the Dollar Store.

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen has ever smoked?
A: No
My A: I was pretty sure I had met everyone I friended on fb. Guess not.

Q: Do you think that Stagequeen could be a gangster?
A: Yes
My A: That…is correct.

So here is the conclusion I have drawn. Out of my 400+ Facebook friends, maybe 7 of them actually know me. I don’t mean in person…I know them all in person. But not many actually KNOW me. And I’m sure I don’t know all of them. Maybe like……12. But having 12 Facebook friends is the high school equivalent of eating lunch alone in the bathroom, so instead, I have over 400, which does not actually make me feel like the head cheerleader but leads others to believe I am. Therefore, I will say this: it’s a damn dirty lie. No one has 400 friends. No one has 1000 friends, either. If you’re lucky, you get 12.

This blog entry has taken a sudden turn.

As I wrapped up, I started looking for a photo to post with the blog. I decided to post a picture of my bear. Except, I’m lazy and don’t want to search for the camera, so instead I thought I’d find one online.
Instead, I found out that Honey Joe bears are going for 25-50 bucks on Ebay, EVERYONES is in better condition than mine, a woman started a company selling blankets which she named after the bear, AND (in a truly upsetting “my childhood was a complete lie” moment) I discovered that his name is actually Honey Jo, no “e.” Which means that when he sent me a birthday card every year until I was 16, he spelled his name wrong.
Yes.
My teddy bear sent me birthday cards.

Only 12 people knew that.

This is what he looked like 26 years ago.

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