Let me start this celebrity touch update by first saying
I like James Franco. I really do. I think he is a great actor who consistently
delivers a rare mix of intensity, humor and sexiness that I usually only equate
to things like IHOP’s Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast menu item. However, much like IHOP, what James also
delivers in generous portions is a heaping helping of cuckoo crazy.
I encountered James at the Toronto Film Festival this
week. (see Colin Farrell touching incident from last year). I do love the Toronto Film Festival because
it provides so many good touching opportunities. Easy pickings this year were Josh Brolin,
Javier Bardem, Maria Bello and some horse-mouth girl named AnnaLynne Mc Cord (I
understand she is on the new 90210, which explains what happened to Aaron
Spelling – she ate him).
I ran into James Franco twice in Toronto. I first saw him on my same hotel floor at the
Park Hyatt, looking like a pimple on the ass of Dom Deluise following an
apparent night of partying with Celine Dion and Alan Thicke (OK…admittedly,
those are weak Canadian celebrity references, but you try to come up with list
of Canadian stars… and no, Howie Mandel does not count as a celebrity. He is an anomaly, like a good-looking person
on roller blades.) Needless to say,
James was in no condition to be touched.
I ran into him again later at a charity fundraiser. During a speech by the charity organizer,
James took the stage behind him to be recognized as a supporter. Bravo James!
Nice work helping the impoverished… but why are you now staring at me? And, I mean staring. Right at me.
Not at anyone else. Just me. And, with a really blank crazy stare. Like that look you get from a cab driver when
you say you want to use a credit card.
It was like he was staring into my soul, piercing me with
his intent, glassy gaze. Like he wanted
to smoke my face (see Pineapple Express).
I turned around to see if there was a six foot high water bong behind me
or maybe Dave Mathews (oxymoron, I know), but there wasn’t. And, he wouldn’t stop staring. I don’t think he even blinked. This went on
for a good five minutes until the presentation was over.
At this point, I was actually a little scared to touch
him. Of course, it had to be done, but I
really didn’t want to get that close to him.
This was Canada after all, and something horrible was bound to happen,
as it always does on Canada.
And this, my friends, is when being an all-state high
hurdler comes in handy. Spotting James
across the room, I could just work out an angle of fast approach, touch, and
quick exit… if, and only if, I could kind of hurdle the little group of
poverty-stricken children that were there as the charity’s benefactors. For a high-quality touch like this, I was
willing to try.
After 10 minutes of deep stretching (important!), I lined
it up and I took off, managing to touch James’ elbow and miraculously only
barely clipping the tattered turban of a tiny little bongo player.
As I walked out the door, flush with my success, heart
pounding in my chest from having run about 10 yards, I looked back and there it
was again: James’ icy stare burning a
hole through me and my impeccably tailored Theory skinny black suit. Until our eyes meet again James Franco… until
they meet again.
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