Tag Archives: paparazzi

Is it wrong to steal a celebrity’s fruit?

I ask, only because our prestigious (I’m told) and extremely popular (I’m guessing) actress neighbor Rachel Bilson has an ornamental Japanese fruit tree in her front yard that overhangs the sidewalk.

Every April, the tree is a prodigious producer of yellowy, rubbery fruit called loquats, most of which drop to the ground, turn bad, and get squished. So, as a public service to keep the street clean, when my partner and I go for our evening stroll, he will usually reach up, pick a couple, and eat them – while I walk ahead in a jaunty manner, whistling, and trying to pretend nothing illicit is going on behind me, just as I do when he decides he needs to pee urgently and rushes off into someone’s garden.

Anyway, in the event of a court-case, let it be known that I neither approve of stealing, nor participate in it. Not for reasons of conscience, but because I happen not to like loquats.

Still, the qesstion remains: is my partner really committing a felony here?

My lawyer would say no. And if he didn’t say no, I’d fire him and get another. Here’s why.

Being in movies, Bilson – who is marrying Hayden Christensen, for reasons not obvious to the rest of us – struts the public stage. In that sense she is the property of us, her adoring (and in one particular case slightly puzzled as to who she is or what she’s done) fans.

Now extend that idea. If she’s going to let fruit hang down outside her home into a public area, doesn’t that kinda make that fruit ours in the same way?

My replacement lawyer, if he knows what’s good for him, would say yes.

Sidebar. Our friends used to own Bilson’s house. They, in turn, bought it from Noah Wylie, the E.R. actor. According to them, he left the place a real mess. For instance, when he had the kitchen installed, apparently, he didn’t buy regular units like the rest of us would do. Instead – again, according to our friends; this is just a passed-along rumor snippet – he had NBC set-builders come in and construct a kitchen set in his house, one that was so badly done that it had to be ripped out in its entirety and replaced with a real, workable kitchen our friends could actually use. 

And before you go rushing off and telling this to people, I am immediately distancing myself from the information. I can’t confirm that it was a TV kitchen set, or that Wylie was the one who installed it. Maybe the owners before him were amateur set-builders and they did it. But I certainly saw the room before our friends did the ripping, and it was pretty crummy. 

Anyway, my point is, the loquat tree used to belong to Noah Wylie, then to our friends, and that’s when we started taking fruit off it. So, in a sense, we’re really just carrying on that same sacred tradition with La Bilson, right? I mean, every tradition has to start somewhere.

At the very least, R.B. should consider this a pay-off for the massive weirdness and inconvenience she’s causing by being popular. 

I say this because in recent weeks the paparazzi have resurfaced in the street. Damn, it’s so annoying. Creepy little weaselly foreign-looking men in unmarked cars hog the curb for hours and hours and hours on end each day, waiting for her to emerge, hoping they can grab a couple of snaps of her walking, or staring up at her loquat tree, wondering where all the fruit’s gone, and sell them to TMZ and Entertainment Tonight

Walking by yesterday, I could tell she wasn’t even there. Her truck had gone, the place was empty. Yet still they sat and waited and watched. It’s very unnerving.

I wanted to go up to them and yell, “Get a life!” Or at least take a photo of them for a change and post it on here for you; teach them a lesson. But I thought they might see me and beat the crap out of me. These little thugs are like a sissy mafia; they’re very temperamental. 

Worse still, we have to make sure they’re not out there with their cameras when we pass the loquat tree. To take fruit under cover of darkness is one thing. To have it appear on the front page of The Enquirer next week is another.     

Oh, the shame.

 

TV Swami – he say YES to fruit theft.

www.cashpeters.com.

3 Comments

Filed under Television commentary

Attention! Celebrity Neighbor Alert.

Pssst. Listen up.

So last night I go for my usual evening walk. Around 9.30, after American Idol, to calm down and get my sanity and sense of perspective back. Anyway, I’m coming home again, mind wandering, mouth snacking its way on automatic through a bag of 65% reduced fat Kettle chips, when a car whizzes by and shudders to a stop some way off, just past Rachel Bilson’s house.

A yellow car.

A yellow two-seater Mercedes convertible car. With the roof down.   

And we all know who that belongs to, right?

Hayden Christensen!!! The Star Wars guy. Natch.

So immediately I do what anyone would do. I cross over the street to make sure I pass by as closely as I can. For research purposes.

It’s pretty dark at this point, therefore details are hard to come by. Also, I guess he’s on the look-out for paparazzi or reporters, being as he’s marrying Rachel Bilson ‘n’ all and those scuzzy press seem to care about the both of them way more than the rest of us do. All the same,  he sees me heading his way and hurriedly puts his roof up. One of those roofs that rich people keep in their trunk, and which unfolds at the press of a button, like an awning.  Or the weapons shield on an X-wing fighter, which I guess he’s more used to.

Now, bear in mind, he’s sort of parked in the middle of the street at this point, about twenty feet past his fiancees’s home. All very strange. And I’m walking towards him faster than the roof is closing.

Having sped up to beat the roof, I now slow down again for full effect, while pushing Kettle chips into my mouth in a remarkably casual way, like I’m waaaaaay too hungry right now to bother about celebrities sitting in the middle of the street in cars with the roof kind of open like an envelope flap. But then, suddenly – and here’s the thing – at the last second, when he thinks I haven’t seen him, I swivel my head and stare right into the vehicle. Bang boom bang. Just like that.

It’s like a scene from Star Wars, only without the drama, dark deeds, seductive dialogue, or rip-roaring green screen fights and special effects.

