Herb Fellow
New Member
The clientele at Maha Yoga is what you might expect at 4pm on a Saturday at a studio in Los Angeles: high-powered female lawyers and their preteen daughters, muscle-head male models, and a smattering of NPR (National Public Radio) listeners. Then Woody Harrelson walks in the side door, red-eyed, stubbled and bleary. He's come straight from Los Angeles airport. "I just got back from Kentucky," he says in his familiar laid-back drawl.
"I was working with a scientist on a new invention that will revolutionise how we clean up sewage. It's cool. Usually our government treats our toxic sewage waste with even more toxic chemicals, then declares it safe for drinking. The method we're developing does it without chemicals, and it's 85 to 90% clean when it comes out. I think we're gonna start with hog waste."
He claps his hands together. "All right!" he says. "Let's do some yoga!" He unzips his hemp yoga bag (which goes with his hemp yoga pants), removes his hemp yoga mat, unrolls it 10 yards behind me, and starts to stretch. The instructor glides into the room. "I know that dude," Woody says. The dude knows Woody, too. "Hey, what's happening, Woody?" "Not much, man," Woody says. "Good to see you back!"
An hour and a half later, after a vigorous class, we're lying perfectly still on our mats in the quiet, low-lit room. As the yogi starts to talk us back to full consciousness, there's a loud, hacking snore. Even as we're told to open our eyes, the snore continues. I look behind me. Woody is lying on his mat, snoring away. If this were a cartoon, he'd be keeping a feather aloft. We sit up cross-legged. He's still snoring. The entire class chants "ohm" together. Woody sleeps on through, even when the lights come on. Finally, he snorts awake, looks around, and hops up bright-eyed and refreshed, as if he'd just slept 10 hours. "I always fall asleep during shavasana," he says. "It's the best rest I get."
"Woody" the bartender from Cheers is a distant memory now, and the leading-man Woody of Indecent Proposal, Natural Born Killers, and The People vs Larry Flynt is in deep rerun mode on cable. Even Harrelson's best-known political actions — getting arrested for scaling the Golden Gate Bridge to protest the logging of California redwoods, and for planting hemp seeds in Kentucky — are more than a decade ago. Today's Woody, 46, is a mature model, less in-your-face. After years of soul-searching, including a virtual five-year hiatus from film acting, he's fully at ease with himself, but still unique, even deeply strange. As an activist he's Abbie Hoffman crossed with Al Gore, using his winking charm to put people at ease, then subtly bending the room to his will. As an actor he's found a new niche: taking on eccentric, challenging, often supporting roles in movies he wants to do. It's kept him busy. He's in half a dozen films this year alone, from the new Semi-Pro (a comedy set in the 1970s starring Will Ferrell) to the quieter Battle in Seattle (an indie docudrama about the 1999 World Trade Organization — WTO — protests) to Management (a Jennifer Aniston romcom).
Lately, Harrelson has been working with some of the best directors (Robert Altman, Oliver Stone, the Coen brothers) while trying to develop a multi-billion-dollar process that would mass-produce paper without wood pulp. Under the stoner facade is a guy who gets things done.
Kent Alterman, the director of Semi-Pro who cast Woody as the veteran player of a basketball team, tells an interesting story. "Woody, between sets, was always playing basketball. He had an uncanny ability to have fun and have an awareness that he was performing. We had this crowd of extras, who he kept engaged and entertained. He'd start trying crazy shots backwards over his head at half-court. He had everyone watching him, and at a certain point he'd hit the shot, and people would go crazy."
It's the same dramatic flair he employed in 2001 when he rode a bike from Seattle to LA accompanied by a biofuelled bus, to advocate leaving a lighter carbon footprint. The trip was made into a documentary, Go Further.
The two Woodys, the crowd-pleaser and the rabble-rouser, may seem at odds, but not to Woody. "A pretty amazing thing happens in this industry when you have success," he says. "Everyone tells you you're great, and you become like world royalty. Wherever you go, doors open. In one sense it's wonderful, but in another it narrows your focus, so you end up becoming a little too self-focused."
A number of factors led him to have a break from Hollywood in the early 2000s. A political backlash against the Larry Flynt film — a role that brought him an Oscar nomination — slowed down the leading-man offers, he says. And he made a conscious decision to back away from the "hedonism/narcissism" and instead "hang with the fam".
