Lately when my trainer, Davy Gamble, bounces a medicine ball off my gut while I do situps, something inside me emits a tone of considerable purity and sweetness. Finally I brought an electronic tuner to the gym–the note is a C, spot on.
I decided to have it checked out. Dr.
Weintraub, an expert endoscopist at Barnes
Jewish Hospital, performed the procedure,
assisted by two muscular nurses, Gertrude
and Brunhilde, who held me in place as the
scope navigated my innards.
“I see something up ahead,” Dr. Weintraub
announced, peering at the TV monitor. “It looks like a tube, with four,
no, six holes. There’s a red mouthpiece
and a logo: ‘G’ ‘E’ ‘N’…”
“I know!” I exclaimed. “It was the philosophy and neuroscience picnic. I was
guzzling beer and playing my high G whistle
at the same time. Later I couldn’t find the
whistle…”
“Well, it’s lodged in your duodenum pretty
good” Dr. Weintraub said. “I can’t budge it
with the scope.”
“I don’t want it out. I want to control
the pitch.”
“Maybe we can arrange that much.
Cross your right leg over your left leg
and swivel your hips. Good! Brunhilde,
punch Professor Stone in the solar plexus,
please.”
Whack!
Tweet!
“That was a D!”
“OK, now reverse, the left leg over the
right one..”
Whack!
Tweet!
“That was an A! Thanks, Doc! Let’s
try for the second octave!”
“This is one for the journals, alright.”
So there you have it. My digestive
system now doubles as a bagpipe. When
Davy bounces the ball of my gut I can
play B.B. King tunes, which really cracks
him up. Also I can sing duets with myself.
I do have to gyrate my hips, but, hey,
so did Elvis.
Next week Dr. Weintraub, Gertrude,
Brunhilde and I are going to work
on crans.
