Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Cage, Vol. 3
At the risk of incurring a lawsuit from the apparently ubiquitous Nicolas Cage, PaCarazzi! brings you yet another automotive sighting, and yet another set of questions about the behavior of the rich and/or famous. This post is courtesy of writer Andrew Tonkin.
I'm not one for star-spotting -- I typically go out into the world for things, not people -- and I never look at other drivers when I'm on the road, except to give dirty looks for ill-considered maneuvers.
But I do have one celeb tale that's vaguely car-related -- if you're reading this, I guess it qualifies.
I met my wife at 5931 Franklin in Hollywood. When I say "met," I mean that's where I first laid eyes on her. Back then it was an "industrial maltshop" called Raydion -- I was a waiter and she a customer. 'Twas 1987 and the Smiths had just broken up. We mourned the loss.
Cut to the year 1999 or so. We took a "sentimental journey" pilgrimage to the same address, which had turned into (and remains) a fine, funky coffeehouse called The Bourgeois Pigg. Back then, it was extremely dark inside, even during the day. On our way out, we noted a tall, thin-haired dude in a leather jacket sitting in a pool of light, flipping nervously through mass-market car magazines -- Car & Driver and the like.
It was, of course, Nicolas Cage.
I made eye contact on the way out. Without lifting his head, he turned those baleful eyes on me and gave a look that said, "Oh man, please don't bug me, I'm just sitting here trying to be a NORMAL FRICKIN HUMAN BEING ... if that's O-KAY-WITH-YOU ...."
I left him to his relative anonymity and we continued on down our lover's memory lane.
Two questions, one answer:
1) If he really wanted to be left alone, why was he sitting in such a conspicuous spot? Bourgeois Pigg has many discreet tables in the back, but he was sitting between the service counter and the front door, where he could scarcely be missed.
2) Why was he reading such mainstream magazines if his taste in cars is so exotic? Perhaps he was boning up on street rods for "Gone in 60 Seconds," which would have been shooting around then.
**** ¶ 3:06 PM
I'm not one for star-spotting -- I typically go out into the world for things, not people -- and I never look at other drivers when I'm on the road, except to give dirty looks for ill-considered maneuvers.
But I do have one celeb tale that's vaguely car-related -- if you're reading this, I guess it qualifies.
I met my wife at 5931 Franklin in Hollywood. When I say "met," I mean that's where I first laid eyes on her. Back then it was an "industrial maltshop" called Raydion -- I was a waiter and she a customer. 'Twas 1987 and the Smiths had just broken up. We mourned the loss.
Cut to the year 1999 or so. We took a "sentimental journey" pilgrimage to the same address, which had turned into (and remains) a fine, funky coffeehouse called The Bourgeois Pigg. Back then, it was extremely dark inside, even during the day. On our way out, we noted a tall, thin-haired dude in a leather jacket sitting in a pool of light, flipping nervously through mass-market car magazines -- Car & Driver and the like.
It was, of course, Nicolas Cage.
I made eye contact on the way out. Without lifting his head, he turned those baleful eyes on me and gave a look that said, "Oh man, please don't bug me, I'm just sitting here trying to be a NORMAL FRICKIN HUMAN BEING ... if that's O-KAY-WITH-YOU ...."
I left him to his relative anonymity and we continued on down our lover's memory lane.
Two questions, one answer:
1) If he really wanted to be left alone, why was he sitting in such a conspicuous spot? Bourgeois Pigg has many discreet tables in the back, but he was sitting between the service counter and the front door, where he could scarcely be missed.
2) Why was he reading such mainstream magazines if his taste in cars is so exotic? Perhaps he was boning up on street rods for "Gone in 60 Seconds," which would have been shooting around then.
**** ¶ 3:06 PM