"It was gonna be a couple of years, then it turned into five," he says. "Best decision I ever made." His journey led him to Maui, where he lives with his wife, Laura Louie (an environmental activist and his former assistant), and their three daughters (aged 1 to 15). They live in a remote coastal town called Kipahulu, a place where there are no shops other than an adjacent organic farm called Laulima, which has baked goods for sale. Residents make poi (woven flax) at a community centre and allow no genetically modified organisms to cross the town's boundaries. Woody has been there for about eight years now, after being introduced to the Maui way of life by his good friend Willie Nelson.
"I'm sure glad I found it," he says. "It's an amazing community of people. It's off the grid, there's no power lines. Most of the people there, including us, run their vehicles, tractors and stuff off biodiesel. We all get together for Thanksgiving and look after each other's kids. It's a real community, like one I've never been a part of in my life."
After the yoga class Woody takes me to Planet Raw, a cafe in Santa Monica that calls itself "the first living vegan organic restaurant". I tell him I've never eaten at a "raw" restaurant before. With all sincerity, as though he's prepared the food himself, Woody says: "Aw, I hope you like it."
We order endives stuffed with pine-nut cheese, a wild-mushroom stew, Thai soup, salad with black-truffle dressing, an elixir of fuji apple, ginger, pomegranate and lime, lasagne with macadamia ricotta and zucchini noodles, and pesto pizza with deep-dish crust. "For food-combining purposes," the restaurant recommends eating dessert first, so before we dig into all that, we have a pumpkin "cheesecake" and some chocolate-liquid "s'mores" (layered biscuits). The food has hues not normally seen at meals: obscure pinks and purples and greens, like dinner on Venus.
Between bites of truffle salad I say to Woody: "I read somewhere that you have life licked." He says: "Sometimes I do feel that way. Inside my circle of family and friends, I feel great about everything. But there's so much f***ed about the world, particularly the industries that make up the American world economy being the puppet masters to all the politicians. Then us, below that, saying what the hell are we gonna do? And that I find so intensely frustrating."
We talk for a while about his activist work, about corporate greed, the uselessness of jailing people for victimless crimes. But with Woody, the conversation inevitably turns back to the environment. "It's like we're all on the Titanic," he says. "And it's a wonderful party and the violins are playing. Yeah, we feel a big bump, we may even have heard somebody shout, 'We hit something,' but it's the Titanic. We can't go down. Listen to some music, drink more wine. And I'm all for that. The party of life. But on the other hand, I'd seriously have to be lacking sensitivity to not be aware that we're in major trouble right now."
A woman approaches the table. "Hi, Woody," she says. "How ya doin'?" he says enthusiastically, as if he's known her his whole life. "I just wanted to say I really enjoyed the documentary you did about no corn dogs." "Oh, go further." "It was awesome." "Thank you. I appreciate it."
When she leaves Woody tells me how he plans to go even further. "As soon as I get a period when I'm not working, I'm going to go to a small island in Hawaii, a really remote place, and drink the water right from the stream. And then consume nothing else for 40 days. I've always wanted to do it. I mean, I don't take it lightly. I know it's gonna be hard. But can you imagine? Eating nothing for 40 days? Swimming and surfing every day in a remote place? Where does the mind go?"
Joe Hickey is the grandson of a Kentucky hemp farmer.
In the early 1990s he became one of the state's leading advocates for growing hemp. He persuaded the governor to start a task force and got the Kentucky state senate to allow hemp crops. But the movement got bogged down in the state legislature and Hickey needed help. "My son answered the phone one day," says Hickey, "and said, 'Dad, Woody Harrelson's on the phone.'
I answered the phone, and it sure sounded like Woody. We hit it off. That was on a Monday. He came in on a Friday, was gonna stay two days, ended up staying four, and had his wife flown in."
From there, Hickey and Harrelson hatched a plot. They called in the police and media to watch Woody plant hemp seeds, which led to Woody's arrest, which led to an epic trial, which led to Woody getting off and the limited legalisation of hemp as a crop in Kentucky. Hickey became the head of Tierra Madre, Woody's company that helps develop alternative eco-friendly technologies, and helps run Voiceyourself.com, Woody's website. And they became the best of friends. "Woody's such an affable character," Hickey says. "He moves through the world with ease. There is nobody in the world that is more honest than he is. If you ask Woody a question, he's going to tell you the answer. He's not going to beat around the bush."
