Well, I finally killed off that silly nudist. Now if I can just work out how she could be the murderer as well, I'll be set. It can't be suicide. That would be so cliche.
19: I am thankful for my big, black piano. I'm not sure if I've mentioned it (in the last eleven seconds) but I am a piano teacher. And I must say, with all the modesty of performing artists everywhere, I'm pretty dang good at it. If I had to, I could teach you how to play piano using nothing but a pair of pinking shears and six pounds of tofu. Neither one of us would enjoy it very much, but I'd have you assaulting Fur Elise in no time.
Since there are those within and without the music community who believe "Elise" was actually a pug-faced neighbor of Beethoven's who regularly complained about the noise and accused him of stealing her cable, it could be argued that playing the piano solo he wrote for her is in itself an assault against good taste, which in the long-hair music world is a Class A felony.
Nevertheless, show me the tofu, and I'll show you the ropes.
Now, for years I taught on instruments that were more "suggestions" of piano-ness, rather than, say, "embodiments" thereof.
In short, they were crap.
Elderly spinets, gigantic boxes which had formerly been player pianos and whose keys stuck (I got as good at flipping F# back up as I did at pushing it down), those tiny keyboards you can order with UPC labels from Frosted Cheerios - I worked with them all.
But when we came to Las Vegas, I convinced my husband that I needed a little street cred, and finally got the piano of my dreams. It's a glossy black 5'8" Yamaha grand, which came fully loaded with dual airbags, tinted windows and cruise control.
Wait. That's my Camry.
Anyway, it's an awesome instrument, and I'll tell you one thing:
With the right kid sitting on the bench, we can make that damned Elise wish she had never been born.