Does Jodie Foster like brownies?

Came across an interesting Carl Sagan quote on marijuana:

There is a myth about such highs, the user has an illusion of great insight, but it does not survive scrutiny in the morning. I am convinced that this is an error, and that the devasting insights while high are real insights; the main problem is putting these insights in a form acceptable to the quite different self that we are when we’re down the next day….If I find in the morning a message from myself the night before informing me that there is a world around us which we barely sense, or that we can become one with the universe, or even that certain politicians are desperately frightened men, I may tend to disbelieve; but when I’m high I know about this disbelief. And so I have a tape in which I exhort myself to take such remarks seriously. I say, “Listen closely, you sonofabitch of the morning! This stuff is real!”

The essay from which this was taken comes from a book called Marihuana Reconsidered by Lester Grinspoon, and was published in 1971. Therefore, it is highly unlikely that Mr. Sagan was talking about me. Then again, this was a guy who talked to himself via a tape recorder…so you never know. In any case, it has become apparent to me that I was high on marijuana for the entirety of major league baseball’s regular season.

You see, I’m clearly the “sonofabitch of the morning” right now. I’m watching the playoffs, sort of. But I’m completely unexcited by any of the goings on. Where’s the drama? After Fox fired Steve Lyons for being unfunny, I was desperately hoping they’d bring Joe Carter in the booth…just so at the end of every game he could say, “Yep, if I were playing, I’d get a HUGE hit right here”.

I don’t discount the fact that I’m naturally less involved because my team is out of it. It is also very busy at work right now, and so I don’t have much time during the day for general baseball musing. But Jebus…it is the Playoffs! There’s no way Tim McCarver has sullied this time of year that completely for me. It must be the drugs. Or rather, the now complete lack of drugs.

Tracing back, I can tell you exactly when it happened. When it was that I got high. And, as usual, it’s mostly Kaiser’s fault. It must have been on June 13th, sometime just before the Twins/Red Sox game started….because by the time Johan struck out six of the first seven batters, it was evident that something was up. The deep clarity I felt just before Jason Kubel hit a game winning, twelfth-inning grand slam merely solidified the obvious…I was at one with the baseball universe.

Why Kaiser’s fault? Because it was in his basement. And because he “grew” stuff down there. The only logical conclusion was that something had seeped into the walls, and from there absorbed into my inner consciousness. And it’s no coincidence that he doesn’t live there anymore and I’m really fucking bored by these playoffs.

Would I feel the same way if I was a Cardinal or a Tiger fan? Probably not. But, while I’m happy for Tiger Nation, I can’t convince myself that their run has been terribly interesting.

I have no intention of joining Sagan, Plato, Picasso, Hemmingway, or any of our other great users (wait, Hemmingway drank right? I’m totally joining him) any time soon…so I’ll have to settle for good baseball and rooting for the Cardinals. (and live vicariously through my wife and her family)

But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I wish Joe Carter, Kirby, or Mookie would show up soon and force me to remind myself in the morning, THIS STUFF IS REAL!