Pubdate: Mon, 03 Feb 2014
Source: Las Vegas Review-Journal (NV)
Copyright: 2014 New York Times
Contact: http://www.reviewjournal.com/about/print/press/letterstoeditor.html
Website: http://www.lvrj.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/233
Author: Maureen Dowd, New York Times

DEALING WITH POT AS COLORADO GOVERNOR

There's a lot of giggling in Colorado, and about Colorado, these 
days. Except by the state's leaders, who are like uneasy chaperones 
at a rowdy school dance.

"It's insane," says Sen. Michael Bennet.

"It's no fun," says Gov. John Hickenlooper, who admits he winces when 
he hears late-night pot shots, like Jimmy Fallon's barb: "Stoners 
took a moment to thank Gov. Hickenlooper, then they spent a few hours 
just saying the word 'Hickenlooper.'"

Sitting in an office filled with panoramic depictions of the West and 
a New York license plate that belonged to family friend Kurt 
Vonnegut, the governor, 61, notes: "No matter how big a failure the 
war on drugs was, you don't want to be the butt of late-night jokes."

The lanky Jimmy Stewart look-alike, known as Hick, has warned 
Coloradans that they shouldn't "break out the Cheetos or Goldfish too 
quickly," given that pot is still illegal under federal law. But 
unlike some other Colorado pols, the former microbrewery pub 
entrepreneur has been leery about being drawn into any joshing about 
Chronic Bud Bowl bets.

Both Bennet and Hickenlooper opposed the recreational pot referendum. 
(One marijuana advocate denounced Hickenlooper years before for 
balking, saying that a pub owner is a "drug dealer.") The pair of 
Democrats, who ambled into politics late, seem as if they wandered 
out of a Frank Capra movie; they have the sort of innocent, zany 
charm that you rarely see in a profession that stamps out spontaneity.

But how will the role of pioneer scouts in a spacey odyssey, leaders 
in a state that suddenly has a more louche image, affect their 
promising national ambitions?

"Luckily, I don't have serious national aspirations," Hickenlooper 
says, "so that doesn't really become much of an issue."

He wouldn't want to be Hillary's vice presidential pick?

"She wouldn't do it," he replies, "because by that time I'll be 64." 
It has been rare to have a ticket with both people older than 60, he 
said, noting: "You have an older, wise person who's a leader and then 
you have a young, spirited charismatic one."

That doesn't always work, I point out. Consider Sarah Palin and Dan Quayle.

But look at Barack Obama and Joe Biden, the governor replies.

"Great social experiments always have risk," says Hickenlooper, who, 
amid floods, fires, droughts and shootings, finds the pot issue 
bogarting his time.

The state, subtly supported by the president and attorney general, 
must conjure up a regulatory system, sort out legal and banking 
complexities and quickly try to head off deleterious effects.

"It's like opening a restaurant," the governor says. "Just because 
you have three great weeks does not make it a successful restaurant."

The infusion of young people into Colorado made the seismic shift 
inevitable, he said, because they thought banning pot was "absurd." 
Yet the big trend of the premiere month is the parade of giggling 
grannies scarfing down pot-infused granola bars, candy and pastries.

Hickenlooper is bracing himself for the first traffic or workplace 
fatality traced to pot, which is far more potent now and sometimes 
spurs an acid-trippy effect, and he's working on an anti-potsmoking 
campaign directed at teenagers, who he says are at the most risk for 
long-term memory deterioration.

Although some Colorado pols think the tax revenue should be higher, 
Hickenlooper demurs that states shouldn't be dependent on revenues 
from vices, like drugs or gambling or tobacco, "that inherently don't 
make people happier or better."

State Rep. Jared Wright, a Republican, warned on Fox News that it was 
only a "matter of time" before violence ensued and, spurred by a Web 
satire, sponsored legislation to stop people from using their food 
stamps on pot

Marijuana, generally, doesn't make people confrontational or 
combative, unlike alcohol," Hickenlooper objected.

Now that the rollout has been a success, the governor can once more 
think about his re-election race. He and writer Helen Thorpe had a 
friendly separation in 2012 and are raising their 11-year-old, Teddy, 
together. The governor's strategists have warned him that he might 
need to be a monk.

"I really can't date," he says. "Political enemies would attack 
whoever the person was for whatever reason unless it was just exactly perfect."

Looking dubious, he ventured: "I might meet someone that's just 
perfectly, you know, uh, normal, appropriate in every way."

But, he notes, it was hard enough the first time.

"I was 49 when I got married," he said.

He broke off a couple of engagements and then went on the Phil 
Donahue show (with a girlfriend, oddly enough) and playfully offered 
a $5,000 reward to anyone who could help him find a wife.

Isn't celibacy too much of a sacrifice to ask?

"I think it's terrible," Hickenlooper says with a grin. "But my 
campaign team is not so shy."

The governor says that he smoked pot in his 20s to feel more 
comfortable in social settings but that he hasn't done it "in decades."

"It makes you slow down and clumsy," he says. "I wouldn't do it even 
if I was completely by myself in the forest or whatever."
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MAP posted-by: Jay Bergstrom