As such, it was natural that eventually music would become something I dabbled in.
It started with a thumb piano (or mbira) which wasn't far off being actually in tune. You could almost coax 'my heart will go on' out of it if you didn't mind the fact that it had to transposed to a completely different key.
It progressed to the piano. A friend at school was musically insane, and currently has at least three grade eights (piano, pipe organ and voice), and I thank a grade 5 in harp. After not-so-much coaxing at all, she agreed to teach me piano. For nothing, or perhaps the pleasure of my company (which amounts to significantly less than nothing, I might add. I'm obnoxious).
Another friend was soon manipulated in teaching me a little bit of cello. The piano is more-or-less ongoing - although because of various issue with family, housemates, and then family again disliking noise, the practice has been limited, and with my being about as talented as a dead mullet, I've not progressed far. The cello has been even less successful, and I cringe when I think of how long I saved for it before the friend - upon my introducing it to her - almost immediately stopped teaching. She's almost as fickle as me.
Anyway, beyond the occasional tinkle on the piano, I let the innocent field of music alone for some time, and then, one rainy Tuesday, I got completely soaked and decided that the only solution was to spend £25 on a small, blue Ukelele.
Which brings me to the point of this little post.
Having taken this Ukelele into town with me a few weeks later, stopping at work to see what my upcoming hours would be, I inadvertently led one of the good ladies at my workplace to believe that I was carrying a violin or other such respectable instrument, and was therefore 'Musical'. Another co-worker - a music graduate who exudes Generation Y cool from her scuffed shoes to her split ends and plays the Hammond organ in a 70s revival rock band - heard that I was musical and, on an overlapping shift, asked me about it.
I was forced to admit that I played the Ukelele, and not a 'real' instrument. She asked whether I played 'like a douche' or 'properly', and from my inarticulate response (to the effect of 'There's more than one way to play the Ukelele???') she deduced that I played it like a douche. In discovering that I did not know how to play Follow the Yellow Brick Road (I still don't, as I really don't see the point), she rescinded this statement, but it troubled me for some time.
Anyway, a month or so later, as I have indicated elsewhere, I was given a guitar. My family had a) always had guitars lying around and b) probably couldn't stand the incessant, high-pitched twang of the Ukelele any longer, so it was an obvious choice.
And I love my guitar (Penelope) quite dearly, but am loathe to play it where anyone might hear, in case I am, unknowingly, playing it like a douche. Yes, the unanswered question daunts me still - do I play like a douche? How does a douche deduce that his dabbling is douche-ish?
Finally - about three hours ago, I had a breakthrough.
Do you wonder why guitars are predominantly designed for and by right handed people, yet leave all the hard work to the left hand?
If the answer is yes, you play like a douche.
Smivel Out.
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