Sans Fig Leaf

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"You used to be interesting"

21 February, 2002

I'm a big believer in letting other people live their lives. If they aren't hurting anyone else, they should be free to be as stupid, foolish, or foolhardy as they wish.

One of the problems is that "hurting anyone else." How do you define that? Should I, as a taxpayer, be forced to pay for medical treatment for some moron who rides his bike (motored or not) without a helmet and gets in an accident? The difference in the cost of medical treatment is tens of thousands of dollars higher per accident. That's why I support helmet laws. I would be willing to support the repeal of helmet laws only if they were replaced with a law that said people who suffered severe head injuries while riding without a helmet would receive absolutely no medical care at taxpayer expense. Just call a hearse instead of an ambulance.

Unfortunately, I've never met a single "libertarian" on helmet laws who would agree to that. So, until they do, with the statistics saying that most of the cost of those unhelmeted accidents come out of the taxpayer's pocket, I say, wear a damn helmet, dude.

That's the trouble. Things we do to ourselves don't just hurt us. Sometimes the hurt is easily quantifiable, like the costs of those medical responses mentioned above, others less so.

Every now and then I learn about someone who I otherwise think of as a worthwhile person doing something very stupid. I have trouble coming up with ways to respond that don't make me sound like some raving reactionary prude.

Several years ago I narced on a friend. He was pissed. How many times had he and I discussed what I thought was wrong with the drug laws in our country, he asked? "Yes," I said, "but I was always talking about consenting adults. I knew you used for years, and I've never said a word--until I found out you'd recruited a thirteen-year-old to help you sell it to his classmates to support your habit."

Some years later the chorus flew down to the Bay area to participate in some concerts, march in the world's largest Pride Parade, and so forth. I bought plane tickets for myself, Ray, and two of our friends. They paid for the hotel. We'd barely gotten checked into our hotel when the drugs one of them had hidden in their carry-on came out. I was so pissed. I ended the friendship shortly after we returned to Seattle. I tried to make it clear why I felt endangered by their stupidity. They never got it. I still occasionally get messages through a mutual acquaintance that they think I'm some prudish bitch.

It all has to do with where you draw the line. Snort or ingest or inject whatever you want into your own body. The brain cells you're frying are yours to fry. But don't involve other people. If your adult friends know and consent to being involved, that's one thing, but don't get other people involved -- that includes not doing it in spaces you're sharing with people who don't know or haven't consented. It also means don't go operating machinery or driving around while you're high.

But the reason I get upset when I learn that a friend is using drugs is much more selfish than that. I've heard all the claims that you can use it moderately and be okay, but in my expereince very few people who become regular users stick to moderation. There were people I knew in high school who were smart and energetic, they earned good grades and they were active in lots of clubs. Then, as the years went by, as they continued to use the drugs "just every now and then to relax" they got duller, and duller. Their intelligence, quite literally, faded away over time. People who had been creative and ambitious became repetitive and unmotivated.

This wasn't just one or two guys. Almost three dozen people I hung out with and even admired in school slowly turned their brains into tapioca. A few years ago, at a sci-fi convention, I ran into one of the guys that I'd spent a lot of time with at school. It was an odd conversation, because he kept forgetting what I'd just said, or would get distracted by something. He talked about how he was out of work again. The boss had it in for him, just like the one at the job before that and the one before that. Got all upset because he showed up late and smelled of pot smoke one day, he said. "What a prick!" I didn't offer any sympathy.

Then he surprised me, he said, "You know, I really miss those talks we used to have. We both live in north Seattle. How come I don't see you more often?"

I was polite, I said, "Well, I think our interests have just gone in different directions."

But the brutally honest answer would have been, "Because you used to be interesting, but now it's just painful to listen to you."