82178259Long ago, a young playwright who also did Catskills stand-up wrote pithy, irreverent and at times absurd humor essays which presaged McSweeney's. That man was Woody Allen, and he returns to that short form in this weekend's New York Times with a piece detailing his diary from the filming of Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

He describes an early version of the script as "the story of the two Hackensack Jews who start a mail-order embalming firm" and continues to make fun of the entire cast, and some of the best lobs are at himself.

The one odd thing is there is a lot of odd material involving his sex obsessions: You get the sense that he actually might lust after the beautiful young women in his movie. Must be some sort of Freudian slip.

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