I'm So Vain Again... But, really this time.

So.  I went to see a "rough" but basically finished cut of Julie & Julia last night.  And I'm still sort of reeling from the surreality of it all.  I mean, I thought I was more or less copacetic with the whole Life of a Memoirist.  I'm relatively comfortable discussing relatively intimate details of my medical history, pet-ownership, cooking failures and sex life with strangers on the street.  I see my name in magazines in very close proximity to names like "Meryl" and "Nora" and take it in stride.  

But somehow seeing yourself - or a Rom-Com-ed, slimmed-down, considerably less foul-mouthed version of yourself - on a movie screen is a whole different thing.  Well, it's not so much that, even.  "Julie Powell" is a character, played by Amy Adams, who is lovely and great - I understand that, ingest it, am fine with it.  It's stranger hearing Chris Messina (Yummy!!) referred to as "Eric Powell," and see him in an office tricked out with posters and books poached from Eric's actual office.  It's stranger to see a set of our apartment, built by people who never saw our apartment, and see how creepily right it is in some particulars - the red cowboy hat, the brand of digital kitchen timer, the particular lamp or cookbook or poster on the wall. 

Also?  Strange having Meryl Streep (I would tell you about how amazing she is as Julia, and how fantastic Stanley Tucci is as Paul, but, really, was there a doubt?) sitting in the back row and hearing her laugh at jokes.  And having her hug me (little internal squeal carefully internalized.)

 

Not so much strange as hilarious - in the last ten minutes of the movie a person who I was there with, who will remain unnamed due to issues of hilarious embarrassment, and with whom I'd had a conversation about checking cell phones, had her phone go off.  The hilarious bit?  The ring tone was "Dancing Queen."