As you may have learned in the last posting, I nearly killed Arthur Fiedler less than a week before the country's bicentennial celebration. The Maestro's demise would have been purely accidental, but that wouldn't have saved me from infamy. His death would have occurred mere days before the scheduled, highly anticipated concert on the Esplanade, commemorating the two-hundredth anniversary of the birth of our nation. The righteous backlash of an ugly mob would surely have been directed toward me had I not been lucky enough to bring the V-8 powered Bash-Mobile to a screeching halt, as the …

Guido Fondenova, a young, handsome man-about-town, came into being in 1976 in Boston. Like an imaginary childhood playmate, Guido came into my life out of a need of my youth--but despite the fact that he took shape and form in my mind, our adventures together soon took on a life of their own.  Born in the pre-Internet world, Guido soon surpassed all my expectations, receiving  bona-fide job offers, propositions of pre-approved credit cards, and professional recognition. But let me start at the beginning. In 1976, I was a recent college graduate, skilled in the methods of sustaining a meager …