The Problem With Weed

 

My brother and I attended the Iron Maiden concert at Capital One Arena last Sunday night in Washington, DC.  The prior show had singer Bruce Dickinson chastise the fans up front for heavy cannabis (flower) consumption, which upset not only Bruce Bruce himself, but also bassist Steve Harris, who hates marijuana (Robin Leach voice: I don’t know WHYYYY”).  Sure enough, there were stoners at the DC show, blazing up, and sure enough they got a similar lecture from the Singer.  To quote Alex Lifeson, “blah blah blah.”

For some reason, not everyone consuming cannabis at this show felt it appropriate to consume in the form of edibles – which these days usually means gummies.  Nope, vape pens and joints, with lots of smoke, was their preferred way of not only enjoying their bud, but also ensuring that everyone else around them had to put up with it as well, whether they liked it or not.

Dickinson himself urged the stoners to “smoke out back” – outside the venue, presumably in a back alley somewhere.  This strikes me not as a concession but more of a demand.  Had he been inclined to meet the stoners halfway, he might have recommended they use edibles.  But from what I’ve heard from him, earlier and more recently on this tour, Dickinson seems to share the common bemused contempt for stoners that the non-stoners often have, looking down on all MJ users collectively as the functional equivalent of opium addicts.

For my part, I was in that category for a long time.  The stoners I met in college were mostly jerks and assholes, cutting classes to get stoned, or going to class stoned.  With no personal familiarity with the drug itself, what I could perceive was a form of recreational stupidity.  Eventually I found a few stoners who would smoke on the weekend and go back to studying on Sunday night and attending class like everyone else – a minority who could be bothered to exert any restraint on their consumption and integrate it into a productive college education, the same way I was integrating my beer consumption.  So it inevitably dawned on me that that the problem wasn’t weed itself, it was the yahoos smoking weed.  The irony is that, just as it’s too easy for the stoners to simply blaze up every night of the week and avoid doing anything productive, it’s just as easy for nonstoners to fall into the trap of believing all stoners do this, and writing off cannabis itself as the modern equivalent of opium.   

Another irony is that marijuana itself is harmless.  Death toll?  ZERO.  That includes any form of lung cancer, which takes its toll on tobacco smokers every year – although Bill Hicks will remind us that “non smokers are dying…every day.”  Its major benefit is amplifying the awesomeness of any music you’re listening to, which is even better at a concert.  Yeah, we get it:  music and weed go together.  Oh, and it’s a major appetite enhancer, with even the worst, greasiest food elevated in enjoyment to any gourmet food you might imagine.  Whatever you might enjoy, you’ll enjoy it more stoned.  Finally, relevant to the concert context, unlike alcohol, which turns mean jerks into mean, violent jerks who ruin it for everyone else, weed makes people mellow and laid back, less inclined to pick a fight than they otherwise would.  So weed itself is good, m’kay?

So what’s the problem with weed?  Again, the problem is not the drug itself, it’s the stoners.  Evidently, too many stoners, especially the less intelligent ones, seem to have it on firm conviction that getting stoned is SO COOL, that you can be a total dick or asshole and hey!  It’s all cool!  We’re stoned!   Blow smoke up everyone else’s ass?  Yeah, that’s totally cool!   Treat people like shit because they don’t smoke weed?  Also 1000% absolutely positively cool! 

Here's a news flash:  if you were a douchebag before you lit that joint, or packed that bowl and blazed with the bong, you are STILL a douchebag:  now you’re just a douchebag who’s stoned.  The weed hasn’t made you cool, or not a douchebag.  But it has made you somehow believe you aren’t, and that whatever you do is cool. 

Granted, the straight edgers can be assholes too.  “Straight edge” means people who, as a lifestyle choice, don’t smoke weed, don’t drink, don’t do any drugs at all.  But a straight edge asshole is still an asshole.  So no real difference there.  I’ll also argue yet again that alcohol is more apt to cause actual violence.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen stoners actually fight. 

I’ll give my Marijuana Etiquette Rules here, though chances are most of the problem stoners will ignore it and go right on being the major league stoned assholes they are:

1.         Don’t give anyone shit for not smoking weed – even if you honestly believe they would enjoy it.  It’s their choice, so just f**k off.

2.         If you’re at home or a friend’s place among stoners, by all means blaze up on the flower.  Hot box if you want.  But in public, it might be a better idea to take edibles.   You’ve heard of them, right?

3.         Don’t be a dick when you’re stoned.   Less likely to happen than with alcohol, but don’t assume you aren’t being a jerk simply because you’re stoned.

4.         Lots of people do weed.  It’s not just Mexicans or jazz musicians anymore, and hasn’t been for decades.  The fact that you do weed doesn’t make you special, let alone cool.  Somewhat like tattoos:  by now they’re so common among Americans (if not Japanese) that having a tattoo, or multiple tattoos, is no longer special.

