Ole! Zee ko-lumn, eet ees: bay-gueennnn!
Ah ‘ave, af-tour much’a suhcheen ud da soo, day-cidead to wrii now, wid dis fonnay ack-a-cent, toe see ip it g’wan bay fezzibell on dey fu-choar wan day, or knut. Eeeeeet’s a new soun’ for may, an’ now for da ko-loam azswill! Wallll? Waduyu tinnnn?
Ok, ok, I’ll stop. Let’s go back to regular English (yawn), and also of course apologizing for whatever I wrote last week (I certainly hope none of you were seriously injured); in particular for my saying that local hoodlum “seven-string” guitarist Fred Fried played every Wednesday at the Penquin Grill in Hyannis -WHICH HE DOESN’T, as he was so kind to remind me recently.
(Bear in mind that Fred seems to be the kind of guy who doesn’t even bother trying to hide the fact that he’s simply using more than the regulation amount of strings, that he is clearly over his allotment. Sure, he sounds great - who wouldn’t? The guy’s clearly using at least one extra string -and that’s just the one you can see!)
So, anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him; but according to him, he doesn’t play at the Penquin Grill on Wednesday, he plays there on Friday. Friday. OK? I apparently got that wrong. It’s Friday. I didn’t mean nothin’.
Actually, I have to admit that Fred was really nice on the phone. He even seemed a little contrite about ...using the extra strings (well, only one, technically, but over the years he’s probably changed it hundreds of times, maybe even ...well, no, probably not.) He said he’d consider going down to six again for a certain amount of time, and asked if I thought I might be able to let up on him.
And I thought to myself, you know, Fred’s actually trying to be nice here. He’s actually offering to try to make up for the way he’s behaved. And then my blood started to boil....as if he ever could make up for all those years of cheatin’! All those years of -of too many strings!
I lost it. I just had a complete mental breakdown right then and there. I screamed (and I was in a hardware store at the time on my stupid cell phone) “you can never make up for this, Fred! Never!!!” And I tore out of there as fast as I could considering it was my first day on the scooter, crying and shaking and just so upset! But then I gathered myself together and went home.
Certainly, this hadn’t been my dream phone call; but in the days to come, there would be many phone calls such as this. Still, I know that I can never change Fred Fried, for he is as wild as lightning and as free as the wind. That is why they call him, Fred Freed! But still, I ask of him that he use only five strings for the next couple of decades or so, because only then can he average out.
Anyway, it’s Fred Fried, Penquin Grill, [underlined]Friday[end] (not Wednesday.) But let us talk of happier tidings.
My Friend Judy Laster up in Falmouth has been doing all kinds of interesting film programs up there for the Woods Hole Film Festival, and she sent me a program for this week’s presentation of the Best Shorts of the Boston Underground Film Festival, and it sounds very interesting and includes an Acadeny Award winner or two. Best day to go would be Saturday, March 16 at the Redfield Auditorium in Wood’s Hole, for that is the very day when it occurs! Promptly at 7:30? -who knows? Ms. Laster is very nice, but she’s not the type of woman to be a slave to her career. Just hold your horses.
Mrs. Kelp, by the why (if you’ve never seen her; and if you have, tell me, where? WHERE?! WHERE DID YOU SEE HER? YOU’RE A LIAR!!) is still extraordinarily attractive, and always happy to remind me that I know nothing, and that all of my opinions are less than snowflakes upon the salt of time. That she doesn’t need me, but if she did it would only be to bring more champagne. I like her. The woman intrigues me.
I’ve found a new kind of wine I like! Details next week, when I can read again. (Short ko-lumn ahhh knuhh. Cue picture of Fred.)
