Robert Pattinson makes me feel old.
Sorry—I guess online I should say “R-Pattz.” See? Old.
The “Twilight” star is staying around the corner from me in New York City, at the Bowery Hotel. The squeaking I hear just after sunset each night is not the creak of a vampire crypt opening, but the squawks of teenage girls who catch sight of him stepping into his limo.
On Wednesday night he walked across the street to the Bowery Bar, where he caused a Twitter-storm by meeting Eva Mendes and his “Twilight” mom Elizabeth Reaser (he’s 23, she’s 33) for pizza and beer. Even his screen mom is younger than me!
Mr Pattz, while certainly a handsome fellow, has an annoying-little-brother quality that makes it impossible for me to take him seriously as a heart-throb. (Justin Timberlake likewise: forget “Sexy Back,” the kid just comes across as a Mouseketeer with his fly undone.)
It doesn’t help that the journalists I know who have interviewed this runny-nosed Nosferatu say he’s a rather arrogant young man who seems to believe his own P.R.—a risky delusion in Hollywood, where the “flavor of the month” changes every two weeks. (Zac Efron, anyone?)
Perhaps we should allow R-Pattz the space to grow into his fame. It did strike rather suddenly, after all, and it must be a lot for a young person to process.
But dude, I know you’re a vampire and all, but do you think you could keep down the screaming of the virgins every night just after dark? I’m trying to watch some old Paul Newman movies over here. Now, there was a hunk.
by Ben Widdicombe