If anyone happened to catch the radio or TV show “Imus in the Morning” show last week, they presented a bit where two regulars on the show interviewed random passersby and asked the questions, “Do you smoke grass?” Upon a positive answer they’d then ask questions a third-grader should know, “Who’s the Secretary of State?” or “Where on the map is Afghanistan?” They then played dimwit answers of apparent potheads, judging by tattered jeans and disheveled hair: “I dunno” and “Isn’t that in the Middle East somewhere.”
The inference of course is that cannabis, just like the eggs on the frying pan, causes some sort of scrambling of the cerebral cortex.
But hey, I’ve been smoking weed over fifty years and I find just the opposite is true. In my ebook, “Pot Stories and Humanist Essays” I describe how my favorite pastime when high was to go to Metropolitan Opera House and listen to the great voices of the century. I became a Philomath, a lover of knowledge and currently, objectively speaking, I’m one of the best trivial players at my local yacht club.
I can recite in order all the Roman emperors from Sulla (Julius Caesar’s uncle) to Marcus Aurelius’ crazy son Commodus. How about all the presidents of the U.S., except for one or two. Name a classical composer and I’ll give you his/er dates and major works. Mention an opera and I’ll hum some of the most beautiful themes, not to mention a pretty good synopsis of the story, plus the names of the lead singers.
I guess the point of all this is you can’t believe everything you read or see on the Internet, and the most rewarding pleasures in life are intellectual, not mindless consumption. For the sake of our precious planet, let’s hope grass helps people accept this point of view.
Bonus question: Who was the first famous female composer? Place you answer on the comments.