Maybe she'll do the music for my after-school special?

I've always been all over the musical map. Rag Time, Punk, New Age, New Wave, Grunge, Classic Rock, British Invasion Bands, Country, Show Tunes, mindless Dance Music, "Chick" rock ... I make no apologies for my iPods.

More often than not, I'll wake up in the morning with a song in my head that stays with me for hours. For no apparent reason, I always think of a specific track from "Peter and The Wolf" when doing my laundry, as an example. Who knows WHY ... but I dream in music.

I am, specifically, a sucker for anything that features a piano. This isn't a huge secret for those who know my musical background and, 'tho I no longer play, there are days - or tunes that come to my ear - which ORDER me to the keyboard to play them. I'm usually able to work this out because (1) I have several keyboards readily available for me to bang away on and (b) I have perfect pitch. I know, before I touch any part of the ivory, what sound it will make, and which keys will compliment the note.

When my parents discovered that I had a "good ear" for music, I was immediately enrolled in private lessons, which I violently resisted. I had an awful speech impediment - I was short - I was LOUD - I was klutzy - and if all that "different" wasn't enough, now I was "talented", too. I was one thick pair of black-rimmed glasses and a bully away from being an after-school special.

I went twice a week to my dreaded piano lessons, where an older woman endeavored to teach me how to read music that I could just as easily repeat by ear after she'd played it for me. Which is exactly what I did. Anyway, Miss Batkin (yes, I do remember her name even today) would do her best to teach me pieces perfectly acceptable for my age - and I would sit on the bench - never looking at the sheet music she was reading from but watching her fingers, testing myself on "ok now what will THAT sound like?" I knew when she was about to make an error, before she did, but I was unfailingly polite and played along with the game. She would comment that at some point, I'd have to learn to turn my own pages - not realizing that I couldn't do that because I had NO idea how the scribbles up on the sheets related to the notes that I was playing.

After a year or possibly more of this, just as suddenly as the lessons started, they stopped. I don't remember what had happened. If I had to guess, I'd say that I'd broken my arm (again) and was finally given a reprieve ... and just didn't go back.

I'm still in awe of those who read music and hold those who play instruments other than the piano in high regard. See - for me, the keyboard, in all forms, is pretty basic stuff. The notes never change - ya' press Middle C and it's always gonna sound like Middle C. With a guitar (for instance), one hand will dictate what note will come out, while the other hand will dictate the measure of the sound itself. For me, that's close to voodoo. And while I can mimic well enough to copy a song, I cannot, for the life of me, improvise. I must have a musical goal when I sit at the piano. I need to know the destination.

Speaking of "destinations", I'd like to provide one for a close to this entry. It's not enough that Alanis Morissette comfortably expresses poetry with lyrics ("If God's taking bets, I pray he wants to lose") or that she is more beautiful today than she was 10 years ago (the bitch), but she also has an amazing voice. I give you "Not As We". (And yes, I tried to embed, but got no love. Just visit the old fashioned way.)

http://new.music.yahoo.com/videos/AlanisMorissette/Not-As-We%3A-Nissan-Live-Sets-On-Yahoo!-Music--59775741