I don’t want to write about you, Charlie Sheen

Oh, how I’ve tried to avoid writing this post.

But Charlie Sheen has relentlessly imposed himself on American culture and its consciousness. Probably on a temporary basis, but who knows? Maybe his brand of crazy truly has staying power.

I doubt it, and I also doubt he’s as crazy as advertised. Oh, he’s clearly full of hubris, which sure seems to be misguided and misplaced. And he’s presenting himself as a frenetic, nonsensical, bouncing-off-the-walls parody of a cokehead and dry-drunk, both of which he probably is.

But I still think he’s acting.

If so, then he’s getting what he wants. We’re all tuned into the Charlies Sheen show now, unable to tear our eyes away from his choreographed, slow-mo train wreck. If that’s what he wanted, then he couldn’t be performing better.

But doesn’t he realize he’s locked in now? He’s typecasted himself – not just in terms of roles he must play, but of the life he must live. He got a preview of this new reality, when he took his uncategorizable road show and public-therapy session to Detroit, for its opening act. He was booed, and he bombed. Why? Not crazy enough. The masses got a taste of Crazy-Charlie, and now they demand the full buffet.

So if this is intentional, I say good job Charlie, and good luck. Can’t wait until the “sheen” (hyuck) of this weird new career of yours wears off, because I don’t want to write about it again. Because that’s the role I’m supposed to play, in the Sheen reality show, and I didn’t sign up for it.

So one post, Charlie Sheen, that’s all you get from me. Go be crazy on someone else’s time.