By:
The Dude on the Right
At first I was going to type a quick blog about my trip to the old country,
Lorain, OH, and how it might as well be called the old country because most
everything seems old there, but sadly not in a historic nature, rather in a
dilapidated nature. The newest thing there seems to be “The Black River Landing”
which actually looks nice, but sadly you have to drive through dilapidatedness
to get there.
The
thing is, after I thought about my trip to the old country, there was nothing
blog-quick about it because topics like “An Unpolished Jewel,” “A Big House That
Wasn’t So Big,” “A Lazy Squirrel,” “A Casino Would Give Me Something to Do,” and
“Asphalt Can Be Your Friend” need a little bit more effort to write than I am
willing to put forth this evening. And, oh yea, there would also be my
revisiting a previous blog titled
“My Hometown Slogan Should Be: Visit Lorain – It’s Like Driving on the Moon!”
because, well, you can still get that experience. But today I returned to
Illinois from Lorain and an overpass even welcomed me back, and as much as my
hometown might have entered my writing thoughts, there was something, or should
I say someone, whose troubles are more important than those of a city.
That someone is Lindsay Lohan.
The stories are storying, the rumors are rumoring, but it seems Lindsay
Lohan’s stint at rehab didn’t take, that pretty much fresh out of rehab she was
driving while intoxicated and that there was some white powder on her person
that is supposed to be cocaine. And what makes me sad is that as much as she
most likely has some addiction issues, I just wonder if she has any real friends
to truly be there for her.
As the story hit today some tabloids kept tabloiding about how she didn’t
take rehab seriously and got stuff smuggled in (if true, that’s not rehab and
she should get her money back), her assistant supposedly quit and Lindsay was
chasing her mother in her car (which led to her latest arrest), but everything
that seems to be missing, in every story, is anyone really seeming to give a
damn about her. You’ve got a publicist spinning things, experts spouting about
how being young and famous, with money, gets you in trouble, but for every story
about things like this happening to Hollywood celebrities you never see them
having any “real” friends, those kind of friends that would beat the crap out of
you, grab your keys, and not let you chase the mother of your assistant, in
their car. Those friends that would pour out half of your drink while you
weren’t looking so you wouldn’t get absolutely blitzed. Those friends, who, in
the middle of the night, if you called them and said you needed a ride home,
would be there (unless they were calling from a donut shop, pretending to be in
jail, and you knew they had enough money to take the El).
I had almost six hours driving back from the old country today, and for
whatever bizarre reason, after hearing how Lindsay got popped for being a
screw-up again, I wondered what I would do if she showed up at my door facing
what she is facing right now. I suppose I would let her into the dude-pad and
crash, but more importantly for her, I would introduce her to my network of
friends; Friends who were there when I had too much too drink; Friends who were
there when I needed advice; Friends who were there when I didn’t want advice;
And Friends who were there, because they really are my friends.
My advice to you, Lindsay: Get out of the Thirty Mile Zone, and find real
friends. If you want some help on the latter I’ll introduce you to a few of
mine, and as long as you aren’t a pretentious bitch, I’d bet some of my friends
might actually get along with you, and be there for you, when life gets fucked
up.
Because that’s what friends do.
Maybe in a couple of days I’ll write about a lazy squirrel. He, or she,
actually seems to have other inspirations. I’ll bet for him, or her, it’s all about nuts, and TMZ doesn’t matter.
That’s it for this one!
I’m The Dude on the Right!! L8R!!!
