The no-parking signs had lined the streets for days alluding to the production’s arrival. I tied Tommy to the tree in the front yard so the kitties and I could have some peace and he could lounge in the sun and welcome the crew. Every 20 minutes or so I went outside—to rub his tummy; to throw around a tennis ball; or to play tug of war with his favorite toy, the Jolly Ball Romp-N-Roll.
A security guy, who shuffled around some traffic cones, said it was a Will Ferrell movie, which only added to my excitement. But the trucks never came. After work Tommy and I set out around the neighborhood to find them, just for kicks. Film productions add a little dazzle to these otherwise hum-drum suburban streets.
We found some action on North Hill Avenue, just above New York Drive. I caught sight of a guy sitting on what looked like a Hollywood tour bus with the open seats on top, except this was the size of a van and there was only one seat. Cameras, crew, and equipment buzzed around him. A Pasadena cop—bald, about 6'4" with a menacing look—approached. I thought he was going to tell me to get lost but he was having fun.
"No, that wasn't Will Ferrell. That was some guy I’ve seen a million times but I can't remember his name," he said. "Bubble Boy’s Dad. That’s who that was."
I said I’d never seen Bubble Boy, so I’d have to look on imdb.com.
"Bubble Boy’s Dad. That's who that was."
He got a big kick out of saying it, and I have to say it made me laugh, too.
The security guy had led me astray. The goofy cop set me straight: The film starred Steve Carell, not Will Ferrell, and was the same production that had been filming for weeks on Minoru Drive. Tommy and I headed in that direction.