Let Me Rock

Interactivity is fun. I can be a pain in the ass sometimes, and Robin can attest to that. She has Sirius radio in her car and inevitably one song is played on it just about every time I'm riding in the car with her. First, I enjoy what I feel to be a damn good job harmonizing with this band's lead singer. Second, I love miming with the lyrics for this song. For example, one lyric I misunderstood one word in it. I still enjoy improvising with my version: "Like a twister, I was born to walk alone." So, I twirl my forefinger and finish with using my two forefingers to imitate someone walking. All this occurs while singing along. This makes me feel like a teenie bopper again. By far, this is my favorite band to use these hand gestures and besides, ya' never know when you might be driving down the road with someone who is hard of hearing. My interaction (hand gestures -- pointing to the side of my head and pressing my hand against my chest for the heart and singing along) easily lasts through the duration of this song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKTiwCez6Zs

Alright. I respect my actions can be annoying. Initially, Robin corrected me, "It's like a drifter, not like a twister." "Yeah, but let's go with twister. It sounds much better." The song continues. "You're so fucking crazy." "What? You've gotta' add some flavor to it." Unfortunately, her patience begins running thin. "Alright. I'm changing it." "No. I'll stop." I stop singing along while getting in an occasional mime or two. About 30 seconds later, I tone it down a few decibels and begin singing again. "P.J.," she yells. "Alright. I'll stop," I repeat. Damn it. Just let me rock.

In high school, I practiced tennis and practiced tennis some more. I was your typical naive American teen with a dream: Become a rock star or professional athlete. Obviously, neither came to fruition. I did love music and wanted to learn how to play some of my favorite grunge songs at the time on guitar. So, I went to a guitar instructor who taught a mutual friend of mine at the time. This friend now professionally plays for a rock band who has gained many props. Google "Dead Confederate."

O.k. I completely expected this guitar instructor to have at least three earings in each ear and several tattoos. Nope. He turned out to be a square. Nice guy, just a square. He basically dissed the 90s sound, saying it's a takeoff from Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, and a few other bands. Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Chet (not his real name).

He wanted me to learn the basic chords like G-Major, D-Minor, etc. However, I wasn't paying this guy to learn some silly lullaby songs; I was paying him to rock. I wanted to ride the bicycle by taking off the training wheels already. So, he jumped ahead and had me practice a few songs. I did o.k. but never practiced after our sessions. I was hoping he would magically transform me into a rock star by our mere one-hour, one day a week time frame.

This lasted only for approximately a month-and-a-half. He was a nice guy who loved Pink Floyd (I can stand a few of their songs along with The Moody Blues but not many). I also livened the mood when we met, since this guy was dry as toast. He was also a computer nerd who had to stop our sessions a few times to explain to some kid over the phone how to work a certain software program. All and all, he was a nice guy but lame. That was the end of my brief attempt to become a rock star. Once again, you do all the work and just let me rock.