Woody's collection of friends would be the envy of anyone: Owen Wilson, Sean Penn, Javier Bardem, Matthew McConaughey, Willie Nelson, and just about anyone else who's ever met him. "He's not a guy who's gonna keep you out of his life," says Tom Ballanco, an activist attorney who's worked with Woody on many causes. "He's fun to be around. Not in the sense that it's always a party, though there is that aspect. It's more often going to the beach or doing yoga. It's fun because he's right there. I've seen him converse with presidents, janitors, people on the street, and that alone is quite an attribute."
What Ballanco really admires about Woody is, unlike some celebrities, he's no armchair activist. "He really lives the life he's advocating. He gets a lot of respect from a lot of actors and other celebrities higher up on the list."
By all accounts Woody has been a steady support for his buddy Owen Wilson after Wilson's suicide attempt last year. Woody isn't particularly forthcoming about this.
"What I can tell you is pretty minimal," he says over dinner at Planet Raw. "I think he's doing amazing. He hit a low point, and he bounced back beautifully. But I do think he's one of the greatest guys I've ever known."
He's even less forthcoming when I ask him about his father, Charles Harrelson, a contract killer who died in prison last year and who sometimes claimed he was the man who actually killed JFK. "He was in prison from 1968 until he died," Woody says. "He was [only] out for a little over a year in 1979. He was a brilliant guy. Great storyteller, really fun to be with. But the skills that he ultimately possessed were taught to him by this government." Meaning he was a soldier? "He was asked to do some special things for the government. They wanted to know if he really wanted to serve his country." What are you referring to? "Let's leave a little ambiguity there."
Though Woody backed an effort in the late 1990s to get his father a new trial for his murder case, and visited him in prison late in his life, his father didn't play a huge role in his upbringing. Woody's mother, a strict Presbyterian, raised him and his two brothers in Texas and Ohio — until he went to New York to pursue an acting career and at 24 became a regular in Cheers.
Woody scowls a little, looks down, and begins twiddling on his BlackBerry. It's almost as though a thundercloud has descended over the table. For a moment, instead of Woody the bartender, I see Natural Born Killer Woody, the guy who gets into scuffles with bouncers, cab drivers, and paparazzi, the guy you wouldn't want to mess with. Then Juliano, the founder of Planet Raw's cuisine, stops by the table, and Woody turns all fun and smiles again. Juliano wears a multicoloured striped shirt and smells of patchouli. He lives upstairs and invites us to his place for dinner "for something else raw".
We finish our meal and pay. Woody stands up and pats me on the back. "Let's go, wild, man," he says. As we head toward the lift I notice Woody isn't wearing shoes. He hasn't been wearing shoes all day. "Yeah, I was in a cold climate," he says. "And I had these big f***ing boots on. I wasn't going to wear them here." Pause. "I really do need to get some shoes though."
We spend most of our time in Juliano's pad listening to the chef pitch a screenplay he wrote about an animal vivisector who becomes an animal-rights activist. It's called Simon Says, and it also features a boy who goes off into the forest, hides out with a chimp, and emerges a vegetarian. This project, Juliano says, would be perfect for Woody, at least to have his name attached as a producer.
"Well, give me the script," Woody says. "That's all I can do." The pitch goes on for a while longer. We talk about other things. After a while, Woody stands up and stretches. "I think I should take off," he says. He looks around. "Hey, Juliano, you got any sandals?" Juliano goes into his closet and pulls out a pair of dress shoes that would have been fine if Woody were going to a bar mitzvah. The only other pair are some black "vegan earth shoes" with holes at the big toes. "What do
I care?" says Woody, who's wearing a dirty old sweatshirt. "You see how I dress. It's not like someone's going to say, 'What's with the shoes?' "
We move toward the door. "Man," Woody says. "I have to go to Hollywood for a friend's birthday party, but I really want to get home."
As he stands there I can see the exhaustion wash over him. Then he's back again. "One time," he says, "I was in Lithuania, and they had this box they put people in..."
Woody and I go down to the street. It's a good thing he has the shoes, because it's pouring down. "I should have a car here waiting for me," he says. A black luxury SUV pulls up. "There it is," Woody says. "Get in. We'll drive you to your car." The driver is one of those impossibly handsome Hollywood chauffeurs. He knows Woody well. A little rainstorm doesn't bother them. "This is nothing," says the driver. "Remember when we went the wrong way on Highway 1 to get to a play?" "That was some good driving," Woody says. "I had my emergency lights blinking and everything," says the driver. "We absolutely had to get there," says Woody.
"It was imperative."
When I get home there's a text message from Woody, my new best friend, on my mobile phone. "Pleasure hangin' bro," it says.
