Speaking of Potatoes

Did you know that a micro-waved potato is the 3rd hottest thing on the planet, following Thermite and Molten Steel.

What's that you say? Not true?

Tell that to the roof of my mouth.

What More Can I Say to You?

I like music. A lot more than I should.

If you had known me in high school, you'd think I was a raving ego maniac. And it's true. I was, mostly because of my above average vocals. I'm still an ego maniac, but there's less to back up my claims now.

I'm still not a bad singer, but I'm certainly not good enough to do anything with it, anymore. My last high school choir instructor (we had three) has even been quoted saying, "A real shame. He had a lot of potential. The true definition of a 'never was'."

Which is absolutely true. And had I gone to a vocal instructor and learned all the tricks of the trade, like the inward cough, I might even be singing in a semi-professional/professional capacity. Possibly in an opera. I could have been that good.

But I've met some of the people who sing professionally. Not even I was that bad. I don't think I could have done it. Not while still maintaining my current bad attitude. I'm kind of glad things are the way they are.

The only problem is that I can't let go of music.

I never had the kind of training required to go anywhere with it, though.

I can barely read music (I only read tenor clef). I can't play the piano. My wife is a musician, it makes things that much more discouraging when it comes to actually doing something about the crap that rattles around my head.

I hear it, and it goes quickly. I can see why people think composers are insane. They are. I feel like I'm going crazy with all of this rattling around. Worse yet, if I get it out, is it mine? Or did I steal it from someone?

I try to tell my wife what it's like, but I feel bad. I feel like I'm offending her, or that she thinks I'm crazy.

But, then, am I deluding myself? Is it just my ego? Or my inability to let go of the things that aren't anymore?

Wow... this is all so depressing. I didn't think this post would end up this serious. I'll say something to lighten the mood.

Potato.

Continued Torment

Do you have sibling? Many siblings? Do they break your shit?

Mine does. It's non stop. Even now that I've moved out of my parents' house.

He's broken things you wouldn't believe, studio quality headphones, infinity speakers, VCRs, game controllers, computers, airsoft guns, cameras... the list goes on. It does.

Trust me.

We had him over on Sunday for a bit of Ole Piper. It's good, old fashioned greasy pizza. Tastes good, but eating in the restaurant is not a pleasant experience. We elected to eat at my house.

During the course of the meal, my brother made it a point to declare his loves for olives, black and green. Feeling seasoned, I determined the time to be right to introduce my junior sibling to the Kalmata variety. I pulled out the jar and my olive pitter, I then deftly pitted the olive in question and placed the olive pitter in the sink. I handed him the olive, and I'd say he enjoyed it.

Dinner wrapped up, and we were about to head out. I ran to the latrine and finished up my business. I walk back in to the kitchen, and there's my brother. Looking out of sorts.

"What's up?"

"Your olive pitter broke."