Samuel l. jackson is a character, even when he isn't acting. Sitting in a tidy Italian restaurant in the Westwood section of L.A., Jackson, 46, brings a little attitude to the joint. All around him are business suits and designer outfits; Jackson wears a T shirt that says HARLEM, NEW YORK, below a picture of a funky-dreds fellow with an African rainbow stripe across his forehead. This restaurant is populated by careful coifs; Jackson, a man of many hats, sports a bright white beret over his famously thinning hair. He stands out just enough. Jackson brings a sharp sense of identity into any situation. He doesn't even answer simple questions in a predictable fashion. Like, what does the "L." stand for? "Lucky!" he says with a cackle. (Actually, it's Leroy. He just feels lucky.)
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