There are few celebrities that I feel compelled to follow, worship or stalk.
I’m not one to read-up on Hollywood blogs or flip through tabloid magazines in the grocery story checkout line.
There are a few that, for whatever reason, I feel drawn to—not as rich, flashy, famous commodities, but as actual people with actual lives and actual interest.
Some–hello, Brandon Boyd, Ricky Hall, Neal Fallon—are painfully handsome, but I’d like to think of this as a happy coincidence; most are musicians, actors or writers that I’ve seen perform live. Most I’ve watched in (many) hours of interviews and/or behind the scenes footage. These are the “celebrities” that I’d pick sipping whiskey with over making out with: the ones that seem the most human.
Then…. there’s Dave. He’s handsome, yes. Crazy-talented and positively hilarious. Intelligent and aware, you betcha. Fierce when he needs to be—absofuckinlutely. But mostly, he understands what kind of simple joy can be extracted from a fresh pot.
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