As I sit here looking out the window, I realize that motivation has gone with my view, right out the window. Yes, I do realize that the 16 month internship is almost upon me and I need to step this posting game up, or else it'll be a long 16, or however many months you the reader decide to stick around.

Speaking of audiences, I was forced to be a part of one last night. You see, the friendly asian neighbors across the street invited our family over for dinner. Nothing wrong with the picture yet.

We had some salad, some smoked salmon, some pasta, and some curry. On top of that, I was treated to a glass of white wine and some non-alcoholic peach snaps. The picture, has gotten better.

After dinner, we were escorted to the living room, where the kids, me not being a kid, were "politely" asked to put on piano performances.

And this is the point where the picture has been dunked in a bucket of soap duds and comes out all peely and nasty and no matter how good the picture was before, it looks like a soggy piece of toilet paper.

I absolutely hated it when the parents more or less forced me to play piano in front of their dinner guests. I hated it even more when I had to play piano AS a dinner guest. As a kid, I was treated like some sort of freak-show. "Oh YES let's line up the kids and show them all off. And by the way, my kid sounds better than yours."

Yup, sounds like we're one step away from being sold into slavery. Piano slavery. Arguably the worst kind of slavery out there for a kid. Cuz as bad as physical labor could be, I would like to think that I would be able to put on some muscle. And I would love to have some of that action.

What does piano slavery offer? Strong FINGERS?! A good sense of rhythm and pitch? All so that you can wince at every slight (or great) off-tuned...ness? No, piano slavery leaves you with the bitterness and the resentfulness of a childhood (and my teenage years for that matter) being STOLEN AWAY AND NEVER RETURNED like Simba.

I know, its a touchy subject for me. And again, motivation, which I once thought was out the window, has in fact hit that pane of glass separating the inside from the outside. Because the window wasn't open. And now motivation is slumped over on my carpet, wondering what the heck just hit it. Or should I say, what the heck it just hit.

I just realized, that I went through one whole post with actual content in it without any asterisks. I should take a picture of this.