I’ve been waiting a really long time to see Woody Allen in the flesh, and the other night I finally got to.
In case you’re curious, I wrote up my experience for Capital New York. But what the piece doesn’t mention is that I once spent the better part of two days camped out on a park bench near Central Park, waiting to catch a glimpse of Allen when I was seventeen in 1997. I never actually did get to see him, but I wrote a zine about everything else I saw. I’d like to imagine that there is still a copy stuck to the bottom of a box somewhere in my mom’s attic.
So in keeping with my tradition of telling embarrassing celebrity in a public forum, I figured I’d share the little tidbit that I basically stalked Woody Allen.