An account of a day in my life! How thrilling!
So, I went to my cello lesson today and I had forgotten my endpin.
For those of you who know nothing about the 'cello, the endpin is the long stick that holds the 'cello up off the floor and at a playable level. Needless to say, since the endpin goes back into the cello, it's not normally something you leave behind. Rosin, a bow, a rock stop, sure, it happens. But an endpin?
You see, I just happen to have the most devilish endpin in the world. You wouldn't think a metal stick with a bit of rubber could be so cruel, but it is. It's bad enough that it's about five inches too short-- I pile up my neighbor's old SAT books and my history textbook and play on top of that; it's like ghetto 'cello, except, you know, cellos and "ghetto" don't go together very well. But now that its summer, the wood has swollen up so much that it takes about ten minutes to pull the endpin in and out, so I had just taken it out altogether.
My 'cello teacher gives me a funny look when I tell him I've forgotten my endpin, but the lesson must go on! It turns out that the endpin is a fairly recent invention. So I did like the classics-- put my feet together, and held the cello up between my knees, floating in the air. I felt like I was playing the musical saw. It was a lot of fun until my leg started to go numb.
Asides from that, I failed the learner's permit test, and slept a lot. The man behind the desk at the MVA used to be a teacher, and you could tell by his excessive eyebrow raising, especially when one kid repeatedly asked him if he would check his test twice (wink wink, nudge nudge, know what I mean?).
For those of you who know nothing about the 'cello, the endpin is the long stick that holds the 'cello up off the floor and at a playable level. Needless to say, since the endpin goes back into the cello, it's not normally something you leave behind. Rosin, a bow, a rock stop, sure, it happens. But an endpin?
You see, I just happen to have the most devilish endpin in the world. You wouldn't think a metal stick with a bit of rubber could be so cruel, but it is. It's bad enough that it's about five inches too short-- I pile up my neighbor's old SAT books and my history textbook and play on top of that; it's like ghetto 'cello, except, you know, cellos and "ghetto" don't go together very well. But now that its summer, the wood has swollen up so much that it takes about ten minutes to pull the endpin in and out, so I had just taken it out altogether.
My 'cello teacher gives me a funny look when I tell him I've forgotten my endpin, but the lesson must go on! It turns out that the endpin is a fairly recent invention. So I did like the classics-- put my feet together, and held the cello up between my knees, floating in the air. I felt like I was playing the musical saw. It was a lot of fun until my leg started to go numb.
Asides from that, I failed the learner's permit test, and slept a lot. The man behind the desk at the MVA used to be a teacher, and you could tell by his excessive eyebrow raising, especially when one kid repeatedly asked him if he would check his test twice (wink wink, nudge nudge, know what I mean?).