Whilst walking past the NewsCorp. building this morning on my way to get coffee I bumped into John Voigt. First thought that popped into my head: “fuck, he’s tall!”

Friendly guy - I said good morning, received an obligatory reciprocation to my pleasantry.

Thumbs up to Voigty.

Four pints into a six-pint night at the Heartland Brewery on 51st and 6th Ave with a client, I walk outside for a cigarette break and bump shoulders with Elijah Wood, who’s on his way in. My first thought: “fucking hell he’s small.”

I came back in and rejoined my client over our frosty brews, and I was gestured in the general direction of a now eating Frodo sat behind us.

Baggins in the house… LOVE this kind of shit.

So I’m coming out of the Chinese takeaway on Flatbush and Park Place, and about to cross the Flatbush race track, when I notice to my right, David Rasche. If you’re an 80’s kid like myself, you’ll remember him in Sledgehammer - the ultimate retro crime show - I lived on that program. And here he was, donning a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, looking, may I say, great. I turned to him and said “David?” (not remembering his last name right away), and he grinned - he obviously thought I knew him… I introduced myself, told him I was sorry for bothering him (as we all know the “stars” hear it all the time) and reached out to shake his hand. The man reciprocated. Awesome.

Anyway, that’s my wee story in this mellow ‘hood of Brooklyn - David Rasche’s a neighbor.

Random - I fucking love it.