The Column: 'Reefer Madness' may not loosen its hold on me

Long Island’s first recreational marijuana store opened recently in East Farmingdale. The state has licensed dozens more.

What do we think? Progress or another step toward moral collapse — the much-anticipated end of western civilization?

At a time when everything seems confusing — politics, artificial intelligence, Elon Musk — does it make sense
to shove your mind into “park,” giggle uncontrollably at the sight of your own right thumb and dive into another pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream?

Shortly after the East Farmingdale shop, Strain Stars, began doing business — “strain” refers to a marijuana variety like “Oreoz,” “Mountain Dew” or “Apple Fritter” — President Joe Biden was in Lithuania discussing matters of war and peace with European allies.

Possessed of a clear mind, one might have pondered the geopolitical implications of Biden’s trip, but if enjoying another toke of “White Cherry Gelato,” reaction may be limited to “far out,” or “groovy,” or “Where’s Europe?”

On the other hand, you can imagine Cannabis Nation insisting, hey, we need a little break from the tumult and worries of daily life, a few pleasant moments when we put aside thoughts of Canadian wildfires, shark bites and George Santos.

This may not be too much to ask. It’s been a rough few years — from pandemic to the price of eggs. People are exhausted and seeking relief, even if artificially induced.

“Struggle is the enemy, but weed is the remedy,” said actress Kirsten Dunst, whose work, perhaps revealingly, includes “Melancholia,” “Interview with the Vampire” and “Drunk History.”

If the line outside Strain Stars on opening day was any indication, the yearning for deliverance runs deep. Perhaps not since the arrival of Chick-fil-A in Port Jefferson Station a few years ago — eager foodies camped out overnight to celebrate the inaugural event — has a cultural breakthrough so ignited the local imagination.

“We’re really finally catching up,” a Strain Stars customer told Newsday reporter Tiffany Cusaac-Smith. “It’s been long overdue.”

Someone my age is apt to feel left behind by all the catching up.

We were supposed to be a tough crowd back in Brooklyn but experiment with marijuana? Sure, right after we hijack the Staten Island ferry or belly flop off the Williamsburg Bridge.

The 1936 film “Reefer Madness,” was in theaters only four years before I was born and had a long-lasting hold on public perception. Ablaze in bright red, the movie poster alone was enough to deter anyone teetering toward temptation.

There is a photo of an attractive young couple. The man is lighting the woman’s cigarette — not just a Lucky Strike or Chesterfield but one about to ruin their lives. “Youthful marihuana victims,” a caption warns. “What actually happens!”

In my teenage years what actually happened wasn’t much.

Not only did I stay clear of marijuana but could never quite figure out how to smoke — anything — so it’s not likely you’ll find me at Strain Stars.

I know marijuana can be useful to people who are chronically ill and it’s fine by me if folks just want to light up and mellow out. Perfectly legal but I’ll take a pass.

To be honest, though, I did manage a few drags on a marijuana cigarette several years ago.

My wife, Wink, and I had been visiting friends maybe five minutes from our house.

The trip home felt like we went by way of Idaho.

I had a headache the next day and felt vaguely befuddled.

“Some potheads,” I said.

“Pathetic,” said Wink.

“I’m thinking maybe a nap.”

“Groovy,” said Wink. “Far out.”

Civilization was safe, and so were we.