Source: Times Online
Copyright: 2008, Men's Journal
Contact: Neal Pollack
Website: Woody Harrelson likes nothing more than a bit of yoga - Times Online
"I was working with a scientist on a new invention that will revolutionise how we clean up sewage. It's cool. Usually our government treats our toxic sewage waste with even more toxic chemicals, then declares it safe for drinking. The method we're developing does it without chemicals, and it's 85 to 90% clean when it comes out. I think we're gonna start with hog waste."
He claps his hands together. "All right!" he says. "Let's do some yoga!" He unzips his hemp yoga bag (which goes with his hemp yoga pants), removes his hemp yoga mat, unrolls it 10 yards behind me, and starts to stretch. The instructor glides into the room. "I know that dude," Woody says. The dude knows Woody, too. "Hey, what's happening, Woody?" "Not much, man," Woody says. "Good to see you back!"
An hour and a half later, after a vigorous class, we're lying perfectly still on our mats in the quiet, low-lit room. As the yogi starts to talk us back to full consciousness, there's a loud, hacking snore. Even as we're told to open our eyes, the snore continues. I look behind me. Woody is lying on his mat, snoring away. If this were a cartoon, he'd be keeping a feather aloft. We sit up cross-legged. He's still snoring. The entire class chants "ohm" together. Woody sleeps on through, even when the lights come on. Finally, he snorts awake, looks around, and hops up bright-eyed and refreshed, as if he'd just slept 10 hours. "I always fall asleep during shavasana," he says. "It's the best rest I get."
"Woody" the bartender from Cheers is a distant memory now, and the leading-man Woody of Indecent Proposal, Natural Born Killers, and The People vs Larry Flynt is in deep rerun mode on cable. Even Harrelson's best-known political actions — getting arrested for scaling the Golden Gate Bridge to protest the logging of California redwoods, and for planting hemp seeds in Kentucky — are more than a decade ago. Today's Woody, 46, is a mature model, less in-your-face. After years of soul-searching, including a virtual five-year hiatus from film acting, he's fully at ease with himself, but still unique, even deeply strange. As an activist he's Abbie Hoffman crossed with Al Gore, using his winking charm to put people at ease, then subtly bending the room to his will. As an actor he's found a new niche: taking on eccentric, challenging, often supporting roles in movies he wants to do. It's kept him busy. He's in half a dozen films this year alone, from the new Semi-Pro (a comedy set in the 1970s starring Will Ferrell) to the quieter Battle in Seattle (an indie docudrama about the 1999 World Trade Organization — WTO — protests) to Management (a Jennifer Aniston romcom).
Lately, Harrelson has been working with some of the best directors (Robert Altman, Oliver Stone, the Coen brothers) while trying to develop a multi-billion-dollar process that would mass-produce paper without wood pulp. Under the stoner facade is a guy who gets things done.
Kent Alterman, the director of Semi-Pro who cast Woody as the veteran player of a basketball team, tells an interesting story. "Woody, between sets, was always playing basketball. He had an uncanny ability to have fun and have an awareness that he was performing. We had this crowd of extras, who he kept engaged and entertained. He'd start trying crazy shots backwards over his head at half-court. He had everyone watching him, and at a certain point he'd hit the shot, and people would go crazy."
It's the same dramatic flair he employed in 2001 when he rode a bike from Seattle to LA accompanied by a biofuelled bus, to advocate leaving a lighter carbon footprint. The trip was made into a documentary, Go Further.
The two Woodys, the crowd-pleaser and the rabble-rouser, may seem at odds, but not to Woody. "A pretty amazing thing happens in this industry when you have success," he says. "Everyone tells you you're great, and you become like world royalty. Wherever you go, doors open. In one sense it's wonderful, but in another it narrows your focus, so you end up becoming a little too self-focused."
A number of factors led him to have a break from Hollywood in the early 2000s. A political backlash against the Larry Flynt film — a role that brought him an Oscar nomination — slowed down the leading-man offers, he says. And he made a conscious decision to back away from the "hedonism/narcissism" and instead "hang with the fam".
"It was gonna be a couple of years, then it turned into five," he says. "Best decision I ever made." His journey led him to Maui, where he lives with his wife, Laura Louie (an environmental activist and his former assistant), and their three daughters (aged 1 to 15). They live in a remote coastal town called Kipahulu, a place where there are no shops other than an adjacent organic farm called Laulima, which has baked goods for sale. Residents make poi (woven flax) at a community centre and allow no genetically modified organisms to cross the town's boundaries. Woody has been there for about eight years now, after being introduced to the Maui way of life by his good friend Willie Nelson.
