This is an ongoing series in which we attempt to bring you lots 'o different perspectives on what its like to *actually* live in Park Slope...from readers just like you (or not--that's the whole point).

This week: meet a drawlin, ballin, LOLing, kentucky fried funny man: Kary.

I done seen a celeb.

I took up permanent residence in The Slope on October the twentieth in the year of our lord two double naught eight. My wife and I moved here after living our entire lives in the deep, fried south. We moved eleven hundred miles north for two distinct reasons:

1) to circumvent an early death by continual weight gain; and
2) ZOMG, the celebs!

You can imagine my disappointment when, after I had been in the god-forsaken north for two solid months, I had not yet seen hide nor hair of even one grade A, B, or C celeb. My depression spiraled out of control such that I was eating like I did back in The South. If I'm still eating poorly and not seeing any ZOMG celebs, then why the hell did I move here? Sure, I enjoy looking down on people as much as the next Sloper (and it is so much easier in NYC than Mississippi). I mean, I work on the 17th floor--all I can see are heads down there.

To top off the greatest disappointment of my life, some friends from back home came to visit for a few days, and they saw Steven Fucking Spielberg. Now that just plain pissed me off.

Well, all that has changed as of last Sunday afternoon. I am so very pleased to announce my first ZOMG celeb sighting and right here in The Slope even!

See, I was headed over to the Pavillion to see Mr. Benjamin Buttons when my wife spied a man and his family exiting their domicile. I, of course, was busy tweeting about the bicycle gang that was installing a memorial to a lost friend at the corner of Prez and 8th so I did not see this man. She excitedly whispers to me "I think that's John Turturro." I was immediately skeptical as I had long since given up on my dreams of celeb schmoozing and had now gorged my way to what will surely be a premature death of lo mein and french fries. After walking ten yards further, we both stopped dead in our tracks, swiveled our heads inwards towards each other all the way around back the way we had come. We were extremely conspicuous in our humble gawking. But lo and behold, mine eyes did see a real life ZOMG celeb. It WAS John Turturro!

Here is where I have decided not to embellish the tale and spin a yarn about how I approached the royal Turturros on a lovely Sunday afternoon, and they were so taken by my southern charm and grace that they invited us to spend the afternoon frolicking in the park with them and their children. We then retired to their brownstone, ordered Hunan Delight takeout, and watched The Big Lebowski, Cradle Will Rock, and O Brother, Where Art Thou eighteen times each.

Alas, no. Eye contact we did not make and quickly was our lively pace up the sidewalk resumed. We hurriedly made our way to the theater, and all the while talked of our first celeb sighting (of course, while we talked we called, texted, and twittered everyone we knew).

See? Dreams really do come true.

Follow Kary on Twitter here (we do).
Read his blaahhg, Karyhead too.

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