I used to love me some Cheryl Hines. She oozed equal amounts of restrained sarcasm and goofy “I could have maybe had an outside shot at her in high school” sex appeal while navigating the zany world of Larry David. I even watched her in RV with Robin Williams, aided by only one bottle of scotch. Okay, I watched four minutes of it then flipped back to a rerun of “Street Hawk”. Anyway, Cheryl was doing press for a movie about monkeys throwing poop in space or something and was asked about working with Lindsay Lohan, who she is currently filming Labor Pains with. It’s all shits and giggles, according to people.com:
“I have had a great time shooting with her, and when we have scenes together we have a lot of fun improvising,” Hines, 42, told PEOPLE Saturday at the Los Angeles premiere of her new animated film Space Chimps, to which she lends her voice as astronaut chimp Lieutenant Luna. “It usually ends in a big laugh fest, and they have to cut because we can’t talk anymore.”
“It was what I expected,” Hines said of Lohan’s professionalism. “I honestly expected that she’s gotten herself together, and really wanted to work and that’s what she’s showing us. I’m very proud of her.”
Come on, Hines. Let’s put it out there like it should be. You should’ve said: “What a nice change of pace to have Lindsay being unable to speak her lines because she’s laughing and not because she’s washing down nose candy with 3-week-old bong water.” And how can that be what she expected? When I pissed my bed for 12 days straight when I was six, I fully expected to do it again on the 13th day.
Maybe I’m the a-hole, but are we actually saying that we’re proud of someone who has been given forty-some-odd chances to simply show up on time and say her lines without puking, all the while collecting no less than $10 million? She’s just doing what she’s paid to do, right? It’s like saying we’re proud of surgeons for not killing people on the operating table, or proud of cops for not beating someone senseless when they are arresting them (okay, that one applies), or proud of crack whores for giving up there bodies for smack.
The only time someone ever told me they were proud of me was when my mom called me because “that white arrow-thingy” disappeared on her computer screen and I walked her through it on the phone. She said thank you, then asked if I was washing my underwear after every use and when I was getting a real job. It was a proud moment for us both.