MoDo gets stoned

Via Wombat-socho:

Maureen Dowd

Don’t Harsh Our Mellow, Dude
By Maureen Dowd, New York Times columnist | June 3, 2014

The caramel-chocolate flavored candy bar looked so innocent, like the Sky Bars I used to love as a child.

Sitting in my hotel room in Denver, I nibbled off the end and then, when nothing happened, nibbled some more. I figured if I was reporting on the social revolution rocking Colorado in January, the giddy culmination of pot Prohibition, I should try a taste of legal, edible pot from a local shop.

What could go wrong with a bite or two?

Everything, as it turned out.

Not at first. For an hour, I felt nothing. I figured I’d order dinner from room service and return to my more mundane drugs of choice, chardonnay and mediocre-movies-on-demand.

But then I felt a scary shudder go through my body and brain. I barely made it from the desk to the bed, where I lay curled up in a hallucinatory state for the next eight hours. I was thirsty but couldn’t move to get water. Or even turn off the lights. I was panting and paranoid, sure that when the room-service waiter knocked and I didn’t answer, he’d call the police and have me arrested for being unable to handle my candy.

I strained to remember where I was or even what I was wearing, touching my green corduroy jeans and staring at the exposed-brick wall. As my paranoia deepened, I became convinced that I had died and no one was telling me.

It took all night before it began to wear off, distressingly slowly. The next day, a medical consultant at an edibles plant where I was conducting an interview mentioned that candy bars like that are supposed to be cut into 16 pieces for novices; but that recommendation hadn’t been on the label.

More at Miss Dowd’s original.

Colorado’s legalization of marijuana possession and usage has been something of a mixed blessing. The New York Times reported last Sunday that Colorado hospitals “are treating growing numbers of children and adults sickened by potent doses of edible marijuana,” and that neighboring states are seeing more stoned drivers.

But the question that occurred to me, as drug tests are a routine part of my industry, is: does the Times drug test its employees? If it does, then the lovely Miss Dowd has just admitted to using a substance illegal in New York, and for which drug screens normally test. If the Times does test its employees, some of whom operate serious machinery,1 can any of them now be discharged or require to go through rehab to remain employed, now that a high-profile columnist has just admitted to it?

What about the guy who lives around Laramie or Cheyenne, Wyoming, who decides to drive down to Boulder for a weekend party, uses some perfectly legal weed, and then gets drug tested by his employer on Tuesday morning. That marijuana would have been illegal in Wyoming, but if he used it in Colorado, such would have been perfectly legal.

Count on this to get messy.
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  1. If there are any Times employees who have to have commercial driver’s licenses for their jobs, it is mandatory that they be subjected to pee-employment and random drug screenings.

8 Comments

  1. It’s gonna get messy but because if one’s employer drug tests even if the crap is legal it’s not acceptable at work. If one can’t pass a drug test one can’t work. Soooooo, we need to pass laws that if one can’t pass a drug test one cannot collect UC, welfare or any other govmnt handouts. If not the taxpayers will soon be supporting a bunch of “let go” druggies.

  2. Horse piss! What a two-faced fableist, this is supposed to be MoDo’s first experience with pot? Give me a break. I’m calling her out, it’s completely unconvincing that anyone as loony, lonely and self-absorbed as this delusional attention obsessed harridan hasn’t racked up a record of attempts to anesthetize herself with everything from gin to S&M.

    New Yorkers old enough to ride the subways have been exposed to weed if they wanted to or not. Most likely, MoDo lost her amateur status time out of mind and today’s tall tale is so much far fetched hot air as to be about as unlikely as finding a fish in the milk.

  3. You know ropelight, you’re absolutely correct. I took her at face value but when you think about it she’s telling us that she went through “journalism” in college most likely at some left wing indoctrination center, lived in some liberal mecca, in her little left wing bubble and never did any drugs? You called it ropelight…Bullshit!

    I have got to stop treating these barbarians like honest conservatives and begin to increase my skepticism about 100%. Silly me, I know they’re all friggin’ liars so why would a “personal” story be different? Hell, just look at Obama’s autobiography to prove that point. Lies from page one to The End.

  4. But the question that occurred to me, as drug tests are a routine part of my industry, is: does the Times drug test its employees?

    Most companies only drug test before hiring, and some don’t at all. For example, prior to getting my first job in aerospace, I didn’t smoke any pot, but once I did get a job, a few weeks after I got high with a friend (who was trying to become a rock star in LA), and had no problem at all concerning my job. It also permanently cleared up a problem I had been having with migraine headaches, so pot definitely can have some medical benefits.

  5. I can’t stand her, and I also don’t believe the premise she implies, but her negative description of being stoned resonates to some limited degree with me.

    Never using drugs in high school, nor chemicals of any kind ever, I eventually succumbed to the constant importuning of my somewhat older friends to try a hit of “Mexican weed” – just to be sociable. And as a bonus they said “It won’t hurt so much when you are tackled”; as we played field football with teams of 8-10 on a side, without pads or protection. An activity now that I think about it, which could have gotten even a very fit and muscular a 19 or 20 year old like myself at the time, killed. Leap, catch the ball, and “Why is that the sky, and why am I stretched out flat on my back?”

    In any event and a little later, having beauteous, smiling, long-haired braless babes in swaying halter tops, crawl across the carpet toward you in a half lit room booming with classic rock music, in order to intimately offer you a hit while you are sitting there on the floor, back against the couch and half drunk, is also bit hard to resist. Or at least it was for me.

    The music did sound more intense, as I recall.

    However, within a relatively short time I began to feel it was beneath me “as a rule”, and returning to college after a semester off, I didn’t want to take anything off my game such as it was.

    Thus I for all intents and purposes gave it up unless mild partaking was more or less unavoidable, or the proffer sexy. News articles also began to appear in those just pre-Reagan days about crime and violence associated with the drug traffic, and this got my outraged attention. “Effen peace and love hypocrite enablers”.

    Fast forward then to about age 24. Some semi-stoner but good natured “kids” with whom I was associated at work got it into their heads that they should share with the older guys because “you guys are cool”.

    Hate to deny an admiring fan from the younger generation his gesture of respect and generosity, right? And I know what it is all about. More or less. “Good stuff man. Hawaiian buds” means only that you might even feel it a little bit.

    Sure then. A few hits, for sociability’s sake with the younger generation.

    I don’t know whether there had been a light speed evolution in the potency of the stuff over 3-4 of years or if it was spiked with something, but I found myself standing there baffled and trying to keep track of time, and whether I had lost it, and how much had elapsed since I had last wondered the same thing. Was it moments before? A half hour ago? I was literally shaking my head as after a punch, in order to try and clear it and establish through some kind of physical motion a temporal baseline. Being really drunk is somewhat analogous.

    No hallucinations or paranoia, apart from a sense of moderate alarm. But, even knowing the benign outcome now, it is not something I would want to repeat outside of controlled conditions as, say, part of some experiment in perception.

    So what’s the state of mind of these modern stoners?

  6. In any event and a little later, having beauteous, smiling, long-haired braless babes in swaying halter tops, crawl across the carpet toward you in a half lit room booming with classic rock music, in order to intimately offer you a hit while you are sitting there on the floor, back against the couch and half drunk, is also bit hard to resist. Or at least it was for me.

    Oh yeah! Now we’re talkin’, DNW! (emphasis all of ours!) I’ve found that if you give a chick weed & wine the good times will roll, and roll and roll. Plus you can convince them 6″ is a foot.

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