Are they still your friends if you never see them?

That was the headline of an article this spring in the Atlantic about the so-called

friendship crisis of American men.

It was reported by Andrew McCarthy, the writer who is also famous for being part of one of

American pop culture's most iconic friend groups, the Brat Pack of the 1980s.

Andrew McCarthy is now 63 years old. He still acts and also directs, and he's been a professional writer for magazines like the Atlantic and National Geographic Traveler for years now.

Still, part of Andrew McCarthy is preserved in amber from those famous movies of the 80s.

For me, he will always be Blaine, that sweetie pie rich kid in pretty and pink who crosses class and click lines as he pursues Molly Ringwald.

I don't know. It's just too weird for me, you know. Maybe it shouldn't happen.

What, you and me?

Well, you know, maybe it doesn't happen all the time.

It doesn't mean it isn't right, right?

Doesn't mean you can't try.

And as the brat pack grew up, friendship stayed complicated.

Like in St. Elmo's fire, where Emilio Estefez, Demi Moore, Rob Lo, Ali, Shidi, and others were growing apart.

Andrew played Kevin, a cynical writer who keeps giving his friends relationship advice.

It's true love, my friend.

Love, love. You know what love is?

Love is an illusion created by laurotypes like yourself to perpetuate another illusion called marriage,

to create a reality, a divorce, and the illusionary need for divorce, Lars.

Andrew McCarthy is also known for other big creative swings, like falling in love with Kim Cottrell, who is also a mannequin in the movie Mannequin, and for paling around with his buddy and a corpse in Weekend at Bernies.

What kind of a host invites you to his house for the weekend and dies on you?

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