And then Trump and O’Donnell jump into the public arena and start swinging.
Thanks, guys, for making my job a little more difficult. I really appreciate it.
NFL receiver Terrell Owens did just about everything within his power to defy his coach and the Philadelphia Eagles organization. So, what happened to him? This ball of laughs was jettisoned to Dallas, receiving a lucrative deal with no apparent behavior clauses written into his contract. Then he left Dallas for Buffalo and another loaded contract. Finally, it was on to Cincinnati, where his career came to an end. Robert Downey Jr. has had numerous run-ins with the law over his drug use, yet he continues to act in movies and pull in millions for his roles in Ironman and Sherlock Holmes. O.J. Simpson netted a cool million for a failed book deal. The infamous Runaway Bride, Jennifer Wilbanks, inked a $500,000 deal to tell her story of deceit.
Just in case we’ve forgotten, here’s a gentle reminder of the facts of life: You and I are not celebrities. We don’t have their money. We don’t have their time. We don’t have their egos or insane desire for publicity. We are not able to race all over the world (in and out of rehab, sporting a shaved head, gallivanting around without any underwear) while we stick our kids with god-knows-who. We don’t have the luxury of spending a lazy afternoon with a filthy dictator. When we mess up we will not catch the breaks they do. In other words, all people are equal, but celebrities are more equal than others.
Hey, we have to learn our place in the barn, don’t we?
However, if after reading this you want to become a celebrity you need to keep one thing in mind: The number of people looking at you is directly proportional to the stupidity of your actions. In celebrity- speak that means it might actually pay to be an egotistical horse’s rear end. And if you have a little talent to go along with your outrageous behavior, you might go far. So, go ahead. Have at it. Only, don’t expect to have your old job waiting for you when you return from that world. That’s okay, because you won’t need it anyway.
You’re now a celebrity, and they play by different rules.
The Safety Fallacy
“Chance takers are accident makers.” Unknown
22 Minutes to Midnight…
The teenage party scene is bad enough without parents getting in on the act of purchasing the alcohol. Teens, you can well-imagine, flock to these events in great and enthusiastic numbers.
There are certain natural laws, regarding the teenage party scene, adults should be aware of when hosting or thinking about hosting illicit events of this kind. First, far more partiers will show up than were originally anticipated. It’s a mathematical certainty: invite 10, get 40. Invite 40, get 140. Word spreads quickly, and we can thank the age of cell phones for that. Every teen has one. Come to think of it, every six-year-old does, too. Second, where there is alcohol you can expect drugs. That’s not a mathematical certainty, just a sociological one. Also, depending on the number of participants, count on lots of noise, some vandalism, a fight or two, theft, public urination, vomiting, ticked off neighbors and, most probably, police. Once the whole mess is cleaned up, and everyone makes it home alive and in one piece, the host should consider himself lucky. Darn lucky.
But when things get out of hand, and the police and angry neighbors come knocking, many party hosts are nowhere to be found. Later on, they may scramble to put their spin on the situation: My wife and I went out to dinner and returned to a disaster. We got rid of everyone as fast as we could, officer.I didn’t see any alcohol. If there was any, and I highly doubt that, they were drinking it in the back yard.Kids just kept coming and coming in waves. It was scary. Or how about this red herring: Kids these days are completely out of control.
I have some advice for the good parents—the ones who hit the ceiling after they’ve discovered their son or daughter has attended one of these illicit get-togethers. After you’ve grounded your child for the next nineteen full moons, call the party hosts and, in no uncertain terms, express your extreme displeasure with their incredible irresponsibility. Tell them that your child will no longer be permitted over their house. Remind them of the host liability laws and tell them that, if your child had been hurt after consuming alcohol on their property, you would have sued them for a very hefty sum. Inform them that you will be reporting the matter to the police. And after you hang up, have the intestinal fortitude to follow through with your threats. It’s the only way these people will understand. Stick it to them so they’ll never forget what they did wrong. You may just save a life or two in the process.
Now, where am I going with all of this? Let me introduce you to possibly the lamest excuse for allowing teenage drinking in one’s home:
I’d rather they drink in my home than some place where they can get hurt or killed. At least I can see them and monitor the situation.
Extrapolating this logic ad ridiculum, I have a number of suggestions.
First, purchase every drop of liquor yourself. This way you’ll be certain that no date rape drugs, such as GHB or Ruhypnol, will find their way into the booze supply. Next, take the car keys from your guests as they arrive at your home. When all the youths have assembled for your little experiment, begin a mandatory ten minute Power Point presentation on safe drinking. Now you’ll want to guard against any frolicking behavior; after all, sex and booze are kissing cousins. Watch that all articles of clothing remain attached to their respective owners at all times. Be smart and hire private security guards to watch for theft, fighting and vandalism. When someone starts to get sloppy drunk, cut them off. Provide a safe vomiting area in the back yard. Circulate among your guests, demonstrating the proper etiquette for alcohol consumption. Hire a crack squad of designated drivers to get the intoxicated youths home safely. Better yet, have them spend the night. And finally, after it’s all over, pat yourself on the back for your ingenuity. Tell yourself what a cool and hip parent you are.
Imagine you are a frequent business flyer, someone who is in the sky just about every week of the year. Just prior to boarding a flight for Chicago one morning, the smiling gate attendant reminds you that your travel is not without risks. Given all the flights you take each year, there’s a 10-15% chance one of the aircraft will develop complications while en route. “The cabin of one of these planes,” she says, “could lose pressure at 30,000 feet. A hydraulic system might develop problems like that United DC-10 out at Sioux City years ago. Who knows? Maybe a tire will blow on take-off and you’ll have to make an emergency landing. Of course one of these planes could…well, we won’t go there.” Boarding pass in hand, you stare down the carpeted jet way. Do you go? How about it?
You’re a theme park junkie, bouncing back and forth between Disney, Universal and Six Flags several times a year. You challenge every thrill ride you can find. You’ve just strapped yourself in and are ready to take on that imposing boardwalk rollercoaster you’ve heard so much about. The carney guy snaps up your ticket and grunts that all these people who frequent rollercoasters during the year have a 10-15% chance of getting stuck at the very top for hours. Of course, one of these cars could derail. “Don’t worry, sport,” he says. “Eighty-five to ninety percent chance ain’t nothin’ gonna happen in a year’s time. If you had cancer, them would be dern good odds for recovery, dontcha think?” He pulls the lever. Your car jerks to a start and clanks forward. You’re on your way.
If you’re like me, I doubt you would take those odds. I know, with the airport example, I’d turn right around and head for my car. And then
