From Frogtown to Radtown

What does that really mean?  It’s 420, happy 420.  Oh and it’s pronounced four-twenty. 

For those of you who are completely lost.  Today it April 20(4/20).  It’s the day just below the amsterdam festivals on a pothead’s list of “best days ever, man.”

According to wikipedia, 420 is simply cannabis culture.   420 “refers to consumption of cannabis and, by extension, a way to identify oneself with cannabis drug subculture.”-wikipedia.

There are many theories to how this number became the codeword for all things marijuana related: It was the police code for marijuana, or that it was the Waldo’s meeting time to smoke after school everyday. 

Myths?
-Concept420.com

Police dispatch code for smoking pot is 420- there is no code that is numbered 420.

There are approximately 420 active chemicals in marijuana- it’s somewhere near 315-give or take

April 20th is Hitler’s birthday.-True

The date of the Columbine school shootings was 4/20-True

Pulp fiction has every clock set to 4:20 throughout the movie.-True

Iowa has become the first mid-western state to allow same-sex marriage.Iowa is now the third state in country following Connecticut and Massachusetts to allow gay-marriage.

Michigan is also changing laws by passing the Medical Marihuana Act.  This will allow people with chronic pains and illnesses to receive marijuana as a prescribed treatment.

An interesting point from the act:

Data from the Federal Bureau of Investigation Uniform Crime Reports and the Compendium of Federal Justice Statistics show that approximately 99 out of every 100 marihuana arrests in the United States are made under state law, rather than under federal law. Consequently, changing state law will have the practical effect of protecting from arrest the vast majority of seriously ill people who have a medical need to use marihuana.

This new law will allow qualified patients to possess up to 2.5 ounces and to cultivate up to 12 plants.

While I am not condoning pot usage or any other drug, this is hard to argue with …

I don’t know where this originated but it’s now all over the net.  This is what Michael Phelps should’ve said intstead of apologizing for smoking pot.

Dear America,

I take it back. I don’t apologize.

Because you know what? It’s none of your goddamned business. I work my ass off 10 months per year. It’s that hard work that gave you all those gooey feelings of patriotism last summer. If during my brief window of down time I want to relax, enjoy myself, and partake of a substance that’s a hell of a lot less bad for me than alcohol, tobacco, or, frankly, most of the prescription drugs most of you are taking, well, you can spare me the lecture.

I put myself through hell. I make my body do things nature never really intended us to endure. All world-class athletes do. We do it because you love to watch us push ourselves as far as we can possibly go. Some of us get hurt. Sometimes permanently. You’re watching the Super Bowl tonight. You’re watching 300 pound men smash each while running at full speed, in full pads. You know what the average life expectancy of an NFL player is? Fifty-five. That’s about 20 years shorter than your average non-NFL player. Yet you watch. And cheer. And you jump up spill your beer when a linebacker lays out a wide receiver on a crossing route across the middle. The harder he gets hit, the louder and more enthusiastically you scream.

Yet you all get bent out of shape when Ricky Williams, or I, or Josh Howard smoke a little dope to relax. Why? Because the idiots you’ve elected to make your laws have have without a shred of evidence beat it into your head that smoking marijuana is something akin to drinking antifreeze, and done only by dirty hippies and sex offenders.

You’ll have to pardon my cynicism. But I call bullshit. You don’t give a damn about my health. You just get a voyeuristic thrill from watching an elite athlete fall from grace–all the better if you get to exercise a little moral righteousness in the process. And it’s hypocritical righteousness at that, given that 40 percent of you have tried pot at least once in your lives.

Here’s a crazy thought: If I can smoke a little dope and go on to win 14 Olympic gold medals, maybe pot smokers aren’t doomed to lives of couch surfing and video games, as our moronic government would have us believe. In fact, the list of successful pot smokers includes not just world class athletes like me, Howard, Williams, and others, it includes Nobel Prize winners, Pulitzer Prize winners, the last three U.S. presidents, several Supreme Court justices, and luminaries and success stories from all sectors of business and the arts, sciences, and humanities.

