I don’t have a musical bone in my body, I couldn’t carry a tune if it came with handles, and even when I hum it sounds sorta like a drunk yak making a mating call to an Mountain Greenberry Thorn Bush — always funny until he finds the four-inch thorns.
But I love music. So, I sing out of key way too loud, play a pretty decent air guitar (and am taking lessons on air drums), and continue to hum and draw annoyed stares from friends and strangers alike — and the occasional yak who happens to wander through my back yard.
But I discovered something the other day, quite by accident, when I tested gravity while holding a big grilling fork. I tend to test gravity a lot more lately than I used to. At least I like to think of it as testing gravity.
It might be a “learned instinct” I picked up after eight years of playing games with people who’s main goal was to knock me down. Of course, my goal was to not let them and to, maybe, knock them down. Maybe Earth misses me so it just pulls me down. Just like old times.
Anyway, I knew gravity was calling and since my mother didn’t raise any stupid children, I dropped the grilling fork and prepared to take my bounces. Except the grilling fork didn’t drop quite far enough and the next thing I know I’m sitting on my behind with a six-inch fork sticking out of my chest.
For most people this would not be a good scenario. But since I’m filled with chicken wire and rivets — plus I’ve become accustomed to testing gravity — it wasn’t that big of a deal.
The first reaction (for anybody) after testing gravity is to jump up and look around and make sure nobody saw it. And if they did, you say something like, “Don’t worry, I’m a paid professional. I do this for living. Do not try this at home.”
And then people say, “Ooh,” and “Ahh,” and pretty girls give you their phone number (after just a little bit of begging) and then give the universal “call me” sign by acting like they’re gagging, and other onlookers shake their heads in amazement at the amazing feat you just pulled off, and even the paramedics and first responders are impressed that you’re up and walking with that bone sticking out of your shin.
A good time is always had by all.
But after jumping up after a grilling fork found its way into my chest and looking to make sure my house really was empty, I started to open my mouth and say something witty like, “Ouch!” Except when I opened my mouth music came out. Good music, too. Like Dashboard Confessional music. And when I turned a little to the left, I got different music. Metallica, I think. Not sure because turning kinda quick like that almost made me test gravity again, so I turned back toward the direction of Dashboard Confessional, except I went a little too far and got Merle Haggard singing “Silver Wings,” which is a really good song and one of my grandmother’s favorites.
So I stood real still.
Problem was, every time I took a step I got a different song, which was okay until I got to an Andrea Bocelli song and it kinda stuck no matter how many steps I took. I even hopped around a bit to try to change the tune.
I have nothing against Mr. Bocelli. I just can’t understand a word he’s saying and I feel left out.
I’m glad my neighbors didn’t see me. “Why are you hopping around like your feet are on fire?” they’d ask.
“Trying to get away from Andrea Bocelli,” I’d say. See? That just wouldn’t work. They’d think I’d lost my mind (even though I know they would be able to hear Italian warbling coming out of my mouth) and I’d wind up wearing a white coat in a rubber room. Something like that.
Like all good things found by accident, my new ability to play music vanished as fast as it came. I finally shed myself of Mr. Bocelli and locked onto a pretty strong Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers signal when the grilling fork fell out. I think my chicken wire and rivets kinda pushed it out, if you want to know what I think. Jealousy is not a pretty trait.
I tried sveral times to put the fork back in, but either blood loss, or just being tired from tuning in to all of those songs kinda made me tired and I fell asleep.
“Stick a fork in me, I’m done,” was the last thing I remember.