Julian Sanchez links to what you'd assume is an April 1 gag column. You'd be wrong, however. In short: a girl gets slipped a date rape drug, comes to in the gutter and calls her "friend" from the hospital. Apparently something good was on TV because this "person" didn't bother to go to the hospital. Something about the bounds of acceptable friendship. Anyway, I'll let Julian respond:

Friendship? Jesus, thatÂ’s the minimum IÂ’d do for someone I barely knew in a situation like that. Hell, itÂ’s the minimum IÂ’d do for someone whoÂ’d taken some drugs on purpose in an attack of poor judgment. ItÂ’s what any remotely decent, adequately socialized person would do. How on earth could you hire someone to whom this isnÂ’t just gobsmackingly obvious to write an advice column about friendship?

James Joyner, from whom I found this story, makes the following comment:

My grad school buddy Wayne, a retired Green Beret, says that men make what he terms Bozeman, Montana friends. We may move across the country and fail to keep in touch but, if we were to get a phone call in the middle of the night from one of them after not hearing from them for three years saying, “I’m in jail in Bozeman, Montana and need you to wire me $2000,” our only question would be about how to get him the funds and we’d be on the phone to Western Union two minutes later.

Posted by: Physics Geek at 12:03 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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