THE CURSE OF.....

THE CURSE OF .....

Oh, my! Was it the "Curse of the Jade Scorpion" or was it the "Curse of Woody Allen"? It doesn't matter. This is all about my observations of the genius Woody Allen and, of course, about me.

I live in Florida, the capital state of lightning and of people zapped by lightning. Moreover, my backyard faces a golf course from where I have watched many avid golfers trying to putt while their poor caddies held up those huge club umbrellas over their heads as lightning tore through the sky. I have seen many souls shaken and keeled over either by lightning or by the disgust of a putt gone wrong.

Based on -ahem!- my astute and on-the-job-learned know-how, I can detect lightning-inspired people either from the way they walk or from the work they produce. Woody fits into both categories perfectly.

Woody was born as Allen Stewart Konigsberg. One day for whatever reason, he went to visit his lawyer. At the entrance to the building....zappp. He didn't remember who he was. His lawyer helped him win his name back. Now his legal name became Heywood Allen. Hey Woody, what do you expect if a lawyer helps you!

Some time later, Woody went to meet his agent who was holding a metal tipped umbrella waiting for him at a New York bus station. The weatherman had cautioned people about the remnants of a hurricane, which we had sent up there from Florida, but Woody didn't watch the weather report. So, zapp.... both Woody and the agent went down on the curb. Neither could remember the Hey part, so Heywood became Woody.

Sometime earlier in his life Woody was playing the clarinet at Michaels Pub in Manhattan while the not-yet-President Clinton was listening to his would-be teacher. Woody thought he saw Diane Keaton walk by. He ran after her, still holding his clarinet and waving it in the air. Yes, you guessed it! The clarinet became a lightning rod, and that's where all those movies came from.

Talking about movies, Annie Hall was up for Academy Awards. On Tuesday afternoon, Woody got all dressed up, ready to go, and receive the award. Just as he left his pad, another sudden zapp. Again! Woody, however, missed the ceremony this time only because it was on the previous Monday night.

Recently, at sixty-five years of age, Woody was walking in the Central Park. Suddenly the clouds darkened and flashes tore through the sky.

Oh, no!

Oh, yes, and again! Zapp...zapp...zapp....

The result was that Woody stated a declaration of independence from comedy. Not long ago, he broke down and cried on a reporter's shoulder:
"I want them to stop laughing at me. I want to be an Eugene O'Neill or a Tennessee Williams. I want to make them cry, weep, sob, and writhe in emotional pain. I want vengeance! "

Oh, Puhleeeease!

Well, this is where I come in. Since in this life I can't be in a movie with Woody Allen due to my zapped credits and zip experience, I am now putting myself in with him in my bad otter literature folder. After all, I live in Florida, and you know how we act around here. You saw it during the elections. We get hit many times over.....Zapp.....Zapppp.....Zapppppp!