More on Woo/Cheap Gas Day

Lots of excitement here at the Manor this week, as Steve “Woo-Woo” Wood played his last show at the Prodigal Son again last weekend, and yesterday was Cheap Gas Day in Eastham, so the Kolumn this week is bound to be action-packed. Whoa! I think I'm hyper-ventilating! Here -hold my soup...

Once again, Woo-Woo was wonder-iffic at another one of what could be his last Sunday appearances (apparently for as long as, but not longer than, a week) at the Prodigal; many of the same people for some reason turned out yet again to wish him yet another fond farewell, many of them trading warm reminiscences of the other recent occasions when he already said he was leaving but didn't.

If Steve were a less galvanizing performer, it would be hard to forgive such a shoddy yet undeniably effective marketing campaign. After all, how can we miss him if he won't go away? I mean, I love him, but I don't think even Steve can pull off the farewell show scam for a fourth week. On the other hand, he plays with such verve, such zest, such... shasta, even, that it's more fun to say goodbye again to Woo than hello to anyone else.

Last week he got even more carried away than usual, in the process bouncing his guitar off the floor and knocking over his amp. Actually, he didn't just knock over his amp -he actually rolled on it. Now, it's not unheard of to smash your guitar or knock over your equipment, but how many entertainers nowadays have the consideration to go that extra mile and actually roll on their amps? Not that many. Steve's special.

So I was already in a good mood early in the week, even before Cheap Gas Day, which is pretty much my favorite holiday. Some of you will know it by its more traditional handle: “Tuesday.” That's the day Tedeschi's in Eastham gives a 6 cent per gallon discount, and there's no better time to catch Eastham's cheapest, looking guilty and trying not to look too excited.

Believe me, it's quite a crowd, and I ought to know, because I'm always in it. Please don't tell the rambunctious yet ethereal Mrs. K - who thinks of me as a big spender -that I'm involved; it is, in fact, kind of a confusing social situation, and for many of us a spot we're not anxious to be recognized at, full of furtive glances and hat brims worn low over the eyes. In fact, I was mortified the other day when a neighbor called out a cheery hello from pump number seven; at first I pretended to be someone else, and when that didn't work I offered the most cursory of greetings and then tried to act like she was talking to someone else.

I shouldn't really be embarrassed, as man's love of cheap gas goes back for thousands of years (or, if not thousands, pretty darn many, anyway.) Still, it must be acknowledged that being a cheapskate has its drawbacks as a spectator sport.

By the way, if it snows again next week, I'm definitely slitting my throat. Ta!