Back to Basics: PINKY
Yesterday, like every other morning/afternoon I decided to take a few leaps forward with my piano self-tutoring and learn how to play the right hand on the keyboard.Turns out that there is an obstacle getting in my way ninety-nine percent of the time:
- The right hand itself: I am left handed for those who don’t know.
- The pinky finger.
How can I start about the pinky finger? Every time I do something with it, it can’t seem to move like I tell it to. Even trying the still-modern science fiction-y hype of telepathy like Jean Grey or Professor X from The Uncanny X-men has no effect and doing the ordinary warm-ups like soaking your hands in warm water (although I did it more lobster-wise) and sitting there looking like a complete gonk with these “wiggle your wrists and hands” like something out of the kids’ show of The Wiggles (does anyone remember Wags the Dog?) or In the Box (With Bop and Company telling you to put a smile on your dial at the ending of the show every time?) flavoured calibre just doesn’t do what it’s supposed to.
Here’s how the conversation went with My Pinky Finger during the lesson:
Me: Move! Why won’t you move?
The Pinky: (no response)
Me: Urrgh! (struggles to move The Pinky)
The Pinky: (wiggles in response like a dying fly, causing frustration)
Anyway, I complain about how retarded my pinky finger is to others (including budding musicians like myself), they can only nod, while thinking whether that Ranting Guy Is Rather Insane. Plus playing whilst sitting in an office chair is a bother when it comes to playing as well, telling me in my sleep to get a piano bench. I have thought that in the future, the Human Race will evolve once again to get rid of the pesky thing, just like the tail bone and the appendix that are remnants of unknown or debated body parts.
Future Human #1: What’s the tail bone and appendix, Dad? What does it do?
Future Human #2 (Dad): (holding his stubby of beer) Dunno, mate.
The Son: My pinky’s beginning ‘tashrink Dad, do you think other future generations ‘ill need it?
The Dad: Naaaah!
Or turn into mindless creatures dubbed Lumps with a collective mind with the intelligence of a bowl of Aeroplane Jelly and the emotional range of a Heirhead’s Silver Tea spoon. At least the Darwinists and the Creationists will have something to go at each other’s throats about during a lunchtime encounter.