It’s been a while since I shared some of the nonsense…. er, humor, from my friend, Tracy Farr. Enjoy….
When life is getting you down, just fiddle
There comes a time in a man’s life when he wakes up one morning, feels his bones creak as he gets out of bed, and realizes his tree-climbing days are just about over. He feels old, he feels tired, he looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and the monotony of every day life is an anchor that keeps dragging him further and further down into the abyss.
It’s at that moment that a man decides his life would look a whole lot better from the saddle of a brand new Harley Davidson Fat Boy – a black one, with straight pipes kicking out un-godly decibels of thunder, with the optional Biker Babe attached and holding on for dear life.
Yes indeed! Sometimes you need a bit of spice in your life to make it through the day. But I say a Bike and a Babe might not be the most prudent way to go about it. In my opinion, if a man really wants to add some flavor to his meal, what he truly needs is a fiddle – a down-to-earth, honest to goodness, low-tech, cat scratching, fingernails-on-chalkboard, wife yelling “Get that thing out of my house before I lose my ever-loving mind” fiddle.
Poppycock you say? Nonsense you say? You think I’m full of hot air, gibberish, gabble rubbish, and baloney? Maybe so, but I bet you good money that if you were to give a man the choice between a Harley/Biker Babe and a fiddle, he’d choose the Harley/Biker Babe every time – but only because that’s what society demands of him. Deep in his heart he yearns to play fiddle. Just ask him. He’ll lie to you, of course, but you and I know the truth.
(WORDS OF ADVICE: If you decide after reading this essay that you indeed need a fiddle, keep in mind that your local music store will try to sell you a violin instead. Don’t let them. Stand your ground. Tell them you weren’t born yesterday. You want a fiddle, and you won’t leave until they sell you one. Now, back to our story.)
Like I was saying, when a man has sunk so low as to think a Harley and a Biker Babe will make life worth living again, that’s the time he desperately needs a fiddle – even though he’ll resist with all the man-ness he can muster. And why does he need it? Because learning to play one makes you realize that your life isn’t as bad as it could be.
You know that boss you can’t stand? You’ll be hugging his neck after five minutes of trying to hold a fiddle. You know all that paperwork that’s been piling up on your desk? You’ll be eager to tackle it after a day of trying to correctly hold a bow. You know that guy in the next cubicle who plays his Rap Music so loud it can be heard even through his headphones? You’ll be begging him to turn up the music after a week of listening to yourself scratch out a melody on the fiddle.
There are not many things worse than listening to a beginner fiddle player. Someone learning to play bagpipes comes to mind, as well as stepping in cat vomit in the middle of the night, Macaroni and Cheese Pizza, and Oprah. But after that, I’m hard pressed to think of anything else.
Playing the fiddle is one of those things that takes time to learn. Some people develop the skill quickly, while others keep scratching until the day they die and their relatives are happy to put them in their grave – along with the fiddle.
But when it’s all said and done, and you’ve accomplished what you’ve set out to do, you’ll feel as if you could leap tall buildings in a single bound; you’ll feel more powerful than a locomotive; you’ll feel as if you can run faster than a speeding bullet. And when you finally have this unimaginable feeling of invincibility, that’s the time you head over to your friendly neighborhood Harley shop, pick out a sweet ride, and take your pick of Biker Babes.
And what about the little woman at home? No need to worry. You’re invincible! Besides, she’s been debating on whether to kick you out of the house or shoot you ever since the day you brought home that fiddle. She’ll be happy to see you go. She might even pack you a lunch.
Tracy Farr lives in East Texas with his wife, three children and some goats. To read more of his stories, visit his website at http://www.tracyfarr.net.