The Sweet Sticky Icky

Today is April 20, 4/20, which means something to stoners. It’s some kind of grand New Year holiday. They get baked everyday at 4:20, which isn’t a big deal in the afternoon, but I guess these jackasses set their alarms for the a.m. session because there is no way in hell they’re up that early or that late. I know they’re not up that early because they’re losers who get up at the crack of noon at the earliest. I also know they’re not up that late because they’re losers that spend all day getting wasted. If we include indulging the munchies, watching television, figuring out who really killed MLK and why, and then forgetting it all takes a maximum of six hours, plus the two hours arguing with their mom about getting a job. Occasionally, maybe on the weekends they’ll mix in some hackeysack to stay fit. I’ve never understood the “reason for the season”. These guys don’t need an excuse to burn some hippy lettuce. I would look up the origin of the 4-20 thing but I feel it would make me dumber. Some things are better left unknown. Please don’t misunderstand me. I am not anti-ganja. I am anti-stoner, the dedicated pot smoker who sees it as a way of life and some kind of contribution to society. I think weed should be legal for a bunch of reasons. Regulating it and taxing it would solve a whole bunch of problems. It would reduce the burden on the legal and penal systems, saving billions of dollars a year while raising billions of dollars a year in brand new tax revenue. Game theory calls that a win-win. I just don’t want to hear about the textile or medical benefits of marijuana. At least not until I need a medical marijuana card. Y’all like gettin’ high. I’d respect the “movement” a lot more if it was sold as a freedom issue. I’m pretty sure getting stoned is the definition of the pursuit of happiness. The only reason I can think of for keeping weed illegal is patchouli oil. Just bathe, hippy. That’s why everyone hates you. You’re like mimes, if mimes stank and wouldn’t shut up. But now I’m starting to ramble like I was on something. What? Did you hear that? It’s the helicopters, man – whisper mode. I was reading this thing in High Times…wait, what? Did someone call the pizza guy yet?

It Needs to Be Big, And It Needs to Say Tide on It.

I’m reading Dr. Denis Leary’s Why We Suck: A Feel Good Guide to Staying Fat, Loud, Lazy, and Stupid, so maybe I’m a little bit extra cynical, a little bit extra jaded. I read a blog post/column in the New York Times a couple of days ago that really got under my skin. It had to do with new research suggesting that breast milk isn’t really that much better than modern formula, and about the nefarious evil that is the breast pump. I don’t have a problem with the new research. I’m highly skeptical, and I’m inclined to trust millions of years of evolution over the results of a study conducted by a company that makes baby formula, especially since the formula shares some of its finer ingredients with rocket fuel. Not the Red Bull style energy drink, the stuff that pushes multiple tons of metal past escape velocity. But I’m not questioning the research on its face. The problem I have is with the reaction of the writer and her gaggle of friends, who have all been traumatized by the act of breast pumping. It’s why everyone else, everywhere else hates America to the core of their bones. No one has ever thought or said breast pumping was easy. I understand that La Leche are a bunch of zealots and pressure all mothers to breast feed. But this group loses me when one of them says, “That was my least favorite thing I ever did in my whole life.” The women of Darfur weep for you. The 26 year old mother of two whose husband stepped on an IED in Iraq is glad she’s not you. They go on to talk about what a chore motherhood is and how they should have more maternity leave, to the tune of six months. Be careful what you wish for, ladies. You may get all the maternity leave you want and then some. I doubt they’ll call it “maternity” leave. They’ll just tell you to leave because the company is going out of business. If you don’t want to pump or breastfeed, then come to a decision with your significant other before you get pregnant. You can breast feed your kids, you can feed them formula, or you can – and this is my default recommendation – not have them at all. If you’re worried your husband won’t have sex with you because breastfeeding and pumping make your nipples funny looking, then your husband is probably gay and you have some self esteem issues. I honestly try to live my life by understanding where other people are coming from. I remind myself everyday how lucky I am to be a healthy American with a beautiful family and a job. When people are complaining in a newspaper about how their lives were nearly ruined by breast pumping, right next to an article about the 600 thousand people who lost their jobs in February it makes it difficult for me to take them seriously. When are we going to get around to legalizing weed? I think I’m off my soapbox.