Spring Break
No 'Turtle Power' here
Even Michelangelo & crew can't control string of failures in music, sports
John Brumund-Smith
Issue date: 10/17/02 Section: Editorial/Opinion
When I was a kid, my parents were always trying to make my brother and me normal. Our favorite activities were climbing trees, watching the "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" movie four times a day and testing the "cats always land on their feet" theory. Eventually we stopped climbing because one time I fell out of a tree while we were up there setting a trap for my sister. I could have broke my legs when I hit the ground, but luckily I was able to break the fall with my face.
For the sake of our cat, my mom made my brother and I go to piano lessons after school in third, fourth and fifth grade. This proved to be futile because we are the two least musically talented people in the whole world. We weren't exactly thrilled about going to the lessons either.
The piano teacher was a rather rotund lady who frequented the bathroom during our lessons. But she would leave the door open so she could hear us play. She was always yelling out idiot remarks like, "Keep your fingers on the right keys," while we were concentrating on trying not to hear the tinkling sound emanating from the bathroom.
My one musical accomplishment was the fact that I won the "Bow Contest" at my last piano recital, but I assume the teacher just gave it to me as a sort of consolation prize for being the worst student she's ever had.
Apparently, not yet learning their lesson, my parents didn't quit on my brother and I after our utter failure at the piano. They encouraged us to join the middle school band. At the time, I thought it was a great idea because it seemed even the really hideous-looking musicians got all the ladies. Admit it, Flea and Mick Jagger are the two ugliest people you've ever seen, but they have to fight off chicks with miniature baseball bats.
My brother had it easy because he was assigned to play the bassoon, which is a huge, boorish instrument that makes a sound like a cow giving birth. Nobody can play the bassoon and sound remotely musical, so there was very little pressure on my brother. I, on the other hand, was put in the percussion section, which meant I had to learn to play about 15 different instruments.
For the sake of our cat, my mom made my brother and I go to piano lessons after school in third, fourth and fifth grade. This proved to be futile because we are the two least musically talented people in the whole world. We weren't exactly thrilled about going to the lessons either.
The piano teacher was a rather rotund lady who frequented the bathroom during our lessons. But she would leave the door open so she could hear us play. She was always yelling out idiot remarks like, "Keep your fingers on the right keys," while we were concentrating on trying not to hear the tinkling sound emanating from the bathroom.
My one musical accomplishment was the fact that I won the "Bow Contest" at my last piano recital, but I assume the teacher just gave it to me as a sort of consolation prize for being the worst student she's ever had.
Apparently, not yet learning their lesson, my parents didn't quit on my brother and I after our utter failure at the piano. They encouraged us to join the middle school band. At the time, I thought it was a great idea because it seemed even the really hideous-looking musicians got all the ladies. Admit it, Flea and Mick Jagger are the two ugliest people you've ever seen, but they have to fight off chicks with miniature baseball bats.
My brother had it easy because he was assigned to play the bassoon, which is a huge, boorish instrument that makes a sound like a cow giving birth. Nobody can play the bassoon and sound remotely musical, so there was very little pressure on my brother. I, on the other hand, was put in the percussion section, which meant I had to learn to play about 15 different instruments.