Monthly Archives: June 2012
LOS ANGELES — Yes, “Prometheus” is a futuristic sci-fi film about a group of scientists who search for life’s creators on a far-away planet with the help of an android. They encounter much more than they bargained for in their quest for answers, fight some aliens and save earth. However, I almost feel as if this was a piece of art questioning whether or not we should be looking in the first place.
Look, we know why anyone does anything; because they can, and in this world, the owner and crew of the Prometheus can. But it doesn’t always make it the appropriate line of thinking. I could go take a bath in the pond at The Grove, have someone film it and end up a YouTube hit but it wouldn’t be worth it (maybe). It’s sometimes better to let sleeping dogs lie, or shower at the gym. Doc Brown built a time machine out of a DeLorean but even that screwed just about everything up.
I’ll admit, the idea of having an android to help me get through life is pretty sweet. Yes, it would help make my life easier, I’d win a boatload of cash on Jepoardy or yet-to-be-invented game show, but would I actually learn anything on my own, or improve as a man? Probably not. I could just take him to parties, or get stinking rich because I’d be the only with a life-like robot.
All things being even, I’d probably do it, but it doesn’t mean I should. Like looking for the creators of man.
OK, back to my original lede for this review.
Since winning the Academy Award for her role in “Monster” in 2003, Charlize Theron hasn’t done anything truly memorable – aside from throwing around a drunk Will Smith in “Hancock” (2008) – until last year’s “Young Adult,” a very well done film in which she plays a successful writer who goes back to her hometown to win back her high school sweetheart. However, Theron is a huge movie star, and thusly, very recognizable. So when I saw her in the trailer for Ridley Scott’s latest sci-fi blockbuster “Prometheus” I was not only confused but figured her inclusion would be quite distracting from what surely was a very deep and interesting film by a very successful and thought-provoking film maker.
I was slightly wrong. Only slightly because after learning she passed on playing the lead, Elizabeth Shaw, because of a scheduling conflict, she later accepted a lesser role as Meredith Vickers, the Prometheus’ guardian, when the film fit her calendar. Theron in this lesser role is much better than as the lead and therefore not AS distracting as it could’ve been. So it’s a win by default. Michael Fassbender (“X-Men: Origins”), not nearly as big a star though getting there, was perfect is his role as the droid David, who assists the crew of the Prometheus in their hunt for the so-called Engineers, the makers of life, on a far away planet.
“Prometheus” was originally dubbed as an “Alien” prequel but it’s hardly that; completely separate story line, and there’s only a hint at anything Alien at all, so don’t feel like you need to have seen those films to know what’s going on here, as you don’t. Scott’s special effects on this new planet, a planet which takes two years to get to, are incredible, and I enjoyed the acting, especially by the two knuckleheads, Fifield (Sean Harris) and Millburn (Rafe Spall). Initially, I wasn’t that excited about “Prometheus,” but it’s well worth the 124-minute run time. Just don’t spend the entire duration thinking about if the ship is bigger than Spaceball 1. It’s not. And doesn’t have a cool bumper sticker either.
Oh, and Noomi Rapace is awesome as Shaw. But the film, in my opinion, is all about the performance of Fassebender, who in 7 months, should get some award noms.
Brockman Stamp of Approval: 3.5/5 Stomach Staples.
SAFETY NOT GUARANTEED
Working on a talk show has some cool perks. OK, really just one: you get to meet celebrities (there are a few jokes here, but I’ll refrain some saying them because, well, we’d like more to come on the show). Usually, these aesthetically-blessed individuals are plugging their latest project, which they’ve been trained to tell everyone who’ll ask and listen that it’s the greatest thing since “Citizen Kane.” Admittedly, as these trained memorizers have described their films, I’ve gotten sucked in to thinking they’re right and that I should fork over the cash to go see what their hocking.
Now, when they leave, I exit the vortex of their propaganda and realize what they’re peddling is piece of crap and save my money for more important things like Subway footlongs and dental floss. However, when recent guest Jake Johnson (“New Girl” & “Get Him To The Greek”) stopped by to talk Chicago Bears and his new indie film “Safety Not Guaranteed” I was intrigued more than normal.
A few days later, I checked out the trailer online and decided it’d be work my time. About a group of writers for Seattle magazine who set off on a journey to find out about this kook who put a classified ad for a trip back in time, ‘Guaranteed,’ which also stars Mark Duplass of “The League” and Aubrey Plaza of “The Office,” is a story of hope, belief and letting go of what’s comfortable and easy for something that could be so much more.
