Posts tagged Drugs
An excerpt From Bill Clegg’s memoir Ninety Days:

All at once it hits me: I’m alone. No one besides Dave knows exactly where I am. I could be doing anything. I’ve been an inpatient for weeks, under the thumb of nurses and doctors and counselors the entire time. No more morning gatherings, group meals, and in-bed-by-10 room checks. I’m alone and unaccountable. And then, like a dead ember blown to life, I think about my old dealers, Rico and Happy. I remember how I owe each of them a thousand dollars and wonder—despite all that’s been lost, everyone hurt, despite everything—how I’m going to get two grand to pay these guys off so I can buy more? I start to puzzle through credit cards and PIN codes for cash advances. Suddenly a few thousand dollars seems within reach, and I can feel that old burn, that hibernating want, come awake. I imagine the relief that first hit will deliver and I’m suddenly up off the couch and pacing. No no no, I chant. No f—king way. That craving, once it begins, is almost impossible to reverse. What my addict mind imagines, my addict body chases. It’s like Bruce Banner as he’s turning into the Incredible Hulk. Once his muscles begin to strain against his clothes and his skin goes green, he has no choice but to let the monster spring from him and unleash its inevitable damage.

[Photo: Chris Buck for Newsweek]

An excerpt From Bill Clegg’s memoir Ninety Days:

All at once it hits me: I’m alone. No one besides Dave knows exactly where I am. I could be doing anything. I’ve been an inpatient for weeks, under the thumb of nurses and doctors and counselors the entire time. No more morning gatherings, group meals, and in-bed-by-10 room checks. I’m alone and unaccountable. And then, like a dead ember blown to life, I think about my old dealers, Rico and Happy. I remember how I owe each of them a thousand dollars and wonder—despite all that’s been lost, everyone hurt, despite everything—how I’m going to get two grand to pay these guys off so I can buy more? I start to puzzle through credit cards and PIN codes for cash advances. Suddenly a few thousand dollars seems within reach, and I can feel that old burn, that hibernating want, come awake. I imagine the relief that first hit will deliver and I’m suddenly up off the couch and pacing. No no no, I chant. No f—king way. That craving, once it begins, is almost impossible to reverse. What my addict mind imagines, my addict body chases. It’s like Bruce Banner as he’s turning into the Incredible Hulk. Once his muscles begin to strain against his clothes and his skin goes green, he has no choice but to let the monster spring from him and unleash its inevitable damage.

[Photo: Chris Buck for Newsweek]

Love this ‘evolution of addiction’ illustration! Designed by Benjamin Ritter for our mag story on whip-its:

Addictions to thrills, drugs, and alcohol result from an imperfect compromise between something very old (dating back hundreds of millions of years, long before humans existed) and something new (dating back no more than a few hundred thousand years, an eye blink in evolution).
What’s old is our reflexive systems. For most of human prehistory, short-term thinking was practically the only thing that mattered: Predator or prey? Fight or flee? Early hominids that made snap decisions like that effectively survived; those that didn’t perished.
Much newer is a different system, one that deliberates and reflects. The trouble is that reflexive systems, because they are older, tend to dominate. If we see a chocolate cake, we eat it, no matter what we might have said at New Year’s about dieting.

[Newsweek]

Love this ‘evolution of addiction’ illustration! Designed by Benjamin Ritter for our mag story on whip-its:

Addictions to thrills, drugs, and alcohol result from an imperfect compromise between something very old (dating back hundreds of millions of years, long before humans existed) and something new (dating back no more than a few hundred thousand years, an eye blink in evolution).

What’s old is our reflexive systems. For most of human prehistory, short-term thinking was practically the only thing that mattered: Predator or prey? Fight or flee? Early hominids that made snap decisions like that effectively survived; those that didn’t perished.

Much newer is a different system, one that deliberates and reflects. The trouble is that reflexive systems, because they are older, tend to dominate. If we see a chocolate cake, we eat it, no matter what we might have said at New Year’s about dieting.

[Newsweek]

Today in awesome vintage Newsweek covers that need to be posted just because, c/o cleaning out my email: LSD. May 6, 1966. The horror!
For more vintage newsmagazine hilarity (and seriousness), follow our sistertumblr, nwkarchivist.

Today in awesome vintage Newsweek covers that need to be posted just because, c/o cleaning out my email: LSD. May 6, 1966. The horror!

For more vintage newsmagazine hilarity (and seriousness), follow our sistertumblr, nwkarchivist.

Psilocybin & God

Andrew Sullivan explores:

If you believe, as I do, that we are at root children of God, trapped, as Pascal put it, between being angels and beasts, then there will be moments in our lives when we are closer to being angels and closer to being beasts. In my view, our beastliness, as it were, is a function of our contingency as evolving primates, having to tackle a terrifying world of death, disease, war, hatred, and fear with intelligence and self-control and self-defense. This is the world of the first half of Hobbes’ Leviathan.

But we are also more than that, as Jesus taught us. We are children of God. Our alienation is because something deep within us yearns to come home, a home we do not remember, but we know exists. What psilocybin seems to do is remove the veil from seeing and accepting this wondrous, difficult truth. It does not add something to our consciousness that isn’t already there. It simply calms the noise around it so we can hear what is already within us. Hence the parallels between brains in deep meditation and brains on psilocybin.

Go on

As a general anesthetic, propofol acts on the brain’s GABA receptors, which cause inhibitory neurons—those that quiet other circuits—to fire; that’s how it induces unconsciousness. Propofol also increases levels of the feel-good neurotransmitter dopamine, triggering a sense of reward not unlike sex or cocaine. Some patients experience euphoria, sexual disinhibition, and even hallucinations, followed by a feeling of calm and an upbeat mood. Since propofol is so widely used—it revolutionized ambulatory anesthesia, allowing a physician to knock someone out in seconds to perform, say, a colonoscopy, and have them up and about after only 10 minutes—scientists have had no shortage of subjects able to describe the experience. About one third don’t remember a thing, and another third say they dreamed, but don’t recall specifics. The rest experience “vivid, strange dreams, sometimes of a sexual nature.”
 Sharon Begley, describing the effects of Propofol in “The High That Killed the King of Pop" for Newsweek.

The Supreme Court on Thursday ruled that makers of generic drugs cannot be sued for failing to warn consumers of the possible side effects of their products if they copy the exact warnings on the brand-name equivalents of the medicines.http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=137367328

The majority opinion acknowledged that the decision dealt an “unfortunate hand” that “makes little sense” to those who were harmed by generic drugs and are unable to sue the drug makers.

Really makes you feel warm and cuddly inside when the Supreme Court acknowledges their ruling that benefits generic drug manufacturers and screws the harmed consumer “makes little sense.”

Its followers include not just ordinary citizens, but also members of the military, police, and trafficking organizations locked in a four-year war that has cost some 28,000 lives. At a time when the cartels have scared much of the Mexican media into submission—when papers like El Diario de Juárez feel compelled to publish front-page pleas to the cartels to “explain what you want from us”—the narcoblogger, like a journalistic masked crusader, has stepped into the void.

Today in Stories We’re Obsessed With

From today’s Hartford Courant:

Sometime in the early morning Sunday, thieves scaled the walls of the Eli Lilly warehouse on Freshwater Boulevard.

As a light rain fell, they cut a hole in the roof of the 70,000-square-foot building and slid down ropes to get inside.

They disabled the building’s alarm system, and police believe they loaded several dozen pallets of prescription drugs — worth $75 million — into at least one truck parked at the rear of the building, and drove away.

The thing that keeps bothering us: How does one fence $75 million worth of pills? Any ideas?