My sister texted to inquire if I was excited that Matt Damon has moved into the penthouse of a building only a short walk from where I have resided in Brooklyn for almost 30 years in my so non-penthouse apartment. Sigh. You can just imagine how thrilled I am at the prospect that he may be driven by in a limo with dark tinted windows while I am schlepping groceries home and sweating like a proverbial oinker. Of course, even if he were to deign to walk by (fat chance), I wouldn’t notice him because I am always in my own little walking bubble.
Plus, have you seen a current picture of the guy? He was an ordinary semi-cute young man but now he looks like all the schlumpy men who wear wrinkled cargo shorts that they pulled out the hamper. And a dirty ball cap. And flip flops displaying disgusting man feet. Or, even worse, sweatpants – sans underwear – that you just know they wore to sleep in. But I digress.
The article my sister sent me not only noted that Matt Damon had moved into Brooklyn Heights, but also that New York City had shut down an entire block so he could use a crane to more easily move into his luxury penthouse. In other words, the city let him shut down an entire very narrow one-way street for an entire day so he could move in by a gigantic crane. Had there been a fire, the Heights would have burned. Oops. I digressed again.
I was secretly pleased ten years or so ago when Paul Giamatti moved nearby because I loved the John Adams mini-series. But, nope, I’ve never seen him either. So anyway, I’m sure Matty boy and his lovely wife will make a huge contribution to the neighborhood. Sigh.