Further Remembrances

Well, OK, I’m very upset about this whole Bill Staines thing. which really has not occurred. Some of you (or, to be precise, probably about two of you) may remember from last week that I had hoped to interview Bill sometime prior to his appearance at the First Encounter in Eastham this Saturday; you may recall me mentioning that he was an old friend, who I remembered as a great guy, and whom I hadn’t seen in years, and how I was looking forward to getting re-acquainted and all.

Well, he hasn’t answered any of my phone calls, so I emailed, and he also hasn’t answered any of my emails, and I’m starting to think he’s avoiding me. There’s always the chance that he may remember me less fondly than I do him, if he’s even the guy I’m thinking of in the first place. I think he is, though. I wonder if I did something awful I’ve forgotten about back then, maybe he hates my guts or something. I don’t know! I’m irritated, and I’ve been drinking.

Now I am finding (and eating) every single nut in the house. I’m finding that the drinking is not enough (although it’s fine as far as it goes -I’m not complaining, don’t get me wrong) and so I’ve also assembled an eating disorder. Pass anything.

It’s just, he seemed like such a nice guy, eight billion thousand years ago (assuming it was him.) I thought we were getting along great, and here it turns out he hates my guts.

I hear he’s a really good folksinger. Actually, I remember him being quite good, back in the old days -or, at least, I remember someone being quite good. To tell the truth, when I really think about what I was into thirty years ago, I mean... it could’ve been almost anyone. And besides, this guy just won’t call me back, which I think pretty much proves he remembers me! It must be the same guy!

I can’t believe he doesn’t like me anymore. I’m almost positive I wouldn’t have done anything all that horrible. Maybe he’s just stuck up, because of being so famous and all and the fast life and the groupies and what-not. Who needs him, anyway? What a jerk.

If you see him this Saturday, don’t say anything about me- I just don’t think I’m ready yet. Still, go, check out his show; in fact, what the hell, let’s let bygones be bygones and make him the pick of the week -the Kelp Pick of the Week, yeah, that sounds good. I give this show my highest recommendation, because I think I almost kind of pretty much remember this guy, and, if it’s the guy I think it is, he actually wasn’t very objectionable and kind of knew what he was doing (if I remember correctly.)

I just don’t know why he hasn’t called. God, I hope he’s OK! Karie Miller (the guiding light of the First Encounter coffeehouse and also my neighbor, and let me tell you that’s not always a bed of roses) said at one point that she thought Bill might not be a big computer person, might not be keeping up real good with his email, etc., and that makes sense. Maybe that means he doesn’t have a cell phone, either. I mean, he’s a folksinger, for god’s sake; he probably rides a bike and smokes clove cigarettes. Why would he have a phone?

I’m sure he still likes me. Actually, if you do see him this Saturday, just tell him Thurston says hi. No, tell him I was going to stop by, but my chauffeur had the night off, but that I still remember him fondly. No, “warmly.” No, just say “Thurston asked after you” and “he was warm.” Wait, do you think that sounds too needy?

The nuts are gone now, and I’m all by myself. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve gone too far; if, in my rush to be accepted and admired, I’ve forgotten all that was decent and fine about myself, and instead plunged into a maelstrom of despair and decay. Sure hope not!

Next week: my special weekend with Bradford Dillman. Ta!