While riding my Vespa through the streets of Paris this morning, I found myself stopped at traffic lights next to the number 96 bus.
Inside was the usual collection of grey-faced commuters - wrapped in scarves and coat and clearly relishing the prospect of another exciting week at work. On the outside of the bus was an ad for the new Owen Wilson, Jennifer Aniston romp, "Marley and Me" (or Marley et Moi as the French would have it).
Most of you probably don't need to be told it's a silver screen adaptation of a best-selling memoir about a man who gets a dog (I haven't read it, but as far as I can gather that's about it as far as plotline goes ...)
But as a fellow aspiring sometimes writer, I am in a glass house, so I'm not about to start throwing stones at the book or the author.
What I feel more than comfortable throwing stones at is Owen Wilson. And his agent. And the momentary lapse of reason that was clearly responsible for him agreeing to appear in this film. I mean, look at that photo! How could any self-respecting Hollywood type (much less one that has appeared with distinction in several brilliant Wes Anderson movies) allow himself to be photographed and plastered on buses all over the world in such a simpering, vomit inducing pose? Cheese-a-rama. I want to gag every time I see it.
C'mon Owen. I know you've been having a rough time of it lately - but really??