In one of the most poignant essays on the human psyche in the last 20 years, author and social color man Chuck Klosterman wrote:

You are not like Cal Ripken Jr. You aren’t that dedicated, you aren’t that intense, and you care about your job a whole lot less. Ripken might be your favorite player of the past 25 years, but the two of you have almost nothing in common. In fact, I bet there are many days when you wish you could just take a suitcase of money to Australia, drop out of society, grow out you hair and smoke cannabis all afternoon while having sex with whoever you felt like. In fact, if you had the chance, you’d probably do it tomorrow. But you know what? I bet you also think Ricky Williams is despicable.

I can’t read Bode Miller’s mind, but I bet the interior monologue bouncing around his cerebral cortex sounds something like this: “My job is OK, and I’m good at it. I suppose I could even be better if that was the only thing I cared about, but I’m not sure what the benefit of that would be, beyond appeasing a bunch of people I’ll never actually meet. And if I can get paid this much money for being myself, why would I want to force myself to become somebody else’s caricature? I’m already content with who I am.”

Now, it is possible that such sentiments would make you hate Bode Miller even more.

It’s also possible you hate him because you feel exactly the same way.

This is exactly why you hate Charlie Sheen but would trade places with him in the time it takes to microwave a Hot Pocket.  You hate him for unfulfilling his talent, but love him for fulfilling his life. Morality aside, he’s having the fucking time of his life. A better time than me. A better time than you.  

You have a mortgage payment. An outstanding credit card bill. A sick child. Car repairs. A coworker who makes you want to quit. 

You hate him because he doesn’t have to deal with this. But you love him because he put himself in a position where he doesn’t have to.

You would run off to an island and roast marshmallows with Ricky Williams and let the tropical rain fall on your tongue alongside Sheen.

But you won’t do this. You won’t because you cannot and would not want to deal with the repercussions. But Sheen does. He puts out a welcome mat and starts a pot of coffee for them, and that bothers you. 

You hate Charlie Sheen because we have to force ourselves to become someone else’s caricature.  We agree with bosses when we don’t want to. We hold our breath with co-workers when we don’t want to. We appease friends, partners, boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands and wives.  We constantly accept less than we think we deserve in the name of the greater good.

Charlie Sheen would tell you he is the greater good. Then he would wax poetic and use onomatopoeia effortlessly in a sentence because the son of a bitch is better spoken than you.

We appease people. He appeases himself. That’s sounds disgusting, but really, really fucking amazing. Kind of like McDonald’s.

Which you ate last week.

You gorge one way. He gorges another.  But of course he’s doing coke so he’s not gaining any weight.

We all want freedom. You may choose to become a writer or an artist or a business owner if you ever obtained it, but freedom is freedom, whether you’re doing what your passion calls you to do or a hooker named Luscious from Dallas.

He has freedom. Do you?

Probably not. It’s why we watch CNN, read People and check TMZ.com. We won’t risk leading his life, but we’ll risk staying up late enough to catch up.

So make fun of his exploits. Call him immature. Call him deranged. Or tell your friend Julie that he has lost it.

Or have you lost it?

He’s the one calling all the shots. We have to go to Squeaky Pete’s on Thirsty Thursday to get the same exhiliration.

Which is more depressing? That, or $200 whores?