Children...children...future...future...

I had one of those moments yesterday. Unfortunately, nobody though to bring me a beer (except for myself).

Piano/guitar recitals yesterday. #1 has been playing the piano for six months now. She was amazing. She played Tarantula.

The rest of the recital was just like Children...children...future...future...I was not able to sit through it to  the end. But let's back up to the beginning. (If anybody has a link to the Simpson's clip in English, I'd put it right up.)

Knowing what a mess the show would be, I called ahead to Verkiai Restaurant to confirm the sale of beer. When I get there, they say no, the kitchen's closed. I'm ordering beer here, not food, and two hours ago on the phone you told me no problem. Turns out there is a problem, they don't have a cash register (What?), so they can't take orders separate from the single event renting the premises/ordering some snacks and punch at the end of the ordeal. So, to get a beer they have to include it's price in the main order and charge the piano teacher, to whom I then have to give six lits in coins. Awesome.

And then they tap a new keg to pour me the one beer, which takes them about 25 minutes. Awesomer.

#1's performance was definitely the best. That doesn't mean she was the best pianist, but she did choose her song most wisely. The kids who are better than she chose songs that were too hard, or maybe their parents made them, but so they made mistakes. Some of my favorites, like Joplin's Ragtime, were destroyed. Each time I heard a song come on that I like I cringed, feeling the music march itself up to the gallows.

Looking around me, I knew that I was not alone. The rest of the parents shared my fate. There were four types of faces in the audience: yawning, eyes-shut, shit-eating-grin, and video camera. The last was one that each parent took his turn at when his kid went up. I took my turns at the first and third, doing my best not to let my face betray the horror I was feeling. I was even intent on sitting through it, golden rule and all. But after about 20 songs I volunteered to take #2 for a walk, because "she" was getting antsy.

And I thought to myself, after I'd escaped from musical hell, golden rule? Perhaps, in this bizarro world of disharmony, the golden rule is different. Maybe it's Every Man For Himself. So we'll see if I get over it before next year's concert (Oh God, please don't let them be more often than annual), but I think the best plan of action might be to bribe the teacher to let my kid (the talented one!) go first, and quietly take our leave immediately thereafter.

Note to parents: #2 was dramatically displeased not to receive any flowers, despite my insistence that she "did do anything to deserve flowers."