A film that entertains you and makes you think. I’m in.
Johnson plays the dick-ish writer who takes the story with the agenda of meeting up with an old flame in the area; Plaza is the inquisitive, boring intern who draws the assignment of getting close to Duplass, only to eventually grow to like him and buy into his plan to actually travel back in time; and there’s an Indian intern whom they both make fun of. It’s an amusing dynamic and a fun 90 minutes.
I was legit surprised by the ending, too. You’ll enjoy it.
Brockman Stamp of Approval: 3.75/5 Cans of Soup
LOS ANGELES — The Crossover returns after a two-month hiatus and we bring the hoops Heat, as the Brosefolophogus of JerseyChaser.com checks in to talk everything LeBron James and the NBA Finals after Miami closed out Oklahoma City in 5 games, Thursday night. (The Crossover Ep. 25 – click here to listen)
After calling him out on Twitter and offered him the floor should LeBron come through and win his first championship, I threw up the Bat Signal Friday afternoon and the Bro delivers. He comes into The Crossover and lays down his manlove for LeBron and goes all out after the haters who dogged the King for the 9 long years he’s been chasing this championship. He is unapologetic in his priase and makes some bold predictions for the Chosen One’s future.
We also touch on some of what critics have plagued LeBron for in the past, if he’ll retire with the Heat, where he’ll end up on the G.O.A.T. list, what’s to come of Kobe Bryant and the Lakers, the Thunder’s future and whether or not Kevin Garnett will hang up the sneakers.
It’s a fantastic and frenetically fast-paced hoops converastion with a true legend. Don’t miss it. And as always, thanks for listening, check me out on Twitter (@chris_brockman) and spread the word!
LOS ANGELES — In my former life, I wrote film reviews for the Journal Tribune. The column there was titled “Extra Butter” because, well, I liked a lot of butter on my popcorn (#FatKidProblems) , so it seemed like a logical fit. The idea spawned one day by merely asking the managing editor if we run any kind of reviews, and when he said “no,” asking if I could do them (sometimes all you have to do is ask, kids). The first film I reviewed was “Casino Royale and I later won a Maine Press Association Critic’s Award for my review of Nicolas Cage’s masterpiece “Ghost Rider.”
Since moving to L.A., my well has run dry. I haven’t written one of these columns in nearly three years; that’s my bad. Every so often I feel like I should get back to it; clearly “The Town” would’ve been a nice return and I did write something about “Social Network” when it came out, but not in this vain, and since I still see a lot of movies, I’m going to make the effort because I always had fun with this column. Of all the ones I’ve written since I started really writing in 2004 – Local Celebrity, Game Point, Extra Butter, BrockAngeles and now this site – the film reviews are the ones I wish I had kept up, but fret not.
We’re back! Enjoy, leave me your thoughts and keep truckin’.
From Something To Nothing: The Art of RapThe first time I heard “Regulators” was as I was driving along the main drag in Ocean City, Md. with my family in the summer of 1994. I couldn’t get the beat out of my head all day. Later that night, my uncle asked what I was humming – Doo, doo, doo, doo-do-do-dooo – and I didn’t know what it was, it was just catchy as hell but my interest never went further.
In high school, the East Coast-West Coast war was at its height and a lot of my friends were big Tupac fans. I could never get into it. Leading up to my freshman year at Syracuse I worked at the beach as a grill cook and we listened to nothing but classic rock, so it really wasn’t until I got to college, living with a diverse group of guys, that my musical tastes grew. I became a quick fan of the beats of the day and the old school jams. Sure, I’m as white as a loaf of Wonder Bread but I can appreciate the skill it takes these greats of putting together rhymes. Now, it’s rare a song comes on KDAY that I don’t know.
So, when Ice-T came into the NFL Network studios recently to appear on the Rich Eisen Podcast and started talking about his documentary, “The Art of Rap,” I was immediately interested. The documentary was a hit at the Sundance Film Festival, bought the first day, and hit theaters this past weekend. A meteoric path for a film of this nature. I went on its opening night and left not disappointed. Ice-T is not only the executive producer and director of the film but the interviewer of his subjects. He goes to New York (Melly Mel, Grandmaster Caz, Detroit (Eminem) and Los Angeles (Dr. Dre, Xzibit, Snoop Dogg) to talk to some of hip hop’s legends to find out their thought process and how they wrote their rhymes coming up. Ice-T wanted to get inside the minds of these artists, search for their inspiration, look beyond the cars, girls and jewels.
