Observations of a Newbie

Okay, so I have this toy in my hands. It looks a lot like the toy I had when I was a kid. When I blow on it, it sounds just like I remember. The dog still runs under the couch (a new dog, that first dog is long since gone to the great milk bone in the sky). Sometimes, the wife runs under the couch with the dog (blow bend practice in particular). Everyone had one of these when I was little. It was great to skip down the street and blow a jaunty two-cord tune as you went. It was portable, you took it everywhere, and it worked great -- until you let Suzy look at it. Then she blew on it and you couldn't touch it any more. Cooties, you know.

I really want to figure this thing out. As the former front man of a reasonably successful '80s hair band, I need a new out (or in as the case may be). I don't have the hair for rock any more. I can't wear tight leather pants like I did, and come to think of it, thrusting my crotch at the audience these days would likely get me arrested. In the old days, it got me dates. God it sucks to get old.

So I got to wonderin', what can I do musically that would make me look cool the more I age? Pop music is out. I can actually sing. Worse, I can't dance worth a crap and lip syncing makes me look like an idiot. I could take a lead from Lady Gaga and put a mask over my belly, but there's still the other problems. Rap is no good for me. I can't even talk without stammering and saying "ah" every few words. Plus, I've never been arrested, and I think that needs to be on your resume. Country doesn't work. I did have a mullet once, but it was a cool mullet, not like those trailer park ones. Plus, the hats make my ears bend down, and it's tough to walk through a mall without someone pointing at you and saying: "Look at the weirdo with the big hat and the bent down ears." And since the ones that usually say it are cute women, well, you know what I mean...

Then I looked at Blues. Suddenly, it was like a beam of light came down from the sky. "Wow!" I thought. "These people are OLD. They have no hair! And you can be so fat you can actually sit on a chair onstage and nobody cares!" This was like heaven! Maybe I could give up riding my bike 10,000 miles a year and actually just let myself go! The worse I get, the more I could fit in!

It's like someone made up a genre just for me.

I called up my old band mates - well, at least the sober ones and the ones that are still talking to me. How surprised I was. Come to find out, they were getting old and fat, too! What a stroke of luck! It seemed like we could regenerate that old performance mojo. There certainly was a spark there somewhere. But after we experienced the initial elation of having found an idea in common, reality began to set in. We remembered why we hated each other and why we quit playing together in the first place. We also remembered that just about everyone in the band owed someone else in the band money - so that was that.

So now I stare at this hunk of plastic and metal. Maybe I can make it work. I sit down in front of my computer and turn it on. There's David Barrett staring me in the face. "Come on," he says, "it's easy." I click on the first lesson. Bring the instrument to my lips. "It looks easy," I think. At least that's what Dave's interview with Madcat made me think.

I take a deep breath,

look at the sheet music...

...and blow...

...and the wife and the dog head for the couch.

This is going to be harder than I think.

- to be continued - maybe...