Quite obviously, he’s shocked by this turn of events. Maybe he was going to wait until I’d passed, then reverse into Bilson’s driveway. If so, he scotches that plan immediately and tears off down the road in a panic, disappearing from sight.

But wait! That’s not all.

When he turns at the end of the street, he turns right, not left. That’s a key sign. Left would take him towards the city. Right, on the other hand, takes him in a full circle around the block, bringing him back to where he started – Bilson’s house, only this time without all the hassle of passers-by walking along, eating Kettle chips, staring in his window and thinking, “Oooh, Hayden Christensen, you look so different when you’re not surrounded by droids.”

And that’s it. My exciting celebrity neighborhood exclusive for today.  There may have been more, but I had to rush into the house to pee. Made me think, though – what kind of life is that? Where you can’t even pull up at your fiancee’s house in the dark when there’s nobody around without fearing that that guy eating chips over there is secretly following you and about to pounce? I mean, come on. As it was, his instincts were right on and his fears totally justified. Still, that’s no way to go about things. That’s not freedom, it’s celebrity enslavement. I felt quite sorry for him, actually.

Of course, it might not have been Hayden Christensen at all. That’s possible. It might have been some guy in a yellow Mercedes convertible identical to Hayden Christensen’s who just happened to stop in the street outside Rachel Bilson’s home to put his roof up.

All the same, I am expecting competing bids from People magazine and US and Entertainment Weekly for rights to use this in their next issue.  And you know what I’ll say when they call? I’ll say, “No. This is for TV Swami. Please stop calling me.” And as I put the phone down I’ll be all cocky and puffed up with pride, followed by thoroughly despondent for the rest of the day when I realize how much money I’ve just lost by saying that.

I’m such an idiot sometimes.

TV Swami – he say NO to the pop media jackals.

 www.cashpeters.com

Leave a comment

Filed under Television commentary

Rachel Bilson causes BIG problems

As if I don’t have enough to worry about.

We have a celebrity problem in our neighborhood. It’s an infestation really. Too many stars living in a small area. At the top end, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie own the big house on the hill. Then there are the also-rans: the guy who played Jon-Boy in The Waltons lives close by, as do Courtney Love, David Hyde-Pierce, and Michael Feinstein. Alright, not stars per se, but certainly performers whose faces you recognize, even though you might not be able to put a name to them if you met them in Target.

Speaking of which, I came across Angelica Huston pushing a cart around Wholefoods a few weeks ago. I guess she saw me staring at her like Freddy Krueger, because she panicked and veered off up another aisle.

Our current menace in the street is Rachel Bilson. Personally, I couldn’t pick her out from a crowd of one, but Howard Stern nominated her as the “hottest chick” of 2008, and I see her drifting around her driveway sometimes with big celebrity sunglasses on, so at the very least she must think she’s a star. All I know is, she featured alongside Hayden Christensen (the guy who played Darth Vader) in the film Jumpers, which hit number 1 at the US box office last year during a very dull week for movies.

As is normal in Hollywood, the two of them then started dating, and now they’re engaged. Well, the paparazzi are very excited about that. I know this, because the entire street is filled with huge black SUVs, their drivers slumped low behind the wheel, all eyes fixed on Bilson’s driveway.  

Normally, not much goes on in that driveway. If this comes up in court, I will happily testify to that. Now and then, Christensen’s yellow Mercedes will be parked there, and I’ve seen the two of them sitting in it at the curbside, chatting. But usually they have the good sense to do whatever they’re doing that’s so newsworthy – talking! – elsewhere, and the media leave them alone. When she’s home, though, photogs love to be on Bilson Watch. There can be up to ten SUVs parked in the street at any one time, engines running, drivers slumped, watching. waiting for this unremarkable waif to go shopping or collect her mail or open a window or, for God’s sake, please, do something, anything, that US Weekly might buy a photo of.   

Anyway, yesterday I came home to find that something new had happened. A limo had reversed into Bilson’s driveway! (Could this be more exciting?)  The middle-aged chauffeur was standing there staring along the road, unable to believe, like the rest of us, that from one end to the other was nothing but parked SUVs filled with paparazzi waiting to take a photo of her climbing into the limo and driving away. Perhaps the more delinquent among them, those with lots of time on their hands, might then follow her to wherever she was going and pitch camp there instead. It’s such a waste of energy. I mean, who is this woman really? Not a single one of my friends has even heard of her!

Last year, our neighbors and I would call the police regularly to have these vehicles moved on. Initially, we didn’t know they were paps, we thought they were burglars casing the house. Seriously. But after a couple of visits, the cops gave up and stopped coming. You get rid of one pap and three more arrive.

In truth, then, our infestation is not of celebrities, but of photographers. To begin with it was a novelty and quite funny. One time, I walked out of our front door and watched as a black car reversed at high speed from Bilson’s house and screeched to a stop right in front of me, ready to take a picture. In case I was famous, you understand. Then, realizing US Weekly would pay nothing for a snap of me, the desperate driver discarded me like a used tissue, shut his window, and returned to sitting outside Bilson’s house.  

Personally, I wish she’d move. I’m not angry really about the inconvenience this is causing as much as I’m probably jealous that some fly-by-night “hot chick” the majority of people couldn’t put a name to and will have forgotten in two years is getting all the attention and I’m not.

Oh dear, now I feel unimportant.

But hey, wait! Last night, I learned that a guy who worked on my TV show got high on drugs at some point early in the production and committed four vicious rapes in one night. He’s currently in jail for thirty years. Now, I know that’s somebody else and not me, but I chatted with the guy, we hung out a bit at the office before he turned to crime. Doesn’t that make me even a little bit fascinating and worthy of a photo?

Anyone?

Leave a comment

Filed under Cash Peters, television, Television commentary