Bob and Woody*

by Arthur Radley

MY friend Bob is obsessed with Woody Allen.
He's a little too
obsessed.
Not that he's a stalker. He's the opposite of a stalker.
He thinks
Woody and ''all things Woody'' are drawn to him.
It's a different kind of scary.
Years ago, Bob and I were in the elevator of a building
with a mix of offices and apartments — the same building
where Woody's parents lived.
The
elevator doors closed and Bob got really antsy, but not
claustrophobic-antsy.
He stared at someone in front of us and asked, ''Are …
are you Woody
Allen?''

The guy turned around.
He was a 19-year-old bike messenger with spiky
brown hair, a leather jacket
and an earring.
''No," he said, smiling, ''no, I'm not.'' Everyone in the elevator
thought it
was mighty funny.

A few months later, in a different elevator, Lou Jacobi
stepped on with Bob
and me.
Bob got all antsy again.
''You were great — '' Bob began, speaking to the
acclaimed character star of
Avalon
(''You cut the toikey?'')
and My Favorite Year. ''Thank you, thank you,'' Lou
said to cut Bob off.
''You were great,'' Bob forged ahead, ''in Everything You
Always Wanted to Know
About Sex.
''
In that Woody Allen film, Mr. Jacobi enjoys dressing up in women's
underwear.
He enjoys it a lot.
Suddenly, Lou got this bad look on his face, as
if he'd just eaten some
paste.

That's our Bob.
Bob is a reasonable person when it comes to Woody Allen.
And Dick Cheney would make a great heart donor.

*Honorable mention, asinine poetry literary contest, fall 2001

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