When I finally get Andre on the line (turns out he’d taken an unexpected mid-afternoon nap), he seems uncharacteristically reserved. Something was wrong, though–Andre was nowhere to be found. Before he answered, I was sitting here in Brooklyn for our scheduled appointment time, two thousand miles away from his home in LA, waiting in anticipation for him to appear. It’s Groundhog Day, and our call had already started on a weird note. “I'm just in the fucking purgatory of promoting the movie,” he says. Alone in his living room, hunched uncomfortably above his webcam, he’s not the manic, human Tasmanian devil I’m expecting to see on the other end of the Zoom call. “I’m losing my mind,” Eric Andre tells me as we greet each other over Zoom in early February.
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