Tragically though, it is.
Sorry to get your hopes up. I got the headline from a West Virginia mining company.
Did you wake up this morning to discover a giant worm standing in your kitchen, drinking milk straight from the carton while scratching it’s ass and accusing you of eating the last can of green beans which was specifically marked with his initials?
If so, you’re living under a rock – and you need a new roommate. But more importantly, you probably haven’t herd about the 12 WV miners who lost their lives after being trapped in a mine after an explosion (that’s just a great sentence there). And you probably haven’t heard about the magnificent communication fuck-up that gave the family members of the victims just about the worst case of false-hope in the history of tragic mining accidents.
But I’m not here to talk about that. I’m not here to ponder what could make the leaders of a mining rescue operation let people live with elated bliss for three hours, thinking their loved-ones were actually alive, before telling them “you thought what?! No. They’re dead! Well, one dude lived. But the rest are toast….you thought WHAT again?! That they were LIVING? Why? We said we FOUND the missing miners, we never said that they were STILL BREATHING!”
No I’m not here to talk about those morons. Nor am I here to discuss the families of the miners who act like this is something new. Much has been made of miners in the last 24 hours. “Saints of the Soil?” Perhaps. After all, they’re making us infinitesimally less dependant on foreign fossil fuels. But more than that, all morning as we’ve been hearing of their underground heroics, we’ve been entertained with the history of coal miners. As it turns out, coal mining is a family affair. Like firefighting, police work and the mafia. If there’s a dangerous job to be done, chances are that the only idiot your going to find to do that dangerous job is the genetically challenged idiot child of the idiot who had the job before. It makes a lot of sense.
But – and I know that there is a lot of grief talking here – the good people of WV (my home state by the way! According to the famous John Denver song: It’s “almost heaven.” I assume that by “heaven” he meant “Virginia”) act as if they had no knowledge of the dangers of coal mining. Look, I’m not a coal miner, I never want to be a coal miner. I’ve got the lungs of a coal miner, sure, but what I’m seriously lacking is the desire – and fortitude.
It’s hard work to be a coal miner. See, I recognize this. Without one single day of experience. Are you telling me that the people who are steeped in it really expect it to be safe? I’ve learned a few things in my time. Mostly from movies. And I’ve learned a few things about coal miners. One: their daughters can really sing. And two: eventually every coal miner alive is going to be killed in a horrible mining accident.
My heart does go out to the families of the victims. It really does. Really. I know you don’t believe me. I am being a bit snarky and callous after all. But I do feel bad for them.
All I’m saying to the victim’s families is this: your husband/brother/baby-daddy wasn’t getting that fat old check every other week because he scored so high on his GED…
“Hazard pay” is called that for a reason (one that has surprisingly little to do with the “Duke Boys”).
But I’m not here to talk about them. I’m here to talk about Lindsay Lohan. And believe it or not, there is a connection.
Celebrities earn ridiculous amounts of cash for a couple of reasons. One of the reasons is because of their talent. Some actors just deserve to get paid that much. Their talents are so unique.
Another reason is the hazard pay I just mentioned. See, eventually most celebs realize that they’re going to fade away and/or need extensive drug and alcohol treatment. And that don’t come cheap. And for the actors who have remarkably little talent, the talent-to-drug-addict-pay ratio becomes shifted against them. Hence, in their prime, they ask for vast amounts of cash and hope that it’ll hold out until such a time as when they finally find themselves face down at a party in Miami Beach lying unconscious in a puddle of Tara Reid’s puke.
That is if the money hasn’t run out. If they hadn’t spent all of it in the days when they desperately tried to write off “retail therapy” on their taxes as a medical expense.
And some celebrities find that day has come sooner than expected. Which brings us to darling Lindsay. In a recent interview for Vanity Fair she admitted to being bulimic and using drugs “a little.” But she insists that her drugging days are behind her. She’s gotten that “out of her system.” Oh, good.
She was really spiraling downhill, what with her stupid daddy and the fame and money and all, but she’s back on track now. She’s putting that all behind her now. And she credits friends for the change in lifestyle. Even SNL producer Lorne Michaels got in on the act, warning her about her health after an appearance on the show (good old Lorne, always looking out, like he did with John Belushi and Chris Farley). Lohan started “crying” because she knew she “had a problem” but “couldn’t admit it” to herself.
But now she’s admitting to everything. Well, almost everything. She claims to have never used cocaine. Sure. Okay, Lindsay. I believe you. The bulimia made you that skinny. Skinnier than any bulimic has ever been? Okay. Whatever you say.
Don’t you fret though. Lindsay’s going to be just fine. She’s not using drugs. She’s fine, just fine. No tragedies here. Nope. And I don’t think it’s too soon to say so either. What harm could come from relaying messages of hope – even if they are a few hours too soon?!
Lindsay’s in the hospital now, sure. But that’s because of an “asthma attack” that occurred at a New Year’s Eve party in Miami. An asthma attack that was definitely not brought on by cocaine dust or whisky fumes or, god forbid, Tara Reid puke.
Fun Fact: There’s a new TAM Cartoon up today! Newtastic!
And all this talk about the West Virginia debacle and Lindsay Lohan made me realize something…
I really want Lindsay Lohan to fall into a mine.