It’s a hard thing to admit, but last night I dreamt I was hanging out with Cory Feldman. We were doing Cocaine in his kitchen in the middle of the day and I was getting him to do my answering message. ‘Hi, This is Corey Feldman. Jason can’t come to the phone right now, so…’
When I first began interviewing people–first for my little interview zine, Wooooo, and later for real magazines–I was blown away by how easy it was to gain access. I found myself having dinner with folks so famous I’d have to pinch my leg under the table to make sure I was really there. How could it be that this little nobody from the sticks was sharing a plate of Spring Rolls with Karl Lagerfeld? Really? Meeting and interviewing the celebrated and distinguished was as simple as making a dental appointment, so I was beside myself when I realized that I might eventually make contact, and more than likely become buddies with one of my childhood heroes: Corey Feldman.
Say what you want, but back in the day Corey was brilliant. In movies like The Goonies and The Lost Boys he shone like no other child actor, and he made me want to wear a bandana and be a cheeky little smart-ass just like him. What can I say? I’m impressionable, and to this day I’ve only really taken off the bandana.
Right now I’m making a new issue of Wooooo (really), and I’ve got a hit-list of interviewees I’m ticking off; Corey is one of them. ‘Now’s the time,’ I thought, ‘for me and Corey to meet. We’ll be insta-homies and he’ll teach me to moonwalk.’ But when I googled him to see where he was and who he was represented by, I found that he’s a recent divorcee on a one-way trip to Charlie Sheen town. He’s in a weird place, Corey. He has a gaggle of strippers living with him called ‘Corey’s Angels,’ and he’s throwing bizarre $250-a-head sex parties at his mansion. At first I was like, ‘that’s pretty sad,’ but now I think, ‘fuck yeah, Corey! Do you’re thing. It’s completely insane, but you do it. And p.s. your latest song is catchier than herpes on Ko Samui. I love it. Talk soon.’