I don’t quite understand the breaking news quotient when it comes to Charlie Sheen. It’s not like he’s changed up his game plan over the last couple months. His tiger blooded campaign has been running strong for three decades now, but all of a sudden we’re supposed to stop everything and acknowledge the fact that he’s operating on a different level than most of mankind and all of Utah? Just because he has the audacity to wax vituperatively at his producers? As if that hasn’t been done before.
We’re supposed to be shocked and appalled by his drug and alcohol fueled rampages, his scalding condemnation of his bosses, his wild sexual escapades, his marital imbroglios? Because what? . . . It’s a unique set of circumstances for a famous actor?
When did Hollywood get religion exactly? It must have been after River Phoenix said ‘thanks but no thanks’ to a Hall of Fame career by ingesting enough rocket fuel to kill a lamborghini . . . after Russell Crowe stopped practicing his pugilistic skills on the faces of restaurant patrons . . . after Hugh Grant was caught picking up a hooker while his creamy girlfriend Liz Hurley was laying in bed all by her lonesome. We don’t need to go back to the days of Sinatra and the Stones , since Charlie Winner Chicken Dinner already covered that for us.
The point is that the talent which inhabits LaLa Land has never been confused with the Quakers, and Charlie has never been a choir boy. I can’t imagine what the place would look like if we force fed our celebrities a moral litmus test. But it’s fairly obvious to me they’d be able to hold the Academy Awards in a Dennys with the cavalcade of stars including such notables as Kirk Cameron, Pat Boone and (Yikes) The Osmonds.
Charlie is the same kid he’s always been. Unless he was dragging the show down- which from the fat ratings and ad revenue being raked in doesn’t seem to be the case- why all the sturm and drang? Hell, he’s been having a good time since he was old enough to take advantage of an empty crib thanks to Daddy Sheen’s on location vacations.
The answer of course, is that this whole thing became personal when Charlie called his producers bluff. You can do some crazy off the wall shit in tinseltown, but you should never dare a suit to pull the plug on your moneymaker. Because while Charlie is an extremely talented actor and perhaps the greatest interview in the history of great interviews, he’s still just an employee in the end. And the suits always win in a battle royale, even at the expense of their big fat maggot noses (Charlie Speak).
I got to thinking that if this mess leads to a television divorce, Charlie is going to become the King of Reality TV faster than you can say crackhead. His turn as a reality show star is the only natural conclusion in an otherwise unnatural life. But when he inks his new deal for more money than the state of California would know what to do with, Tiger Woody better remember to offer up a room in his mansion to Jon Cryer.
It’s only fair.
Drink o’ the late morning/early afternoon: Mimosas. I held off on the crack since I’m not on a diet.