So go ahead. Ban me from the next Olympics. Yank my endorsement deals. Stick your collective noses in the air and get all indignant on me. While you’re at it, keep arresting cancer and AIDS patients who dare to smoke the stuff because it deadens their pain, or enables them to eat. Keep sending in goon squads to kick down doors and shoot little old ladies, maim innocent toddlers, handcuff elderly post-polio patients to their beds at gunpoint, and slaughter the family pet.

Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll apologize for smoking pot when every politician who ever did drugs and then voted to uphold or strengthen the drug laws marches his ass off to the nearest federal prison to serve out the sentence he wants to impose on everyone else for committing the same crimes he committed. I’ll apologize when the sons, daughters, and nephews of powerful politicians who get caught possessing or dealing drugs in the frat house or prep school get the same treatment as the no-name, probably black kid caught on the corner or the front stoop doing the same thing.

Until then, I for one will have none of it. I smoked pot. I liked it. I’ll probably do it again. I refuse to apologize for it, because by apologizing I help perpetuate this stupid lie, this idea that what someone puts into his own body on his own time is any of the government’s damned business. Or any of yours. I’m not going to bend over and allow myself to be propaganda for this wasteful, ridiculous, immoral war.

Go ahead and tear me down if you like. But let’s see you rationalize in your next lame ONDCP commercial how the greatest motherfucking swimmer the world has ever seen . . . is also a proud pot smoker.

Yours,

Michael Phelps

rain rain rain.

That’s all it has really done in the past week or so and I love it.  Yesterday, Radford received what I assume to be officially a shit-ton of rain.  I don’t really know how much it was but Kristine and I went out and drove around at 4 a. m. and there were puddles I haven’t seen in a year or two and the windshield wipers weren’t really helping much.

I’m hoping the old saying when it rains it pours doesn’t only apply to negative instances; things have been going really well and I want that to skyrocket.

Bryan and I are trying to get better jobs which requires a little preparation.  In a few months, we’ll be good to go and then hopefully life will get a little easier.

Isn’t that a dreamy view?  That will never happen.  I guess we’ll see.

So, I slept through class at 10 a.m. this morning.  The alarm did not even go off at all.  But at least it wasn’t totally my fault.

Bryan and I are getting our shit together so to speak.  We are done doing some things we shouldn’t have been and it’s going to save us in the long run.  But for the next month or so it’s going to be a bitch fest and we are going to be broke, broke, broke.

I can’t wait to get this semester over because then I only have a summer and two semesters left.  Which in calendar time equals about one year and one month.  That’s good.  I’m pretty excited about that.

I hope this all works out. life i mean.

I’m going home today!  The only problem is I have to drive the whole way by myself and then drive the whole way back by myself.  Poor Bryan is sick.  I wonder what it is.  Also, we are out of “DVDs” so they say and that’s just going to stress me out a little further.Aight, well  I’m out gotta get to driving.
p.s. wish me happy birthday for tuesday.

It has seriously been a long day … I’m bored of being in Radford and looking like a boy. I finally grow long(er) hair, quit smoking and get into a good mood and no ones notices me flirting with them. It’s not like I would ever do anything but I mean come on just pay a little bit of attention really.

But ya know then there are those guys that throws themselves all over me and call me hun and darlin all the time that I completely ignore. So I guess that makes us even but I just want a little acknowledgment by someone other than the one who put this ring on my finger ya know?

Speaking of this ring on my finger. It is great to know that I am with someone who cares about me until the end of time and the deepest love you can have.

I am officially a non-smoker!!! This evening I went to the alternatives for therapy center in Blacksburg, Va and got hypnotized by a licensed hypnotist to quit smoking. Smoking cessation they call it. Granted I started the hypnosis at 7 p.m. and it is only 12:30 a.m. right now, I still feel that it worked.

I don’t hate the way cigarettes smell, I don’t not want one but I don’t want one either. The hypnotist also gave me a few CDs to help me if I feel I am going to have a relapse. Self-hypnosis can apparently be very effective.

Stoners are apparently the easiest people to hypnotize so Bryan had no problems and was “my easiest patient yet” according to the hypnotist while I was “going in and out there for a while”.

But either way I feel good about it and I can’t wait to get on with my life with cleaner lungs etc and a lot less chance of lung cancer and premature death.

Without the cigarettes Bryan and I are already bitchy. He left the house at 10 p.m. on foot and I haven’t seen him since. I hope everything’s okay.