Eat Pray Love Stalk
My second post as a celebrity stalking blogger and I’ve already dispatched an assistant to do my dirty work. That’s code for “A major motion picture is filming in my neighborhood, but I’m trapped on a bus to Hartford, so I’ve sent my husband on a mission to collect photographs.”
The aforementioned major motion picture is Eat, Pray, Love, based on the memoir by Elizabeth Gilbert that I haven’t read. It stars Julia Roberts. And you can turn that IMDB rumor into a trumor: James Franco does indeed costar. That’s right, my intrepid reporter/husband snapped a photo of Mr. Franco heading down Atlantic Avenue to his trailer. Mr. Franco and I have something in common; we are both students at creative writing MFA programs in New York. Of course, it wasn’t enough for him to outdo me in the looks, fame, and wealth department. He’s also showing me up by attending two schools, whereas I only go to one. And I haven’t even started yet. Oh well, I guess I won’t be chatting him up about the writing life at a local coffee shop anytime soon. Sorry, James. I’m on location for my job, too, in Vermont. Actually, on a bus.
So above is the photo John took of James Franco, after walking five feet behind him for quite a while, but waiting until he crossed the street to take James’s picture. John didn’t see the point in taking a picture of his butt, but I bet there are plenty of people who would be quite pleased to see a picture of his butt (James’s, not John’s, although let me tell you, John has a really great butt. It’s just not famous. Yet.) As you can see, the photo was taken at 164 Atlantic Avenue, Brooklyn–the border of Cobble Hill/Brooklyn Heights, aka, a view I can see from my bedroom window. Maybe, just maybe, immediately after this photo was taken, James Franco looked up and tried to peep into my room. It would serve me right. But the joke is on him, because 1) I just got new blinds. And 2) I’m still on a bus to Hartford. Looks like only one of us will have our privacy violated today, James.
We actually learned about the shoot yesterday, when embarking on a failed mission to sneak onto public tennis courts without a permit (we wound up driving to Long Island to play tennis. Ridiculous, especially when you consider how much I suck at tennis.)
The telltale shooting (film, not violent) signs were in full force: trucks with film equipment, important looking people talking on cell phones, nosy neighbors (like me!) congregating on the sidewalk, and no parking signs everywhere. And I mean everywhere! They stretch several blocks on Clinton, Atlantic, and Pacific. Guess we won’t be moving our car ever again. And by ever again, I mean Tuesday when the street-sweepers come.
We spotted burly men bringing film equipment into 172 Pacific Street, which is this adorable white house with a red door and beautiful windows–one of the places we fantasize about owning if we had a bazillion more dollars. And of course, we felt a smug pride that some film director shared our tastes. We were remarking on how obviously totally awesome our neighborhood is because this is the second shoot this week, when we passed by two men.
Before I continue with this story, it’s important for you to know that on my way to play tennis yesterday, I looked like this, except that I wasn’t even trying to make the Julia Roberts face that John coached out of me here:
“Hi, Julia.” One of them said. I choked out some sort of confused, nervous giggling sound. But I’ve gotten slightly bolder in my two forays into celebrity stalking, so I asked them what was shooting.
“Eat, Pray, Love,” They said. “With Julia Roberts.” Score double. A huge, major movie being shot in the nabe (God, everytime I use that word it sounds like a body part, so that shot in the nabe sounds like a hideous sex crime! Sorry!), and an allusion to my having some sort of celeb like qualities. Probably the glasses. But I’m going to pretend it was the confident, sexy charm.
Today I had hoped to spot some real celebrities before embarking on my work trip, but ran out of time and thus sent John to do so. So far he’s been better with the info than the evidence (He’s too polite to shove his iPhone in people’s faces). He was able to confirm that the actors’ trailers are located on Atlantic Avenue, between Clinton and Court. Even more exciting, he actually spotted Julia and walked right past her, but claimed he was “too close” to comfortably take a picture. Sounds like I should have trained my staff a bit more thoroughly before leaving town. (Trained my staff can also sound dirty if you want it to).
He did, however, snag a photo of the real paparazzi, waiting around for one of these stars to show up.
Such waiting is a lot easier to do if you live nearby, so you can run upstairs and pee, or change your outfit to blend in on set and maybe get cast as an extra (see my post on Gossip Girl).
And here’s a photo confirming the filming, so it doesn’t just sound like I made this whole thing up in a desperate effort to drum up blog material.
But stay tuned, faithful reader. If John snaps a pic of Julia, you’ll be the first to know. Actually, I will. But I promise to share it with you right away.
Until then, I’ll try to absorb some of the self-helpy message of the film: I already ate pancakes this morning, I’m praying for a great picture of Julia, and I’m loving my life as a Celebrity Stalkward blogger.