And he succeeded. It was remarkable to hear their tales, see them put pen to paper and create a story from either nothing or life experiences. Grandmaster Caz wrote a rhyme on the spot. Dr. Dre tried to take the audience inside the mind of a producer and offered some insight on working with Tupac. Eminem talked about being white MC in this game and his struggle. After a while the stories about the process got repetitive, though the highlite was each rapper performing a freestyle or reciting a few bars of another legend’s work.
The film did seem every bit of its 107 minutes and probably would’ve benefited from losing a few of the interviews, as well as some of the on-site, scenic transitions, which didn’t really add much. Though I was left wanting a tour or perhaps an entire “Cribs” episode dedicated to Dr. Dre’s ridiculous Hollywood Hills mansion. Jesus, the rap game has been good to him. KRS1’s story about his first battle is epic, too.
The biggest shock, besides the length of Melly Mel’s dreds, was that my girlfriend really liked it. I figured I was going to have to see it solo, but when I explained to her the premise, she was on board and even laughed a few times. An artist herself, she was really interested in the rappers comments on the process and mindset while preparing and performing. She was encapsulated with Mos Def’s segment.
Bottom line: This is a must-see.
Brockman Stamp of Approval: 4.25 out of 5 Mics.
That’s My Boy
Sixteen-year-old me would probably punch 31-year-old me in the face for saying this, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen an Adam Sandler movie in the theater; “Just Go With It” was getting some run on HBO a while back and I caught the last 3/4ths of it, but I think the last one I paid to see was his revamped version of “The Longest Yard.” It wasn’t great and neither is his latest college try, “That’s My Boy,” which co-stars Andy Samberg and Leighton Meester.
Sandler plays as Donny Berger, who was a child pseudo celebrity for having sex with his teacher and fathering a son (Sandberg) at a very young age. As an adult, he’s a drunken, broke mess, and after his lawyer (played by Jets coach Rex Ryan) tells him he needs to come up with $43,000 to avoid prison, Berger turns to his son, now a successful banker. Though he doesn’t come out and ask for the money, he has a plan involving a hornswaggler of a talk show host (Dan Patrick) and an awkward reunion with his mom (Susan Sarandon) to come up with the cash. Along the way, he realizes he misses and loves his son and tries to do right by him by exposing his two-timing fiance. Of course, everything turns out well in the end but not without some absurdities in the middle.
Bleh. Sandler plays Berger as an ’80s hot mess who constantly has a Budweiser in his hand, is best friends with Vanilla Ice and thinks all the flash-in-the-pan ’90s catch phrases are still hilarious (they’re not). The film is set in Massachusetts, so his over-the-top New England accent is amusing to start and annoying by the end. Unfortunately, you can’t get away from it. I was laughing a lot of the time, however, I think it was more of laughing at the whole thing, not with it. The bachelor party stuff was kinda funny, though. Who knows.
All Sandler film reviews are essentially the same at this point, which is means I’m getting older and he just keeps making the same movie; yet we all keep paying for them, so who’s the dummy? People wonder why he routinely makes “bad” movies these days. The answer is simple: we’ve given him the blank check to do so. It’s our fault. And it’s going to continue.
Brockman Stamp of Eh: 1.5/5 Brews.
Men In Black III
It’s possible I’m at the tail end of my 20-year mancrush on Will Smith. I’m not as geeked as I used to be about his newest ventures or are a fan of him force feeding his kids down our entertainment-enjoying throats, but neither stopped me from enjoying the hell out of the latest installment of the “Men In Black” franchise.
Nobody does $100M movies like Smith, who returns after a 4-year big screen hiatus, and I’d expect this one will join his list of big money makers. It follows the formula of the previous MIB films; Agents J and K (Tommy Lee Jones) get into trouble and have to save the world with their badass weaponry. Only this trip around, J has to go back in time to save a young K (Josh Brolin) from an intergalactic warlord whom he put in prison 30-some-odd years earlier and who wants to kill him.
It has a “Back To The Future II” feel to it, where the future is one way, then the villain goes back in time and changes it, and then they have to go back in time to change the changes made by the villain. Only here there’s aliens and suits and Agent K is likable and it’s set in New York.
I don’t know if there’s going to be another Men In Black movie – I’m sure it’ll depend on box office numbers this time around – but if there’s not, this film was a good way to wrap up the series. We get some insight to J’s past, why he is who he is, and same with K, who as a young agent is lively, jovial and fun-loving but couldn’t be more opposite as an adult. As always, the special effects are really neat and the aliens and weapons keep getting cooler. You’ll really have fun with this one.
