Everyone makes choices in life. For some, drugs are their escape from reality. Others choose bubbles.
I was in the barber shop - barber shop mind you! - waiting for my philosopher/barber to call out "next!" to me - and what did he have on TV? Not ESPN. Not CNN. Not even CNBC. He had the Wendy Williams Show on. Imagine that. Wendy Williams on in a barber shop.
Anyway, Williams had on as her guest the Bubble Man. So called because he blows gigantic bubbles. Does a show that's been appearing in a theater, if I caught what he said correctly, in Manhattan, for some five years. In between trips around the world to put on shows to adoring fans. Who actually pay to watch a grown man blow bubbles.
A form of escapism - my barber and I agreed.
"To some people heroin is escapism," he opined.
"To some, bubbles."
Which got me to thinking about a young, barely post-teen, lady, who is stuck on heroin. No matter how much rehab she undergoes, she always backslides.
The people closest to her are scared to death. Literally. Scared to death that one of these days she'll wake up dead.
At first, when watching Williams and her guest making fools of themselves and the audience eating it up like it was the greatest thing in the world, I thought they were all nuts. But my barber unknowingly put things into perspective for me.
I wish the young lady was hooked on bubbles like the studio audience watching Williams show. An audience I'll no longer make fun of for their choice of escape.