Incoherent Ramblings

(originally posted 2/2007)

When I was about 7, a group from the USC string project came to my elementary school and talked to us, played their instruments, etc.  I went home with the information packet and the permission form.  I was going to be the next viola virtuoso of Columbia, S.C.  Well, THE HOBB, nixed my dreams of fame and notariety on the philharmonic circuit. I was a tad devestated.  For about ten minutes, then I went and ran the streets with the other neighborhood kids and all was forgotten.

Fast foward to 1980. My 11th birthday.  I wanted a guitar and guitar lessons.  THE HOBB said, “Fine. If you want to try, I will get you the guitar and set up some lessons.” 

Now, she wasn’t just going about this all willy-nilly.  Musical talent DOES run in my family.  My sister was a very accomplished young violinist and vocalist, until she hit high school and started smoking all the time.  Now she sounds like Marge Simpson’s sisters.  There was the off-chance that I might have gotten a little passed down to me. 

The birthday came and i got my lovely Gibson acoustic guitar, a fancy rainbow strap and a few picks. I was the next Jimmy Page.  I was on my way to rock stardom. My guitar teacher showed up, some kid from USC.  I don’t even remember his name.  We had our first hour-long lesson.  He identified the strings for me.  Gave me a worksheet with notes and chords on it for me to practice.  we did a few things.  As he was leaving he said, “Okay, you need to practice this about at least 2 hours each day at first until you are familiar with those notes, etc.” 

I smiled and said, “Sure. Okay!”

Music Boy, “See you in a week!”

The boy got in his little raggedy car with some clever musician-type stickers on the bumpber and drove off.

I packed up my guitar, gathered all the papers Music Boy left for me and went into the den where my gramma was watching tv.

“So, how’d it go?” THE HOBB asked.

“You can sell this.  I am not taking anymore lessons, ” I inforned her.

She sorta smiled and said, “Aw, Kimmy, why’s that?” 

I told her, “I can’t be giving up 2 hours or more a day for practicing.  I have school work, books to read and my bike to ride.  This just won’t fit in.”

She said, “Yeah, I thought this might happen.”

THE HOBB knew I didn’t have the attention span, nor the ability to sit still long enough to practice so long.   She had kept the reciept for everything and took it all back to Pecknel in Five Points.  I think she ended up getting me some books and a Simon game.  Now SIMON!?  Oh, I had the attention span for reading and playing Simon.  I almost got another one at Target the other day. 

So, that’s the story of how Kim Finney ruined her fledgling music career.