Sunday, January 1, 2012

Waiting For Wolfgang

No, not Puck. Wolfgang Amadeus Marshmallow. If you've followed this blog for any length of time you've read about him. The pianist. The prodigy (stop giggling, please, I have a headache). Really, he's good. He can do Rachmaninov or Beethoven like no other blond haired, blue eyed white male I've ever seen. And I've seen one of them.

But I question the value of driving an hour and a half every week, to another state, in order to take lessons from a big time piano teacher. An I supposed to be impressed because I have to drive far? Is that what makes someone an expert; that he isn't in your town? What do the people who live in his neighborhood think of him? I'll bet that to them he's just the guy that gives lessons out of his house and who doesn't remember to zip up his pants or comb his hair.

I protest.

I want an expert in my own town. I mean, we've already got plenty of guys in my town who don't remember to zip up their pants. Well, technically, those guys aren't exactly in my town so much as in prison right now. But you know what I mean. We have plenty of goofballs where I live. Can't just one of them teach piano to kids who are going to be concert pianists, or who might at least go to work at Howl at The Moon?

I don't know. It seems to me the distribution of genius art and music types is just all wrong. I thought you ought to know.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone


  1. Well bitching helps pass the time right?

  2. I'm glad you told me. I was sort of wondering.

  3. Some of the best times I spent with my mom were when she drove me back and forth to ballet lessons about 45 minutes from our home town. Hours doing multiplication tables, singing off key Jim Croce songs...I do miss her tons.

    Happy new year to you and yours. Dawn

  4. I'm so glad you're studying the distribution of genius art and music types. They're my favourite.

  5. You know, there was brief moment in time when our oldest showed artistic promise at the ripe age of five. Do you know how many local, abundant, accessible art classes there are for five-year olds that don't involve just gluing felt bits together? Right. None-ish.

    I really do wonder how far to drive to the lunatic with the unzipped pants and the mad piano skills. I guess it depends onwho your kid is. You have an Amadeus on your hands. I'm betting it's worth it.

  6. Oh my God. And I used to praise my mom for driving me 30 mins to Faire four times a week. You, sir, are a hero.