Eek! I had my first drum lesson tonight.
I was amused to discover that my 'rawk hair' teacher, who seems like a great guy, assumed I couldn't read music because I play guitar. "You know what they say about guitar players, right?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow, all in-the-know styles. "They are sexy mofos?" I thought to myself. Instead, I said "They are wicked awesome?" He gave me a look that said, no, not wicked awesome, but possibly musically stunted.
So he opened up a grade three music book and asked me if I knew what a quarter note was. I almost snorted all bitchy-like, but I decided not to be a dink. Yes, I knew what a quarter note was. "Do you know what an eighth note is?" he persisted. I turned, smiled as sweetly as I could, and said, "I have one tattooed on my shoulder." (This is true) "Okay, what about a triplet?" he said. "I love triplets! They are my favourite rhythmic pattern!" I exclaimed. (This is also true) "If you really loved them, you would have one tattooed on your other shoulder," he said. One point for my drum teacher.
I redeemed myself after I played through his entire music book in the first ten minutes of my lesson. He seemed relieved, and I realized that he must spend most of his time explaining quarter notes to pre-pubescent rock boys. "It will get less boring soon," he assured me. Boring my ass... My homework is to hit stuff with sticks!
Drum lessons will be fun. I have to buy a drum pad, but someday I'll graduate to using a real kit. And then? My bitchy neighbour will have some choice words for me, I'll tell you that much.