Musings by Tsai

One did happen to stand out, and a couple people in this class *cough* Rachel *cough* still make fun of me for this to this very day so I thought it was worth telling. Also, trying something new here, switching it to present tense. I'll see how it goes. 

"Darren you'll figure it out by tonight right?" Ms. Losee asks me, her eyes giving me the sense that she's more begging me than asking me.

"Uh, yeah. I mean how hard could it be," I say, with just a hint of hesitation.

I should probably provide some context. The current maze of 23 Casio keyboards with enough wiring to probably power a mid-sized village I find myself in is Piano Fest, and I hate it. Not the event so much, I mean its a great experience for the kids. They get to play with their peers in front of hundreds of people. I just hate the fact that I'm here. Unfortunately, there's a lot more too it, and as I stand here in hour four of rehearsal, turning down the keyboard volume of five and six year old aspiring Mozarts to a near inaudible level (if you ever come to one of these, you'll notice you can only hear the piano teachers... completely intentional), I think about the futility of the whole thing itself. A piano recital where you can't hear the kids playing piano.

That's when it happened. They're rehearsing the little brown jug and need a jug player. Ms. Losee saunters over to me, and thinking it should be rather simple, I give a quick yes without really thinking.

That was the beginning of my problems, which would only compound themselves. See, this jug REFUSED to play. It just wasn't having it. This brown tinted glass contraption from hell responded to absolutely nothing. There I was, in rehearsal, microphone staring at my face, and I'm completely silent. We eventually settle on me miming playing a jug, and just going with it.

The night is upon us, and the time has arrived. I step out from the curtain. It's quite something. Lights shining in my face, the audience appears only as silhouettes and the auditorium is packed. There have to be hundreds, I think to myself, panicking. I look over and Losee's hands are raised, ready to conduct. Well, here's go nothing.

I'll skip the four minutes of blowing silently into a jug, awkwardly swaying, as my face became increasingly red. Point is, it was embarrassing as heck, and made worse when I showed up Monday to learn several of my fantastic classmates had been in the audience that day, ready to ridicule the heck out of me. Middle school kids are vicious.

*sigh*

Shout out to all my pro jug players out there, I don't know if that's a profession, but if it is, I must say I have a newfound appreciation for everything you do.