THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1997, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, February 8, 1997 TAG: 9702080364
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Guy Friddell
LENGTH: 58 lines
You all came at me, I must say, in a high dudgeon the other day after the column trashing that craze Riverdance.
I've been the object of many a towering rage, but that was my first trial with being caught in a high dudgeon.
One lady - I call her a lady because she's going to know by my description to whom I'm referring and I don't want to be seized by the high dudgeon coming around to hit me from the other direction. They revolve like tornadoes, is my belief.
Anyway, after blessing me out for being, as she put it, ``an ignorant ignoramus'' - to which I replied she was guilty of tautology - she hung up on me.
Slammed down the receiver. BLAM!
If it had been an old-time party line, the blast would have knocked over 10 snoops in a windrow.
Nor was that the end. Three minutes later she called back.
``Don't apologize - '' I began.
``I'm not,''' she said. ``I called back for the sheer pleasure of hanging up on you again!''
BLAM! The room rang.
And if it weren't bad enough to traduce ``Rivetdance'' - that's what it sounds like, a million high iron workers on scaffolding, shooting rivets into steel girders - I had to go and rake up my disdain of that bucket of Georgia cane syrup ``The Sound of Music.''
A dear friend - or she was until then - phoned and informed me that she used Julie Andrews' records from ``The Sound of Music'' to teach her students to enunciate clearly.
``Just don't hang up on me,'' I pleaded.
``Do you really think I would give a lunk like you the satisfaction of having me hang up on him?''
``If course not,'' I said, ``but - ''
BLAM! She did it.
Riverdance devotees must be akin to a religious sect.
Another irate lady telephoned and demanded what on Earth possessed me when culture was already at low ebb around here to turn around and denounce its finest manifestation.
And it was on PBS! she raged.
I'd done the undoneable!
``You're a barbarian at the gates!'' she cried.
BLAM!
Another said I'd insulted the Irish.
``Why?'' I asked.
``Because it's an Irish dance, you stupid doop!''
BLAM!
That hurt. My great aunt said, though nobody believed her, that Scotch-Irish on my mother's side came down the Appalachians.
And Colgate Darden said one time, ``You know, Frittle, when you get right down to it you're a leprechaun, always making mischief.''
Don't you, I adjure you, hang up on me.