Five Years, Already

It’s cool watching my cousin’s kids living their lives on Facebook. For all its drawbacks, it is nice to keep up with family you probably don’t have the right to barge in on. The other day, his daughter, who found him dead, mentioned that it had been five years, and I look back here at the blog and I see that it has been. Since he died, he missed out on becoming a grandpa.

I think I’ve been unfair to Hugo Schwyzer. Or at least I’m going to have to reconsider it in a month or so. I guess part of it is that I just don’t believe that addicts ever change, that if they’re just rampaging through life, they continue that rampage in one form or another. And I believe that, in part, because to not believe it means that some do get lucky. Just not the ones I love.

Which strikes me as so cruelly unfair that I can barely stand it.

And yet, that’s probably closer to the truth.

And so, there we are.

Some folks do get redeemed. Just not us.

Okay, Tennessee Republicans. It’s Time for Someone to be the Grown-Up Here.

I know, I know. It’s the holidays. You’re busy with family. You’re enjoying the thought of poor people who don’t have jobs struggling under the burden of providing Christmas for their families. Why do I want to so cruelly ruin that by asking you to do right by the State.

Well, I’m sorry. But honestly? This?

“[Campfield] estimated the costs could be kept to ‘only $4 or $5’ by limiting the tests to ‘hardcore illegal drugs’ such as cocaine, heroin and marijuana.”

We’ve suffered through Campfield’s “keeping bitches in line” legislation. We’ve suffered through “Can’t say gay.” And, really, I think the public scorn we’ve earned as a state has been more than enough.

One of you has to educate Campfield about pot. Obviously, it’s not going to be Ron Ramsey, which should be mortifying to Ron Ramsey, but fine. One of the others of you has got to step up. I don’t care how you do it. A phone call in which you explain to him that here in the real world, marijuana isn’t a hardcore drug or you slip him some pot brownies, wait for him to get the munchies, and then ask him if he feels like a social deviant. Whatever.

Just please. Let us not be the state–when the whole rest of the country is moving toward at least a semi-reasonable stance on marijuana use–that becomes known for our “Reefer Madness” levels of naive paranoia.

Honestly, normally I get pissed off at Campfield, but this? This is just sad.

At the least, we now know that all the libertarians who run around “Oh, Campfield’s a good guy. You’d like him if you met him.” don’t actually trust him.