From Bookslut, on NewYorker.com, here's Ian Frazier:
Dined this evening in company at Enrique’s Little Havana, an eating place (with dancing). Of a sudden, came a measure of stirring music, and through the door strode a man of good figure and erect carriage, wearing a light-colored nankeen suit and spectacle, of a tint so opaque as to hide the eyes within. Instantly, I recognized the celebrated Don Johnson—this despite his stature, which was in appearance somewhat shorter than in the portrait at the National Gallery. At the first opportunity, I took leave of my party, made my way to his table, and, emboldened by the warmth of my sentiment, clasped him by the hand. Conveying to him my admiration in the strongest terms, I added that I had many questions that I hoped one day to discus, with him, and inquired whether I might call upon him some afternoon at his trailer. In the silence that ensued, my heart raced in anticipation of another of Don Johnson’s famed epigrams, when, with a look at his companions at table, Don Johnson replied, "Hey. Who is this wing nut?"
Just as brilliant today as 1986, when it was originally published. Read it.
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