"I'm sure glad I found it," he says. "It's an amazing community of people. It's off the grid, there's no power lines. Most of the people there, including us, run their vehicles, tractors and stuff off biodiesel. We all get together for Thanksgiving and look after each other's kids. It's a real community, like one I've never been a part of in my life."
After the yoga class Woody takes me to Planet Raw, a cafe in Santa Monica that calls itself "the first living vegan organic restaurant". I tell him I've never eaten at a "raw" restaurant before. With all sincerity, as though he's prepared the food himself, Woody says: "Aw, I hope you like it."
We order endives stuffed with pine-nut cheese, a wild-mushroom stew, Thai soup, salad with black-truffle dressing, an elixir of fuji apple, ginger, pomegranate and lime, lasagne with macadamia ricotta and zucchini noodles, and pesto pizza with deep-dish crust. "For food-combining purposes," the restaurant recommends eating dessert first, so before we dig into all that, we have a pumpkin "cheesecake" and some chocolate-liquid "s'mores" (layered biscuits). The food has hues not normally seen at meals: obscure pinks and purples and greens, like dinner on Venus.
Between bites of truffle salad I say to Woody: "I read somewhere that you have life licked." He says: "Sometimes I do feel that way. Inside my circle of family and friends, I feel great about everything. But there's so much f***ed about the world, particularly the industries that make up the American world economy being the puppet masters to all the politicians. Then us, below that, saying what the hell are we gonna do? And that I find so intensely frustrating."
We talk for a while about his activist work, about corporate greed, the uselessness of jailing people for victimless crimes. But with Woody, the conversation inevitably turns back to the environment. "It's like we're all on the Titanic," he says. "And it's a wonderful party and the violins are playing. Yeah, we feel a big bump, we may even have heard somebody shout, 'We hit something,' but it's the Titanic. We can't go down. Listen to some music, drink more wine. And I'm all for that. The party of life. But on the other hand, I'd seriously have to be lacking sensitivity to not be aware that we're in major trouble right now."
A woman approaches the table. "Hi, Woody," she says. "How ya doin'?" he says enthusiastically, as if he's known her his whole life. "I just wanted to say I really enjoyed the documentary you did about no corn dogs." "Oh, go further." "It was awesome." "Thank you. I appreciate it."
When she leaves Woody tells me how he plans to go even further. "As soon as I get a period when I'm not working, I'm going to go to a small island in Hawaii, a really remote place, and drink the water right from the stream. And then consume nothing else for 40 days. I've always wanted to do it. I mean, I don't take it lightly. I know it's gonna be hard. But can you imagine? Eating nothing for 40 days? Swimming and surfing every day in a remote place? Where does the mind go?"
Joe Hickey is the grandson of a Kentucky hemp farmer.
In the early 1990s he became one of the state's leading advocates for growing hemp. He persuaded the governor to start a task force and got the Kentucky state senate to allow hemp crops. But the movement got bogged down in the state legislature and Hickey needed help. "My son answered the phone one day," says Hickey, "and said, 'Dad, Woody Harrelson's on the phone.'
I answered the phone, and it sure sounded like Woody. We hit it off. That was on a Monday. He came in on a Friday, was gonna stay two days, ended up staying four, and had his wife flown in."
From there, Hickey and Harrelson hatched a plot. They called in the police and media to watch Woody plant hemp seeds, which led to Woody's arrest, which led to an epic trial, which led to Woody getting off and the limited legalisation of hemp as a crop in Kentucky. Hickey became the head of Tierra Madre, Woody's company that helps develop alternative eco-friendly technologies, and helps run Voiceyourself.com, Woody's website. And they became the best of friends. "Woody's such an affable character," Hickey says. "He moves through the world with ease. There is nobody in the world that is more honest than he is. If you ask Woody a question, he's going to tell you the answer. He's not going to beat around the bush."
Woody's collection of friends would be the envy of anyone: Owen Wilson, Sean Penn, Javier Bardem, Matthew McConaughey, Willie Nelson, and just about anyone else who's ever met him. "He's not a guy who's gonna keep you out of his life," says Tom Ballanco, an activist attorney who's worked with Woody on many causes. "He's fun to be around. Not in the sense that it's always a party, though there is that aspect. It's more often going to the beach or doing yoga. It's fun because he's right there. I've seen him converse with presidents, janitors, people on the street, and that alone is quite an attribute."
