The other day I came home to sounds of a cat being strangled. In actuality it was Sr. Loco attempting to play the violin. Some foolish person at the lab, who shall later be dealt with by means of slow, painful torture, loaned it to him.
Me: Do you even know how to play the violin?
Sr. Loco: No, but I am pretty good at picking things up [screech, screech]. Right now I am thinking of a song [screech, screech](note: the song was a 50’s rock song that would be impossible and down right wrong to even attempt playing on the violin).
The screeching sounds continue until I am looking around for any sort of object that would render me successfully unconscious.
Me: Ok. This is getting really annoying. Can you stop?
Sr. Loco: Oh, I guess I will have to find another time to practice.
Practice? What pray tell are you practicing? Audible means of torture? Not music surely.
Sr. Loco: Give me a couple of days and then I will be really good.
Me: It takes years to become accomplished on an instrument. I doubt you will master the violin in a couple of days.
Sr. Loco: You’ll be surprised; I am really good at picking up instruments.
One can only assume he meant the physical act of lifting instruments rather than the ability to play. Because although Mozart may have been able to pick up the violin at the age of three and start playing, he was also a musical genius. Somehow, I don’t see Sr. Loco and Mozart in the same league.
Me: I have too much respect for music to think that I can learn in a few moments what others spend lifetimes perfecting.
Sr. loco: I have a respect for music too. I really like music. I am really good at music.
Somehow, Sr. Loco seems to think respecting music and liking music are one and the same. Idiot. Either way….there you have it. We have another Amadeus in our midst. Watch out, I am sure he will take Vienna by storm.