I promised I would never name drop. But I’m a resident of Los Angeles and that’s just what we do. So I made a rule that I will only name drop completely sad, washed-up celebrities (see my entry on Carrot Top) and not celebrities that are actually relevant or respected.
So here goes. A week or so ago, while walking down the streets of West Hollywood, who did I see but Andy Dick! Yes, Andy Dick–sad, washed up drunken clown that he is.
Oh no, you protest! Andy Dick could not possibly be as sad, washed up, drunk or clownish as he is made out to be by the media! Surely that is part of his shtick! He’s probably cultivating that image for attention.
Judge for yourself. That night, Andy Dick was barely able to stand. He had a young woman propping him up and dragging him around the street like a grotesque, broken muppet.
He looked more than drunk–he looked dead inside. His pupils were like rocks floating in bowls of milk.
Naturally, I couldn’t help but stare. And as I looked into his vacant eyes, he came back to reality just enough to smile at me. He waved his hand in a fey movement approximating an effeminate tiger swatting its paw at a fly (did I need both the words “fey” and “effeminate” in that sentence? Yes. Yes I did). “Hello,” he said in that classic, Andy Dick voice.
And I had to chuckle. Oh, Andy Dick! He’s still got it.