There's nothing that America loves more than a great train wreck. I confess to not being able to keep away from Lindsay's latest necklace caper or Charlie Sheen's most recent implosion. Sex, drugs and rock and roll, a tried and true combination since 5000 b.c.e.. Why do we derive so much satisfaction from a titanic fall from grace?
I have been around a few substance abusers in my time and Sheen is textbook. Heisenberg's uncertainty principle says that you can't ever truly observe anything without fundamentally changing it. You can't assess momentum and position at the same time. The toughest thing to know is yourself and in some ways, you have the worst seat in the house. Or to put it more simply, when you are strung out on hookers and coke and careening off into space, any thoughts of where the ground actually lies is a very abstract concept. You are spinning, and a clear assessment of your actual speed and mental position is impossible.
So your narcissism rises to the fore and in your bravado and with a quick prayer to the great god Thanatos you decide to submit to the impish urges and start feeding your manic beast. You are hurtling at a thousand miles an hour and you can either apply the air brakes or pour another bucket of dilythium crystals into the warp drive. And you do, because when you do it you're so damn cute. And maybe it's fun to play the bad boy or bad girl or the bad outlaw and if you are a celebrity you have surrounded yourself with a warm nest of sycophantic enablers who will soften the punch of any blowback.
And then you crash and burn, or die or have your complete mental breakdown. You are trapped in your own tunnel and any contact with the real world is merely a reverberation. And then maybe you hit bottom, try to get help, join a program, or confess and repent to the deity of your choice. Unless you can still convince yourself that you really are the first mortal with the ability to fly and that it only took a handful of feathers and wax.
3 comments:
I once had lunch with Charlie Sheen at Mr. A's. Ordered well over five hundred dollars of food and barely ate a bite. When I asked the waiter to box up the left over food Charlie went into a tantrum.
In the parking lot I gathered enough nerve to ask him why he went into such a rage? He just looked at me and layed out the longest line I had ever seen and a smaller one for me right on the hood of his Porsche. "none of your business" was all he said. He jumped into his car, flipped me off and left me there in the parking lot. I had to get a cab to go home but that was all right because he was way too drunk and stoned. Usually he is funny and charming.
Oh yeah, he took off with my doggie bag!
Wow, great story! Maybe when we get into our seventies we can finally let loose with some of our own sordid tales... if we hadn't lived such angelic lives, I suppose.
listen to Tim Conway Jr, weeknights 7:00-10:00 on KFI640AM; he does a great job of summarizing Charlie's daily exploits...bring it!...winning!!!
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