I am rather perplexed to report that I just smacked—-BAM!—-right into Robin the fuck Williams on Third Ave., near the W Hotel. Indeed, Robin the fuck Williams! This is what happened:

I was jauntily making my way to the SIFF press office at The W Hotel, when LO! Robin the fuck Williams suddenly came sauntering towards me, wearing sunglasses and being rather bowlegged. Recognizing me immediately (as he ALWAYS does), he exclaimed “ADRIAN! My GOD! You look AWESOME! Come! Let us proceed to my suite, where we shall indeed smoke gargantuan mountains of weed and discuss every little thing!” or something. And so we did.

OR!

I was jauntily making my way to the SIFF press office at The W Hotel, when LO! Robin the fuck Williams, in sunglasses and rather bowlegged, came ambling up the sidewalk. I recognized him immediately (as I always do), and, rather startled (running into a legend on Third Ave. is always a soupcon surreal), I launched myself at him, bellowing, “Mr. Williams! Good heavens! How do you do!”, to which he smiled politely as if I were some kind of lunatic and responded, “How YOU doin’? just like Joey on Friends, but in that practiced way that all big stars learn in order to keep the general street flotsam at arms-length. Then he just continued bowlegged and sunglassy up the street, and vanished at last around a corner, leaving an eddy of twitterpation in his wake. I then proceeded to the SIFF Press Office, where I screamed something like “OH MY GOD! I JUST RAN INTO FUCKING ROBIN WILLIAMS ON THE STREET!” to everyone in the room, and they very kindly did not have me arrested as a crazy person. For which I thank them. I thank them sincerely.

One of these accounts is perfectly accurate. Which one? I’ll never tell.

But it was the first one. Word.