5.         Strictly speaking, cannabis consumers are not “brand ambassadors” and have no affirmative duty to behave appropriately among nonstoners solely for the purpose of not discrediting cannabis itself to would-be consumers.  Having said that, as a practical matter, they are.  And as much as concern over legality and health issues, poor behavior by clueless stoners acts as an effective deterrent dissuading otherwise sympathetic nonstoners from either trying it – a harmless act with more positive potential than danger – or giving them a negative impression of stoners themselves, which works to defame other stoners.  In other words, being a dick about it ruins it for everyone else – so don’t be a dick. 

Just to be clear: MJ consumption itself is not the issue, it’s doing so in a way which inconveniences others.  No free pass simply because you’re stoned.

We now return to Master of Reality, track 1.

Back in the Formula

 

In summer 1992, I was working at the law library at George Mason School of Law, after my second of three years, putting books on the shelf for $5.50/hr.   I was driving a fairly new 1991 Toyota Tercel, not a bad car aside from being short four cylinders.   At some point during the year I had acquired the 1992 Pontiac catalog, which included the Firebird.  I fell in love with the Formula: its hood, spoiler, wheels, and clean lines without ground effects.  Moreover, it was available with the most powerful engine offered, the 240 HP 5.7L V8.  A small blurb on the bottom right of the page promised, “another 50 HP is available at the parts counter: ask about the SLP Package”.   But good luck getting any such car on $5.50 an hour.

By October my situation had changed:  I was now earning $10/hour, working twice as many hours per week, for a real attorney on real cases.  I could now afford a new Firebird, although not a Formula.  By that time, a year after the 1992s had gone on sale, the Formulas with the 5.7L V8 were long gone.  I bought a base Firebird, black on black with T-tops, loaded with options, and the 5.0L V8, 170 HP.  Not nearly as fast, but with more than enough torque to get out of its own way and let me know there was a V8 under the hood.  For the first time since my father was a priest in the 1950s, our household had a car with a V8. 

Fast forward to June 1995, I was now licensed in Virginia and Maryland, and making enough to buy a used 1992 Firebird Formula, dark aqua metallic, black interior, and with the 5.7L V8 with that SLP Package.  That package included a performance PROM (ECM chip), cool air intake, larger throttle body, siamesed intake runners, headers, 3” exhaust from the dual cats, and a performance muffler.  In 1998 I had it painted black, and also beefed up the suspension, modifying the four speed 700R4 transmission with a shift kit and a 2800 stall converter, and upgraded the rear gears in the positraction rear axle from 3.23 to 3.73 gear ratio.

This was my daily driver from 1995 to 2012.  That year, when I was working at the office, it caught an engine fire and ended being history.  The engine was removed and wound up in a machine shop in Fairfax (now in Midland), while the car eventually wound up in salvage in California.  My daily driver became a new Honda Civic (black on black), then a 2009 Dodge Charger R/T (also black on black), and finally my mom’s Chevrolet HHR, yet again with a 4 cylinder engine.

This July I finally managed to buy another Firebird Formula “350” (5.7L V8), 1991 model year, black with a grey interior.  Sadly, it’s fairly stock, but it does have power windows.  It took me ten years to find one.  By now, these cars are thin on the ground.  The newest are 30 years old, and a 1982 Firebird is 40 years old.  Many have been “Uncle Cletus’d” – horrible modifications and butchered in various ways – or simply rusted out and totaled, whereas the mint condition, low mileage survivors have owners asking $15 - $40 thousand depending on the model.  Somehow I managed to find one in the sweet spot: decent shape, running, with no major problems, though far from mint.  Sadly, it’s not nearly as modified or fast as my 1992 was, but it’s good enough to satisfy me.  If and when money comes in, I’ll pay off the machine shop and have the prior engine installed. 

Now I’m a bit older and look back on these cars differently as of 2022.

Firebird Formula.  In 1970 the F-Body (Chevrolet Camaro and Pontiac Firebird) was redesigned, a body style which lasted until 1981 and included the famous Smokey & the Bandit (S/E) Trans Am of 1977.  With the body change came model changes.

1970-81 Firebird models:  base, Esprit, Formula, and Trans Am.  Base was entry level, either a six cylinder or low power V8 engine; Esprit was semi-luxury, with a V8; the Formula was the budget performance car, with forward facing hood scoops but the engine, transmission and suspension of the Trans Am.  Finally, the Trans Am was the top model:  shaker hood, spoiler, top engines and suspension, and – from 1973 onward – the ever-popular hood bird, aka the “Screaming Chicken”.  Burt Reynolds’ “Smokey and the Bandit” Trans Am was a 1977 Special Edition. 