What Ballanco really admires about Woody is, unlike some celebrities, he's no armchair activist. "He really lives the life he's advocating. He gets a lot of respect from a lot of actors and other celebrities higher up on the list."
By all accounts Woody has been a steady support for his buddy Owen Wilson after Wilson's suicide attempt last year. Woody isn't particularly forthcoming about this.
"What I can tell you is pretty minimal," he says over dinner at Planet Raw. "I think he's doing amazing. He hit a low point, and he bounced back beautifully. But I do think he's one of the greatest guys I've ever known."
He's even less forthcoming when I ask him about his father, Charles Harrelson, a contract killer who died in prison last year and who sometimes claimed he was the man who actually killed JFK. "He was in prison from 1968 until he died," Woody says. "He was [only] out for a little over a year in 1979. He was a brilliant guy. Great storyteller, really fun to be with. But the skills that he ultimately possessed were taught to him by this government." Meaning he was a soldier? "He was asked to do some special things for the government. They wanted to know if he really wanted to serve his country." What are you referring to? "Let's leave a little ambiguity there."
Though Woody backed an effort in the late 1990s to get his father a new trial for his murder case, and visited him in prison late in his life, his father didn't play a huge role in his upbringing. Woody's mother, a strict Presbyterian, raised him and his two brothers in Texas and Ohio — until he went to New York to pursue an acting career and at 24 became a regular in Cheers.
Woody scowls a little, looks down, and begins twiddling on his BlackBerry. It's almost as though a thundercloud has descended over the table. For a moment, instead of Woody the bartender, I see Natural Born Killer Woody, the guy who gets into scuffles with bouncers, cab drivers, and paparazzi, the guy you wouldn't want to mess with. Then Juliano, the founder of Planet Raw's cuisine, stops by the table, and Woody turns all fun and smiles again. Juliano wears a multicoloured striped shirt and smells of patchouli. He lives upstairs and invites us to his place for dinner "for something else raw".
We finish our meal and pay. Woody stands up and pats me on the back. "Let's go, wild, man," he says. As we head toward the lift I notice Woody isn't wearing shoes. He hasn't been wearing shoes all day. "Yeah, I was in a cold climate," he says. "And I had these big f***ing boots on. I wasn't going to wear them here." Pause. "I really do need to get some shoes though."
We spend most of our time in Juliano's pad listening to the chef pitch a screenplay he wrote about an animal vivisector who becomes an animal-rights activist. It's called Simon Says, and it also features a boy who goes off into the forest, hides out with a chimp, and emerges a vegetarian. This project, Juliano says, would be perfect for Woody, at least to have his name attached as a producer.
"Well, give me the script," Woody says. "That's all I can do." The pitch goes on for a while longer. We talk about other things. After a while, Woody stands up and stretches. "I think I should take off," he says. He looks around. "Hey, Juliano, you got any sandals?" Juliano goes into his closet and pulls out a pair of dress shoes that would have been fine if Woody were going to a bar mitzvah. The only other pair are some black "vegan earth shoes" with holes at the big toes. "What do
I care?" says Woody, who's wearing a dirty old sweatshirt. "You see how I dress. It's not like someone's going to say, 'What's with the shoes?' "
We move toward the door. "Man," Woody says. "I have to go to Hollywood for a friend's birthday party, but I really want to get home."
As he stands there I can see the exhaustion wash over him. Then he's back again. "One time," he says, "I was in Lithuania, and they had this box they put people in..."
Woody and I go down to the street. It's a good thing he has the shoes, because it's pouring down. "I should have a car here waiting for me," he says. A black luxury SUV pulls up. "There it is," Woody says. "Get in. We'll drive you to your car." The driver is one of those impossibly handsome Hollywood chauffeurs. He knows Woody well. A little rainstorm doesn't bother them. "This is nothing," says the driver. "Remember when we went the wrong way on Highway 1 to get to a play?" "That was some good driving," Woody says. "I had my emergency lights blinking and everything," says the driver. "We absolutely had to get there," says Woody.
"It was imperative."
When I get home there's a text message from Woody, my new best friend, on my mobile phone. "Pleasure hangin' bro," it says.
Source: Times Online
Copyright: 2008, Men's Journal
Contact: Neal Pollack
Website: Woody Harrelson likes nothing more than a bit of yoga - Times Online
