Kind of a Dick

A cranky eulogy

A friend of mine died last night.

He was kind of a dick.

He was one of the funniest, most charming people I’ve ever met. He was also a very talented actor and writer.

And an alcoholic. And an inveterate liar.

We did a handful of plays together, primarily one man shows. He wrote and acted, I directed and worked as a dramaturge. They were good plays.

We drank a lot together. This was New York City, I was in my 20s, on fire (not literally) with artistic passions, and passions in general. I remember some random Irish bar in Manhattan that had a “Frank n’ Stein” special, where for a dollar you got a boiled hot dog (the frank) and a stein of cheap beer (the stein; Meisterbrau as I recall). We haunted that place. They had huge selection of Schnapp’s flavors, and we’d torment the bartender asking for bizarre, nonexistent varieties (“Do you have any Owl-flavored Schnapp’s?”).

We often played a game as we drank. We’d order shots, but the only rule was, you had to come up with a good quote before you could drink it (and the other person had to approve of the quote). It’s pretty easy to think of a quote for the first two or three shots, but as you get drunker, it’s harder to think of one. And, the drunker you get, the more argumentative you become about whether a quote was good enough to earn the shot.

As I said, we created some good theater. But what I’m left with are mostly drinking stories. As talented as my friend was, and as much good work as we produced, his drinking became the defining factor. He alienated nearly all his friends eventually, through lying and alcohol-related irresponsible behavior (our own falling out occured when he got drunk the night before and missed a standing-room only preview performance of a very good play we had put together). I’m left with a sense of loss and waste at what was not achieved. I’m left with the heartbreak of unfulfilled promise. I’m left with a lost friendship.

Back at the beginning of this post, I mentioned how he was one of the funniest, most charming people I’ve ever met. But, if you were out with him, that was the first part of the evening. Jokes, stories, quotes, people buying you drinks, and, as a continuing throughline, a running conversation about acting and writing and the true goals of theater.

The second half of the evening was different. There was a change in him, almost instantaneous, like walking from one room into the next (a friend of mine and I referred to it as “the click,” where he switched from one personality to another). The jokes fell flat and became increasingly hostile. The conversations about art and theater turned into arguments. Witty observations turned to teary self-pity. The fun leaked away.

I’m not going to mention his name here. I’ve probably focused too much on his drinking to give you a full picture of the man, and so to lend a name to that picture would be unfair. This is simply my own truth about my friend. Ultimately, to me, the drinking overshadowed everything else.

Life is short, and art is long. We all fight demons as we take this journey. We all waste time, make mistakes, betray our art, abuse our friendships. I’m sorry you didn’t do more with your substantial gifts, my friend. We had some fun times, we created some good art, we built a friendship. We explored the wilds of New York City together. I loved you, and love you still. I’ll miss you.

No links today. I’ll refrain from trying to sell you anything.

Peace.