I first met the impregnable Vince Vieluf outside of his humble bungalow once owned by Charlie Chaplin (fun fact: Chaplin’s brother Sydney once bit off actress Molly Wright’s nipple).  I greeted him with a handshake and he reciprocated by extending his arm and firmly grasping his hand around mine while we simultaneously bobbed our hands up down about 3 or 4 times, while politely smiling at each other and exchanging pleasantries. It was a blast from the past for me, because Vince starred in the very first rated R movie I ever snuck into as a youth, “American Werewolf in Paris.” He didn't seem to know who we were or what we were doing in his home but nevertheless offered us his finest vodka and electronic cigarettes. For some reason I wasn’t allergic to his cat.