Brockman Stamp of Approval: 3.5/5 Ray Bans.
I plan to write an entire column on Johnny Depp’s appeal to women in the nearer future – honestly, I don’t get it – but for the time being I’ll stick to his newest vampire flick. Also, what is with every movie these days being about a) vampires; b) bows and arrows or c) zombies? ANYway, “Dark Shadows” is not good, but I saw it recently because the girlfriend is among the millions obsessed with the aforementioned Mr. Depp and for some reason she wanted to see this. I’ll admit the first time I saw the trailer, it looked amusing, but every time after my interest in it lowered exponentially. Actually, this flick made the second JD project we’ve seen together; our first date was “The Rum Diary,” which I liked and just recently found out she did not. So we’re even.
If you’re expecting something like “True Blood” or “Twilight,” you’ll be disappointed. There are some murders but no nudity and I think it’s supposed to be funny, but it’s not. “Dark Shadows,” which also stars Michelle Pfeiffer, is about the Collins family, who owns the town and the fishing industry, only to lose it to another company who just happens to be run by the woman (Eva Green) who puts Johnny Depp’s character in the ground for 200 years. I think she’s a vampire, too, or she’s in love with Depp. Something like that.
The Collins family lives in a Wayne Manor-esque estate and each member has something strangely wrong with them. The girl from “Kick Ass” might be a werewolf, the doctor is a drunk, the dad is a deadbeat and on and on. The family is on the verge of bankruptcy and being run from the town, only Depp, the original Collins, can save them.
What’s worse, is that they’ll probably be a sequel because the family shrink (Helena Bonham-Carter) who’s thrown to the bottom of the ocean is still alive. Dum-dum-dum! Spare me.
Brockman Stamp of Eh: 1.5/5 Fangs.
LOS ANGELES — Late Spring is arguably the best time for sports. With the unpredictability of the NBA and NHL Playoffs, interleague baseball, the randomness of big boxing matches, tennis and golf Grand Slam tournaments, and even horse racing; if the sports planets all align there’s the chance for something special. So when the Devils beat the Kings last Wednesday to avoid a sweep in the Stanley Cup Finals, and then the Heat beat the Celtics to avoid elimination in the NBA Playoffs the next day, the intergalactic sports Gods set up a potentially epic day like Saturday, June 9.
As it turned out, there wasn’t just two or three of the previously mentioned events planned, but all six. I mean, why wouldn’t there be. It isn’t often you get a horse going for the Triple Crown, a tennis great trying to complete the career Grand Slam, your favorite baseball team playing against the best young player since Junior Griffey, a potential Stanley Cup deciding game, an NBA Playoffs Game 7 and a big-time prize fight featuring who many consider the best pound-for-pound fighter in the world. All in one day!!?! A sports guy’s dream.
However, when I’ll Have Another’s trainer Doug O’Neill pulled the horse, who already had a pair of stunning come-from-behind wins in the Kentucky Derby and Preakness, on Friday morning after noticing signs of arthritis/tendinitis in its leg, the Gods proved they had other plans. We now know those were nightmarish ones, especially for those with northeast rooting interests, like myself.
We’ll start with the Red Sox, who are on the precipice of a disaster .500 season (seriously, Adrian Gonzalez, you suck). They got things going in the southern directional with a 4-2 loss to the hotshots from Washington (who would later sweep Boston after Sunday’s win). While I failed to watch a single inning of this contest, I didn’t have high hopes after Stephen Strasburg (6 innings, 2 runs, 13 Ks) and Bryce Harper (3-for-5, 3 RBIs and a HR) dominated the squad the day before. You know it’s a bad sign when I just expect a disastrous performance before a pitch is ever thrown; 2004 and 2007 seem soooo long ago.
Shortly there after Boston’s “L,” the rest of the field that would’ve been an asterisk to I’ll Have Another’s historic Triple Crown (he was going off at 4-5 odds as late as last Thursday) took to the track at Belmont Park before a less-than optimally hyped crowd of over 85,000 (who bet over $15M). There was a group of us watching at The Daily Pint in Santa Monica for our friend Joe’s birthday or perhaps I would’ve skipped the race entirely. Back in the day, I wouldn’t have missed a big race. There was a harness racing track near my house in Maine and my buddies and I would roll over and lay some action down; always made it more interesting. Alas, I had zero interest, but the historic mile-and-a-half jaunt ended up being a dramatic race despite the favorite’s absence. Union Rags came from behind to claim the victory but will be a distant memory to what might have been. Legendary trainer Bob Baffert once again had his horse Place, as Paynter came up just short.
