Pubdate: Sun, 21 Jul 2002
Source: Globe and Mail (Canada)
Copyright: 2002, The Globe and Mail Company
Contact:  http://www.globeandmail.ca/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/168
Author: David MacFarlane

PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT

I see that the marijuana debate is back. And in the nick of time. I wasn't 
looking forward to the Anglican Church on single-sex marriages, were you? 
And the Liberal leadership thing is already getting extremely tedious. I 
hear that Allan Rock gave a speech on the subject the other day. Be still 
my heart.

Perhaps you've noticed that in the marijuana debate, things have loosened 
up considerably since the last time we all got together and did nothing 
about our -- how shall I put this? -- barking-mad marijuana laws. Now 
everything's much more liberal. Oh yes. I'm amazed how far we've come. Now, 
people will tell you quite openly that they know somebody who knows 
somebody who smokes pot now and then. Mostly then. Or, more astonishingly 
still, people will come right out and say that they themselves smoked it 
once in 1973, on a double-dare, but look: You only have to consider what 
people wore in those days, to say nothing of the outrages they committed 
against their hair, to realize that nobody had the brains they were born 
with in 1973, so you can hardly hold a little pot-smoking against, oh, 
let's take Martin Cauchon, the federal Minister of Justice, as an example.

The problem as I perceive it -- from a purely journalistic point of view -- 
is that it's difficult to find anybody who has recently used marijuana. And 
who isn't a snowboarder. I must say, this seems at odds with perceived 
reality. Our corner grocery store, for instance, is four or five hours from 
the nearest chair-lift. And yet it sees fit to stock vast quantities of 
rolling papers when, so far as I can ascertain, the last person who rolled 
his own cigarettes was Woody Guthrie. As well, I am frequently struck with 
the fact that I don't know a soul who smokes tobacco any more, and yet 
whenever I go to a party, half the people there seem to feel the need to 
step out onto the deck for a few minutes, for some reason. In February.

No doubt these mysteries will be cleared up by an Angus Reid poll someday. 
Until then, we are all left a bit in the dark. In terms of reportage, I 
mean -- if I could put it that way.

If, that is, you don't mind my parting company with the English language by 
doing so.

All of which is why I've decided to take matters into my own hands and 
light up what is known in the seething criminal underworld of half the 
population of Canada as a reefer, or a joint. It is my intention to smoke 
it while writing a column in The Globe and Mail. This could be a first. But 
I doubt it.

Procuring the illegal substance turned out to be surprisingly easy. Taking 
care to use a land line, I phoned a friend who once mentioned that he knew 
somebody who knew somebody who smoked pot now and then.

As it happened, the somebody who was known by the somebody my friend knows 
(you with me?) happened to have left some pot by accident at my friend's 
house while undergoing a recent stint of palliative care. Short-term memory 
loss, don't you know. He always forgets his bifocals, too. Anyway, my 
friend, by sheer good luck, was able to oblige me. Did I want Ontario 
hydroponic, Quebec biker dope, or some B.C. bud?

So here goes.

~~~~~

Hmm. That's interesting. And all this time I thought what I've been 
smelling at night on every street in the Annex was skunk.

The first thing I have to report is that I feel no effects of the banned 
substance whatsoever. If you don't count the past five minutes of coughing 
as an effect. Some light-headedness perhaps, an extremely dry throat, and 
an aching in my lungs -- more or less the same as going outdoors in Toronto 
in July, as a matter of fact. But other than that, nothing.

But wait. Wait. I am dimly aware of some kind of sensation. Hang on. It's a 
bit vague. A bit difficult to describe. But it's coming into focus. Yes, 
there it is. Yes. I have it now.

Having subjected myself to the inherent risks of a controlled substance, I 
can report to you that what I feel as a result of smoking an illegally 
obtained marijuana cigarette is an irresistible urge to abandon my 
children, knock over a Seven-Eleven, and smoke some crack.

I'd appreciate it if you'd explain to any Republican house-guests with whom 
you're sharing the paper this morning that I'm just joking.

Okay. So far, so good. No firearms in sight. No briefcases full of unmarked 
bills. So now what?

Surprisingly, I feel no urge to listen to old Iron Butterfly albums or to 
eat an economy-size feedbag of salt and vinegar potato chips. Nor do I 
think I can fly -- although if the air gets any thicker this summer I might 
be tempted to give it a try. What I want to do, curiously enough, is read 
the newspaper. Weird, huh?

I guess the heroin addiction and prostitution come later.

 From The Globe and Mail: " 'We're not talking about making marijuana 
legal, we're talking about moving ahead with what we call 
decriminalization,' Mr. Cauchon said. . . . 'The question we have to ask is 
if the system we have in place is efficient.

'We want to make sure it will still be illegal. But do we have to keep it 
criminal?' "

Um. Right.

Give me a sec, will you?

I'm just going to roll another one of these before I read that again. It 
might help.
- ---
MAP posted-by: Alex