Which will be legal first in all 50 states: possession of small amounts of marijuana (say, under an ounce) or same-sex marriage?
That’s a quantitative, not qualitative question. Your chance to predict, pure oddsmaking. My prediction: pot. Although same sex marriage has a 14 to two lead, I see pot crossing the 50-state line first.
In fact, if Barack Obama had a political wit about him, if he wanted to stop stumbling and light a fire under his second term, he’ll immediately propose national legalization of pot. (Yeah. What are the odds of that?)
Note that I wrote “immediately propose legalization,” not “propose immediate legalization.” As former House Speaker Sam Rayburn (D-TX) once supposedly said of politics, “Sometimes you do something because it’s the right thing to do.” (“Sometimes”? Thanks, Sam)
This is not one of those times. Legalizing pot may or may not be the right thing to do on an absolute scale. Politically, it would be shrewd, an adjective lacking all over DC these days.
Continue reading
Running in Place
I was on the high school track team. Initially, this was because a) terrified freshmen tend to do things in herds and b) the track team didn’t cut anyone for insufficient athletic prowess.
The idea was to compete in the high hurdles, which seemed the coolest track event. The insufficient athletic prowess thing got in the way (so did the hurdles). Then I tried sprinting; being a teenager, I wanted to get the exertion part over quickly and get back to grab-ass with my friends. Athletic insufficiency struck again. The coach suggested I try the 440; I was surprised to find that tiring though it was, I was pretty good.
Coach Kaufman (you knew you’d arrived when you could call him Fred) kept pushing me into longer and longer races until I was running the mile and working out with the distance team. Sprinters ran up and down a sweaty basement corridor. Distance runners hit the streets. Thermal shirts, wool caps and sweat socks on our hands we ran through 1970s Western New York winters, always wearing shorts. It was a point of pride.
The mile also required thought; distance runners considered sprinters a heedless lot of panicked dashers. You had to resist the urge to rabbit (i.e., start too fast only to fade), know when to draft an opponent, how to play mind games while monitoring breath, stamina and pace. Run fast; die young, just like Steve Prefontaine.
Continue reading »