Cobble Hill tea shop Bedazzled by Orlando Jones

I'm in the Tea Lounge on Court St. right now where the counter dude is talking about how Orlando Jones came in yesterday. He recounted the following conversation, as overheard by me:

Employee: Dude, should I know you?
OJ: I don't know, should you?
Employee: Dude, I think I know you from somewhere.
OJ: Yeah, we used to date
Employee: I really recognize you. Are you famous?
OJ: I don't know, am I?

Then the two employees launched an extended conversation about Orlando's D-list celebrity status (I think he's a C at least people, c'mon) and the movie Evolution, which, as you will recall, was unmemorable save for the glorious return to the limelight for Michael "Donkey Lips" Bower, who was last previously spotted in a contestant pool on Singled Out in 1995 (true story).

Was Orlando Jones here for the filming of the special Drumline episode of Gossip Girl? No, he was just going to see a movie at the cinema across the street, according to the employee. His choices were: Milk, Slumdog Millionaire, Rachel Getting Married or Bolt.

On a related note, I had pomegranate-flavored 7-up with Seagram's 7 on Saturday night. I don't remember anything being wrong with regular 7-up, but pomegranate up yours was acceptable.


[Hey, apparently Orlando Jones went to College of Charleston but didn't get a degree. Who knew?]

OMFG: Gossip Girl spotted in Brooklyn

Walking around Court Street yesterday before work, I kept seeing these large, rather fancy looking trailers lining the streets. At first I thought it was portable bathrooms for a nearby construction project, but then I noticed they were lining several blocks. Other guesses were that they were some sort of blood mobile, or maybe a portable STD clinic for the homeless, or perhaps, since they had fancy wooden doors attached at the entrances, some sort of roving home goods show of kitchen fixtures, Formica counter tops and bathroom sealants. I was tempted to walk in one to see what sort of public offerings were inside, but I'm still deferential to my limited knowledge of the machinations of the city. For all I know, those trailers were no big deal, no one in the neighborhood even notices them any more, and they just come by every week to offer free lube in preparation for the upcoming subway fare hike stiffie.

Way off. Turns out, they're filming Gossip Girl in the nabe this week. I stumbled across the scoop on Cobble Hill Blog. Here's some of their pictures:


This would be much more interesting if I A) had any idea who any of the people on Gossip Girl were; or 2) knew anything in the world about the show other than it seems to be another example of our culture's maddening idolatry of the lives of wealthy, spoiled douchebags and douchebaggettes.*

Here's a completely out-of-context quote I just found online:
Chuck: Archibald. Isn't it about time you ended this bromance? What happens at Yale stays at Yale.
Nate: [to Dan] Hey man, let's go.

Meeting Justin Long was way cooler.




*I'm curious -- can anyone who watches this tell me how this stacks up on the brain activity scale against the Laguna Beach/The Hills crap?

Hi I'm a Mac, and I'm soaking wet

Turns out Chris the Giant and I were in the same showing of Slumdog Millionaire last night with Justin Long, BKA the Mac guy. This accounts for my first celebrity interaction in the city (well, after Common, I guess). But more importantly, my degree of separation from Jonah Hill is now down to 1.

Here's what happened. We attended a late showing at the Angelika Theater on West Houston Street last night, amid a torrential rain storm that proved, despite what your science teachers and Jim Cantores of the world have told you for years, it can be well into the 20s and still refuse to stop raining. I went to the bathroom after the movie and when I returned, Giganti said, "Hey, I think that's the guy from the Mac ads over there. Also from Live Free or Die Hard."

Where? I asked, immediately arming my archers of skepticism to shoot down his presumptions. This had happened before of course, with Giganti once (and still adamantly to this day) making the absurd claim that he saw Lauren Ambrose drunkenly stumbling down the streets of Savannah about two years ago.

"He just walked out the door." So we followed and to my surprise it was indeed Justin Long, hunching his shoulders into his coat as he headed out into the cold rain. So I ran up and talked to him briefly. The following conversation ensued:

Me: Hey, can I ask what you thought of the movie?
Justin Long: Yeah, sure. I thought it was really great. I really enjoyed it. It was amazing.
Me: Cool man. My name's Tim.
Justin Long: Justin, nice to meet you man. (I wonder if a lot of people probably think his name is "Mack," I thought. We shook hands).
Me: Dude, can I just say, Accepted is a totally, totally underrated movie.
Justin Long: Oh thanks man. Yeah, we worked really hard on that one so I appreciate it.
Me: It doesn't get the credit it deserves. But just know that a bunch of us out there dig it.
Justin Long: Thanks man, thanks a lot.
Me: Keep it up.
Justin Long: Sure -- thanks, take it easy Tim.

He was with some girl, very much not Drew Barrymore, though in honesty I probably still would have been more interested in talking to him even if he was with Drew Barrymore.

The weirdest part about running into him last night was that on Wednesday, I pretty much had my mind set all day on going to the Barnes and Noble in Park Slope to see John Hodgman , aka "PC," speak about his new book. But then I got a migraine and took one of those pills that are either 80 percent placebo or 100 percent concentrated Nyquil-lined opium, and passed out for two hours. But either way, those pills work blackout good.

And, FYI, Slumdog Millionaire is gigantically well done.

I was pretty disgustingly wet by time I got home last night, so much that I had to drape clothes over the space heater. But even in the worst storm, it's usually worth venturing out into the rain to see what New York has to offer that night.

Even coyotes hated House of Wax

I'm of the caste of individuals who could care as much about the exploits of a stuck-up heiress (or former heiress, at least) as I do the sales figures for Darius Rucker's new solo CD, a copy of which is inexplicably sitting on the makeshift cardboard table next to my desk. I'm a firm believer in the argument that individuals should actually have to DO something to achieve a modicum of public attention, and that this entire school of celebrities-because-they're-celebrities makes me want to erl in my hummus. I once regularly read a Web site (sadly, now defuct) for a group that regularly protested Paris Hilton book release events and organized boycotts of Carlos Mencia's visual abortion that somehow got mislabeled as a television show.

This news story is horrible in its implied brutality. But something about it seems so .... so ... crunchy. Read.

It's the same kind of perverse pleasure I would get if those guys responsible for the horrendous Disaster/Epic/etc. Movie franchise came home one day to find their production equipment stolen and replaced with a trailer full of the creatures from Tremors 2. Man, that would be a sweet, sweet victory for art.

Does this make me a bad person? Probably. But seriously, 17 dogs? Even Acme products can't fail all the time.