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Today’s CM News Roundup (yeah, we know we’ve been off the air for a while) highlights a Yahoo News article (apparently pilfered from AP) that features Dr. Drew Pinksy, “Addictionologist” to the Hollywood glitterazi, who opines in a VH1 TV special that celebrities are very difficult to run through rehab because of the Tinsel Town drug culture and ever-present posse sycophants who enable stars’ dangerous drug habits:
Dr. Drew: Addicted Celebs Need More Time in Rehab
LOS ANGELES - Hollywood has a serious drug problem, and isn't committing the time it takes to fix it, according to Dr. Drew.
Not only are substances plentiful and socially acceptable in most celebrity circles, but stars who seek treatment often opt for abbreviated programs in exclusive environments, Drew Pinsky, host of radio's "Love Line" and VH1's "Celebrity Rehab," told The Associated Press.
Drew, who has studied what draws stars to drugs, presents his findings in the hourlong "VH1 News Presents: Dr. Drew's Celebrity Addiction Special," which airs Tuesday.
"Today, in the celebrity world, we're seeing an addiction epidemic," Pinsky said, adding that the disease of addiction is more deadly than cancer.
"If you had cancer, you would drop everything," he says. "You would take whatever time it needed to do the treatment and do what it takes to get out on the other side. Here's a disease that is more dangerous, and we can't get people to take three months."
These compound challenges give celebrity drug addicts a "bad prognosis," Pinsky told The Associated Press.
"I don't like treating celebrities," he said. "It's not a group I would seek out of a population I would necessarily treat as a separate goal because they're very, very difficult."
Well, Doc Pinsky, excuse us for even daring to disagree, but we here at CM have been chunked out of enough Malibuvian glitter pig soirees we crashed by haughty little men in security uniforms to know that this “fast-lane, all-the-party-people-made-me-do-it” meme is just the same lame line every puffed-up Movieland shrink spouts when shilling for his over-imbibed, under-the-influence narcissistic clientele. We have our own theories, if you don’t mind (and even if you do, thank you very much), so be so kind as to step aside, Herr Dr. Freud.
We here at CM have noticed, even if it escaped you Dr. P, that not only do the Hollywood jet set have big, important movie and TV careers to tend to, but many of the best and brightest (i.e., as in shiny, not by intellect) in addition have a whole world to save and select super-special pet-issues to take care of. That all puts them under a lot of big-time stress, way too much for their immensely creative talents to possibly absorb, so what do they do? They get sloshed, bombed, and stoked up on whatever stuff they can get their famous little fingers on. And who can blame them?
Just you try going out in a leaky boat you left the bilge plug out of (because you really don’t know what the hell you’re doing) to try and save Katrina victims in a hurricane-flooded New Orleans. Make a long-distance run on a pollutant-spewing private jet to play a turgid rock concert under hot lights watched by fewer people than you'd find at a Code Pink full monty, just to please Al Gore by raising “global warming awareness.” Take a shot at threatening to leave the country every time a conservative Republican comes close to winning a major elective office (except maybe for Ahnuld). We’re betting, Doc, that you’d wind up just like them, in a crumpled, vomiting, whining heap on the marble-tiled floors of the Betty Ford Clinic.
Truly, nobody knows the trouble they’ve seen. Why just the other day, we swear we caught a glimpse of the jugular Susan Sarandon and hubby Tim Robbins each shouldering a balsa wood cross spray-painted rainforest green with a wheel on the end, dragging them through an intersection on Rodeo Drive. That’s one helluva way to walk outta the country if you ask us, but when you’re all strung out on good Hollywood-quality dope, well, who knows? But it explains a lot.
Well anyway, Doc, good luck with pounding some industrial-strength sanity into the drug-addled pinheads of the California canyon flick-trash uppercrust. No disrespect meant to young, troubled actors, but If playing a throw-away role like the Joker in a Batman, junior summer seat-warmer is enough to drive one to OD, you’ve really got you’re work cut out for you.
Certainly nothing easy like us ordinary schmucks got it out here in the “other America,” where it’s all Red-Pop and rainbows.
Monsoon
