Thursday, March 10, 2011
Dark men in dark corners can be overheard whispering such things as "Passion should be stirred by simply buying fruit at the market." This is exactly why Woody Allen spends two weeks a year in Paris. One would assume life as a pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers would be all visions of gumdrops and celebrities, but if you're Mr. Allen's concaved black rimmed glasses, you may not have a stomach for all the passions of the romantic city. "Psst, Iris!" "Psst." Iris peers over the edge of the provincial vanity she’s sitting on to see Black Sock with a Hole in the Toe, mangy and old at best, on the floor trying desperately to get her attention. With an heir of annoyance, Iris snaps, "I don’t know what it is about this city that makes you a sentimental basket case, but if I have to hear one more time about how Brad Pitt almost bought you right off Mr. Woody’s feet on a dare, I’m going to scream." Black Sock with a Hole in the Toe said, "Mais non, haven’t you been listening to Woody talking about changing his image? He’s been desperate for so long to stir his personal pot, I would think you'd be slightly more concerned than you appear." "If I were to freak out every time Woody mentioned changing his image, I'd be in a 50% OFF loony bin." Iris' confidence was built on years of public recognition. She was almost as famous as the producer himself! Woody hadn’t been photographed in 30 years without her. She had mastered capturing the light and angles of his face to please the paparazzi. "I’ll admit your confidence brings a slight comfort, but I would stake my threads there was talk of big chang..." "Shhh!" Iris cut off Black Sock with a Hole in the Toe just as Mr. Allen emerged from the shower and picked up Iris and placed her on his nose. She wasn’t just a part of him, she was him.