Now, I’m not a hockey fan, but the hometown Kings being a game away from clinching the first Stanley Cup in the franchise’s history, and with the puck dropping on Game 5 a half hour before Heat/Celtics Game 7, was enough to garner at least 30 minutes of my viewing time. Our now 5-man crew shifted over to Busby’s where we’d be able to watch both events and then possibly the Bradley/Pacquiao fight later on. The move proved to be a smart one as we posted up right in front of a TV with the basketball game on, with the hockey on directly behind us for easy viewing. I turned my head every now and again to check the score; we were updated on what was happening by the groans/cheers from the other patrons. There were mostly groans as the Devils extended the series with a 2-1 win.
Of course, my focus was solely on the Celtics, who were seeking their 3rd NBA Finals appearance in the five years of the Big Three Era and a revenge victory over Miami, which took out Boston in 5 games in last year’s Eastern Conference semis. It was a torridly-close affair but the Celtics managed to have a not-so comfortable 7-point lead at halftime, however, with just 12 minutes left to play it was dead even. The way Miami came back didn’t leave a good feeling in my gut, and as the time on the game clock dwindled it became apparent that the new golden era in Boston was coming to an unceremonious end. The Heat finished off the 101-88 win to advance to the NBA Finals against the youthfully athletic Oklahoma City Thunder and their dynamic and questionably fashionable duo Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook. What made the loss even more obnoxious, was that suddenly we were surrounded by Heat fans, fans who were noticeably silent for the previous 36 game minutes. All that was left for me to do was lick my wounds, and devour my turkey burger, and prepare for the pugilistic showdown.
I suppose we should have taken this has a sign of weird things to come, but the fight’s start was delayed by nearly an hour as 1) Manny Pacquaio, apparently a huge Celtics fan (finally, something to like about him) refused to get ready until the basketball game was over, and 2) Pacquiao, after getting ready, had to walk on the treadmill for a lengthy period of time to loosen up his calves, which he’s had problems with tightness in throughout his training camp. Meanwhile, the HBO announcing team was running out of things to talk about as everyone waited. It was beyond bizarre. Meanwhile, Bradley was gloved up and ready to go, pacing around backstage while Pacquaio went on with his shenanigans. The whole scene was bizarre, to say the least.
Finally, just after 9pm pacific time — only an hour or so after it was supposed to get underway — the boxers made their way to the ring, Michael Buffer did this overpriced thing (did you know he gets close to $5 million to be a boxing announcer for big fights?) and the dance began. It was clear from the get-go that Pacquiao was there to fight and quell the thoughts his 12-round triumph over Juan Manuel Marquez some months back wasn’t earned. The WBO champ was aggressive and closed rounds strongly, while Bradley tried to fight off Pacquiao’s his flurries. The challenger didn’t do a good job of it. Midway through the fight I tweeted out that a knockout was looming in the coming rounds. It never came.
Bradley, who we later found out broke his foot in the fourth round, fought admirably to close the bout, but by then most assumed it was a forgone conclusion he was the big loser. When it was finally over and Bradley’s cornermen lifted him up, Jim Lampley commented on the irony, since it appeared he was soundly defeated. It was even reported Bradley told promoter Bob Arum that he gave all he could but even then couldn’t defeat Pacquiao. It wasn’t until Buffer read the first score of 115-113 that I knew something was up. And even though the round went to Pacquiao, that someone could even think the fight was that close was ludicrous was not a good sign if he hoped to continue his 7-year unbeaten streak.
Then Buffer said the second judges scores; “115-113 for Bradley” and you knew right then Bradley was going to win. The final judge’s score of 115-113 for Bradley didn’t even need to be read but when it was there was a good 15-20 seconds of silence inside Busby’s while we all soaked in what we just heard and what that meant for Pacquiao, a sitting-in-jail Floyd Mayweather and the sport of boxing. What it meant for Bradley was a rematch (one that was already predetermined, ironically) and a bigger payday and a still unblemished record. Twitter was aghast with notions of a fix and it was tough to argue. Inside Busby’s, some clown in a LeBron James jersey was running around yelling his outrage to any one would listen. Many did not. On my drive home, I wondered what Mayweather’s reaction must have been when learning of the outcome. Surely a smirk was involved.
