The Line Between Smut and Sad
At a certain point, it ceases to be fun. At a certain point, it becomes dangerous…and very, very sad.
Britney came close, Britney came extremely close. And now Lindsay Lohan is verging. I looked at these new photos and the snark was gone, replaced only by… pity. Once upon a time, a beautiful young actor died on Sunset Boulevard, and while Lilo isn’t a fraction of what he was, at the same time, it would suck if she doesn’t get the chance to try and fail miserably.
Images taken last night, Lohan with Samantha Ronson after a night at Teddy’s just a day after her irresponsible crash. As you can see, she is nowhere near sober, cuts all over her hand, had to be carried about by security, seemingly passed out in the car with Samantha behind the wheel wearing a 30 days token.
Hollywood irony at its best, I suppose.
But this is a girl not even 21. Could have lost her life just 48 hours prior. Rather than putting her on lockdown, for some reason, the people around her are letting her loose yet again.
They say a parent can only do so much. Never been one so I guess you wouldn’t be wrong in saying I’m in no position to comment. Indeed many of you will vehemently disagree. But there was a time – not so extreme, mind you, she was only objecting to a boy, a terribly toxic relationship – when my mother feared I was making a colossal mistake. And she practically chained herself to my arm, after throwing herself at the door and telling me I would have to kill her if I wanted to leave. She was undergoing dialysis at the time – pale and gaunt with kidneys that had failed her, optimistic but frightened and on top of all that, her only child was pissing her life away.
It’s the kind of drama typical of my Chinese Squawking Chicken, but looking down, seeing the woman who birthed me prostrate at my feet, begging me to listen, willing to go to any lengths to save me from myself instead of choosing the arm’s length approach, having had enough of the “let her find her own way” book of raising your kids, I know she did what she thought she had to do.
I left anyway that night. Only to return an hour later, the guilt eating me alive, the memory still burns at the shame of being the cause of a parent’s desperation and the painful realisation that you have hurt the ones who love you so much…
I have no idea what Dina Lohan is thinking. But between what she’s doing or not doing and my mother’s hysterics, even someone as clueless in the art of parenting as I am, well I don’t think I’m entirely out of my tree when I say, comparatively at least, the Squawk Way is the Better Way.
Because at this rate, Lindsay Lohan will be fun smut no more.