In 1982 they dropped the Formula model and replaced it with a quasi-Esprit type model, the S/E.  In 1987 they brought the Formula back in place of the S/E.  The Formula got the bulge hood from the earlier Trans Am, the wing spoiler from the Trans Am, its own pattern Deep Dish 16x8” wheels, and NO ground effects, which had then afflicted the Trans Am.  If there’s one style feature of performance cars I can’t stand, it’s ground effects.  To me they make the car look fat.  The slim lines of the 87-92 Formula – or, for that matter, the 1982 Trans Am before they ruined it with ground effects – are the #1 feature. 

 By that time, Pontiac V8s were long gone, replaced with Chevrolet 305 cubic inch, or 5.0L V8s, either with an electronically controlled Quadrajet, throttle body injection, or the performance electronic fuel injection system, Tuned Port Injection (TPI).  A few Formulas received the Trans Am/ Z/28 / Corvette 5.7L V8, also with TPI.  From 1987-90 the door decals said “FORMULA 350”; for 91-92 the hood bulge had a decal, “5.7 LITER F.I.”.   More than just 45 more cubic inches, the 350 was the best small block Chevy V8.  350 powered cars were much faster than the 305 ones. 

Now these cars are very rare.  Days and weeks go by without seeing any Firebirds, of any year (1967 through 2002) on the street.  For that matter, the much more numerous Camaro is also fairly rare as well.  This car is now 30 years old, and has 120,000 miles.  For a daily driven car, I can expect to put 10,000 miles on it per year. 

Second, aesthetics.  I realize this is extremely subjective.  But when Pontiac redesigned the Firebird for its third generation in 1982, they hit it out of the ballpark.  Although it shared the same body as the Camaro, the Firebird’s front and rear were better looking, to the point where the Knight Rider TV show saw fit to use a 1982 Trans Am as the basis for KITT.    Too many cars, especially economy cars, SUVs, and crossovers, all pretty much look the same.  They’re not built to look pretty, they’re built to get you from point A to point B reliably. 

Third, performance.  Somehow I doubt the engine is putting out its stock number, and even if it was, 240 horsepower isn’t much these days.  It was respectable in 1992.  The handling is still great:  I can take curves much quicker than prior cars, even better than my ’09 Charger R/T.  Seating is somewhat reclined: my mom used to complain that the passenger seat in my 92 Formula was too much like sitting in a dentist chair.  For me, with the four wide wheels, low ground clearance, and WS6 Performance Suspension, it’s a car that handles well whatever engine is under the hood.

Type A, B and C.  To me, things in life are either pleasurable (type A), neutral (B), or painful/unpleasant (type C).  Type A includes sex (obviously), great music, great TV shows or movies, and delicious foods.  Type B includes most bodily functions, most job work, and simply going from point A to point B.  Type C includes pain, taxes, boredom, rape, torture, etc.  If you can reduce pain or unpleasantness and bump something from C to B, so much the better; the same with making something which might otherwise be neutral (B) to pleasurable (A).  A few months ago, I replaced my old comforter on my bed with an UGG variant.  WOW, amazing!  So sleeping went from merely neutral (B) to actually pleasurable (A).

When I was driving the HHR, simply driving from point A to point B was merely neutral.  However, it certainly beat having no car at all.  But in the Formula, now it’s no longer B, it’s A.  A car that moves immediately, and takes corners like a knife, now is actually FUN to drive – and we’re talking just driving through a parking lot or down the road, except maybe being stuck in traffic, which is C territory no matter what car you’re driving.  So right there I’ve improved my quality of life.

The flip side is reliability.  My main concerns are starting and cooling.  Fortunately the car seems to start up cold and warm (far easier warm than cold), and hasn’t overheated – even on superhot days in August, stuck in traffic.  The A/C doesn’t work, but fortunately the compressor and equipment appear intact, so hopefully it will just need a recharge – albeit with R134a (a conversion I had done with my 1992 model).  I missed having the row of gauges on the dash, and fortunately these read what they should: oil pressure normal, coolant temperature where it should be, alternator voltage normal.  The fuel economy is far less than what it should be, about 7 mpg less than what I was getting from the 92 Formula, which not only had the same type of engine and transmission, but was substantially modified.  Moreover, it has a rough idle.  Usually, in a performance car that would be a good thing, due to a hot camshaft, but with the poor fuel economy and no corresponding huge power gain higher in the RPM band, the most likely cause is a vacuum leak.  With the rough idle and aftermarket exhaust, it certainly sounds like a performance car.

As noted, the engine from the 1992 is still around, albeit in a machine shop, rebuilt, balanced and blueprinted with aluminum cylinder heads and performance camshaft.  If and when the money comes in, I’ll have it installed in the 91 Formula.  One more thing to look forward to in the future….