Many years ago I was seeing a fellow from Los Angeles. Let’s call him Don Draper. Apart from his being a decent guy, one thing I still remember about Don was that he said he had been to a few parties that Charlie Sheen also attended. Which is different from partying with Charlie Sheen, it must be noted. Not that I would judge if Don had partied with Charlie Sheen, something to tell the grandkids about, after all. And Don, who was in all respects a clear-eyed assessor of situations, reported that “Charlie Sheen was the drunkest conscious person I have ever seen in my life.” He said it was sad. And that people were laughing/aghast at the the spectacle. Now if D., who was not in the entertainment business, had seen this, then hundreds if not thousands of others must also have seen it. And this was way before Denise Richards and the third wife with the knife and the adorable little kids. (But apparently not before the porn stars … ahem.)
Now if Charlie Sheen were a struggling, say, bicycle messenger or assistant librarian or homeless guy, his story would be tragic. Pure and simple. In fact, if Charlie Sheen were someone I actually knew, his story would be tragic. But given the safe remove of celebrity and the fact that Sheen has millions of dollars and every resource imaginable, there is something awfully, terribly, ironically comical about his situation — and let’s not deny it schadenfreude-able.
Maybe it’s better to just think of Sheen as someone for whom money has distanced “the bottom” that everyone else hits so much sooner. Sorry, Charlie. Really.