Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Raver's Delight

A friend of mine just got back to the campus from Utah, where she spent the weekend. She proceeded to tell me at length about the drugs she had done. An 8-ball, about 200 mg of OC (oxycotton, aka synthetic heroin, in pill form), a couple of rolls, and thorough drinking to end off the weekend as a drunk and complaining bitch. She also brought some Adderall to help her make up for study time lost. She has midterms starting tomorrow, good call.
Apparenlty the blow in Utah is good, a lot better than what pretencious offspring of Senators on the East Coast can manage to get. The Extasy (aka rolls) were good too, shame she didn't bring any back. OC she did bring back, hopefully disposing of it for profit. This Saturday she plans on doing some with me. Being a college student (tuition around 45 000 a year), i obviously can't afford drugs, especially good ones, so it helps to have friends who are only to happy to introduce you to new experiences. I'll write about the effects after I try it. All in all, she seemed to have a good time, at least her style of good time.
That style of fun being raving. A cultural phenomenon popular everywhere mood enhancing drugs, repetitive electronic music and large spaces are available. The state of Utah seems almost too perfect for this. I hate raves, and I hate ravers.
It started a few months ago, when I first became closely acquainted with them. I was walking down Hotel street, through the heart of night-time Chinatown of Honolulu. I ran into a friend of mine who worked in a head shop (the ones that sell "tobacco" paraphernalia). It was nighttime, and I had no plans except to find trouble. We headed to the head shop, to hang out in the back room. I bought Salvia, something I've been meaning to try for a while. We smoked some, and about three seconds after my last hit, the music that was playing in the background seemed to warp inwards. The clean guitar sound became electronic and repetitive, and the drum part resonated with my heartbeat resonating through my skull. The walls leaned a little to the left, as if the screen in my head onto which reality is projected shifted, dislodging one corner, warping the image of the world. A burning sensation flushed through my veins, and everything suddenly became extremely funny. Think of your typical "wow, I am so.... what was that? ... oh yeah, man... stoned! I'm so stoned!" moment. That seemed to be a pretty good beginning for the evening. My friend, a short Asian girl whom I can only describe as "squat" and I talked about her removed tattoo for a while. I have no recollection of the conversation, as I mostly just nodded in response to the noises she made. By this point recognizing speech was a power I did not possess. We smoked a joint, and headed to a party she was telling me about earlier. In the midst of billowing smoke and bright lights I realized that I was at a rave. As more and more people came in, I noted a curious pattern in the crowd. Everyone here seemed to be insecure. It was as if someone took the leader-follower dichotomy, and severed the leader aspect from this crowd. Most of the kids were around twenty, nervously stepping back and forth, spinning glow sticks and looking around cautiously as if looking for someone to latch on to. At this point I was very much stoned. I sat down by the wall and looked around. In about an hour the place was packed, but the apprehensive vibe of the crowd never changed. The night seemed to be headed for a long, repetitive shuffle-step of awkward insecurity personified. I left the squat girl, and headed to open air of a beautiful Hawaiian night.
Walking around the electrified slum of Chinatown at midnight seemed far more entertaining than the place I left. After literally thirty seconds, another friend of mine ran up and jumped on me. Her name is Morgan, and she is a very cute Hawaii Pacific U student who seems to always take the conversation into a story which would depict her as a slut. I still haven't figured out if she was a legitimate nympho, or just an insecure college girl. Perhaps a bit of both. Immediately, I found out the reason for such an enthusiastic greeting. A deranged Capoiera instructor was rather crassly trying to hit on her (I couldn't make this shit up). I walked her up a couple of blocks, and Morgan invited me to a party. Apparently this party was supposed to be amazing, and my high has already started wearing to wear off. As Irony would have it, I wound up walking into the same party I left half an hour ago. The thumping of the music was louder, and the people seemed even more insecure, with a touch of deuche added in for flavour. I left immediately, deciding to chalk the night up as a learning experience, and walked the couple miles back to my house accompanied by the buzzing of grungy streetlights. I finished the night smoking salvia, drinking, and listening to the Strokes. Altogether, a much better experience than bumping into x-ed up kids with glow sticks. Ever since then, the very thought of a rave makes me feel exhausted. Maybe I just haven't been to a good one, or done enough drugs at one. Time will tell.
My raver friend, however, is desperately struggling to study for her midterms, while recovering from a hangover. Just another piece of evidence in the case against raves and ravers.
What a thoroughly anticlimactic waste of time.

Monday, October 30, 2006

Educational Pressure and the use of controlled substances.

On the tail-end of the ADHD bandwagon come the overachievers who are working hard to keep up in college. The number of people who genuinely have ADHD and whose only option for combating that disorder is a chemical substance is debatable at best. What is obvious, however, is that dear old amphetamines are abused on some of the best campuses of this country. Why? Perhaps because it is easier to pay attention to a subject evoking no general interest when you're doped up. Forget the fact that being in a good university used to imply having the best professors. These halls tend to contain some of the biggest egos, true, but as far as the ability of ex-politicians goes, they tend to make shitty professors. Hell, if they made shitty, shallow, nationalistic presidents that couldn't even pay attention to the terror-prone, poor, and opressed minorities during their rule, how can you expect them to care about what you're learning in college? Being taught by celebrities is a bad idea, especially when they can't speak English.
Can we blame the little J.Crew clones for being stressed about studies? Well, perhaps bragging, trying to get into freshman pants, and maintaining the exclusivity of head-strong patriarchal social networks takes too much time from studying already, why not pop a pill? The reliance on ADHD drugs is not a matter of true educational struggle, but a simple problem of convenience. So many people around me have started bitching about the need for some Adderall. With the basic economic laws taking over, the prices tend to be around 5$ a pill, depending on dosage.
The light and life of this nation is stocking up for the difficult finals season, and getting the edge is easier than ever. I'm sure the Senator daddies and mommies of this place would love to know what their kids allowance goes to, but as long as the transcript is clean of "C"s, I'm sure the darling parents don't care to know.
So, here is another point of proof that the Higher Education System is becoming corrupt from the inside, and the "better" the school, the uglier is the underside. If you want to learn, got to a community college, if you want an impressive piece of paper, be kind and cough up the green for the Ivy. No class struggle in this country? No preference to the rich? Both as much a myth as the Bible's adherence to "family values".

Drugs are for recreation, not social injustice.