In the end, only Maria Sharapova was able to come through to win the French Open and complete her career Grand Slam. Still, she’s getting married to former Lakers guard Sasha Vujacic so a complete victory is not awarded in my book. On top of all the sports brokenheartedness, it was the first weekend in nearly three months without “Game of Thrones,” and it was the last for probably a year with a Mad Men episode.
So much hope, so much promise when the sun rose that day all for not. Sometimes stars shine bright but their alignment is a little off. Maybe next time.
LOS ANGELES — This week, another professional athlete joined the not-so exclusive, moronic but ever-growing club of celebrity DUIers; you know, the ones too dumb to call a cab, limo, school bus, agent, bicycle, hipster with a skateboard, groupie, team mascot, SOMEONE to drive them home after a night of boozing.
Justin Blackmon, newly drafted of the Jacksonville Jaguars and the Adonis-like wide receiver from Oklahoma St., recently blew a .24 (three times rhe legal limit) while driving home early last Sunday morning in Oklahoma from wherever he thought was a better place to drink than his couch. It’s Blackmon’s second arrest in the last 20 months and puts the spotlight on himself and a team in much need of a turn in the right direction after an abysmal 5-11 campaign in 2011 for all the wrong reasons. Blackmon was (and still is) supposed to be the new focal point of the Jags’ passing attack with whomever new head coach Mike Mularkey decides to trot out there at quarterback for Week 1 at Minnesota.
The Jaguars, as @AndrewPerloff of the Dan Patrick Show predicted they would on this week’s Rich Eisen Podcast, have a chance to make the playoffs in the AFC South with the Texans weaker, the Colts starting a rookie QB and Titans doing little to improve themselves this offseason. Unfortunately, it all hinges on who wins that starting QB job. It could be Blaine Gabbert, who couldn’t start in my flag football league after his performance last season, or perhaps former Dolphins starter Chad Henne, who’s coming off a season-ending injury a year ago. No matter who it is, they’re going to need Blackmon, as well as Maurice Jones-Drew, who took a beating last year and still managed to lead the NFL in rushing by over 200 yards (and he’s one of my fantasy team’s keepers next year. Cha-ching!)
Blackmon has a chance to be an immediate impact receiver but not if he keeps doing bonehead things off the field. He’ll find himself Charles Rogers’d in no time. For this latest incident he could be fined, though he’s yet to even sign his rookie contract, but it sounds like he won’t be subject to the league’s personal conduct policy. We’ll see.
But this goes to the larger point with celebrities and athletes (we sort of expect this behavior from rock stars, right? how preposterous is that?); why do they routinely get behind the wheel intoxicated when they clearly have the means to avoid situations such as these? Seriously, how stupid are these people? How many before them need to get arrested and have their reputations ruined before someone wisely decides an alternative means? I’m not saying that there aren’t some who probably do this; there might be many and we only hear about the doofuses, but come on. Former NFLer Leonard Little killed someone doing it, then went out and did it AGAIN. Same with ex-MLBer Jim Leyritz.
Just in the last month, actress Amanda Bynes got busted TWICE! And she even Tweeted to President Obama to have the arresting officer fired. Charlie Sheen. Lindsay Lohan. And on and on. That’s what’s wrong with these people; the sense of entitlement. It’s the only explanation on why it keeps happening. Look, Joe Shmoes get hammered at their local watering hole, do drugs, whatever and then drive home all the time, all over the country. It’s reckless, irresponsible and beyond dangerous. But they can’t afford car services or have “people” and “handlers” to see to their every need to ensure it doesn’t happen. So why does it?
The guise of invincibility that’s come from years and years and being told how great you are and how everything is taken care of and nothing wrong will ever happen has these people believing it, that’s why. Look, if I was one of those guys and my life was pearls and caviar for me from a very young age, once I got to be somewhat of an adult I’d pretty much do whatever the fuck I wanted, too. But I hope I’d have the wherewithal to not drive myself anywhere while and after I did it. I don’t even drink and I’d have someone drive me all over creation, even when I was bored. My gym is literally a half mile from my house and I’d call a service to take me there.
It’s hilarious to me when the public gets shocked Ashton Kutcher had sex with some 20-something, that Allen Iverson is broke and Axl Rose flips out at a show. Why do we think virtually all of celebrity relationships are dysfunctional and fail, or they go broke when their playing days or acting days or rocker days are over or have substance abuse problems? They think the party never ends and nothing sticks to them. They are never told “no” because those who should be doing the telling are invested in their success.
Only John Gotti was the Teflon Don but even he went to jail. And died there. Unfortunately, I don’t think even that will slow this culture down.