Mrs. Townsend, my 11th grade English teacher, once defined kissing as “the uptown persuasion for the downtown invasion”.
I do not recall which great literary work we were studying at the time of this declaration. Perhaps it was the scandalous Scarlet Letter. I doubt it was the interminably morose Look Homeward Angel.
Anyway, somewhat more recently, though still very long ago, I attended a party at a firehouse —
In my memory it was a firehouse, but that doesn’t make much sense. More likely, it was a warehouse. Well, it was some kind of house. A big one.
So, the band playing the party was named Persuasive Lips.
During a break, I chatted with the lead guy, and when the group returned to the stage, he called me to sing backup. With a microphone. A working microphone.
I sang and danced and played tambourine for the rest of the night. It is something very special to make music with other people. It is a joyous thing.
After that night, I formed a girl group, The Jackets. A Go-Gos, Bangles sort of thing. I should probably mention, this part was all in my head.
At the time, I did play the guitar. With great frequency and enthusiasm and a very solid intermediate level of proficiency. Now, I don’t have sufficient fine motor skills. I haven’t in years. To be honest, I have trouble even to make my fingers press the right numbers on the cell phone screen.
I did used to sing, too, all the time. Bosses would tell me it was good for morale. Strangers in stores would remark how nice my voice. Now, people actually ask me to stop. I just can’t seem to control my vocal chords. Linda Ronstadt isn’t able to sing anymore, either. But, by her, it’s a loss.
You know what they say. It’s never too late. Lemons? Lemonade!
So I’m starting a new group, The Arthritix. I’m soliciting women over 45. Must play an instrument poorly and/or sing off-key. We’ll practice at my place. Bring your own noise-canceling headphones.
© 2016 Jaclyn Schrier. All rights reserved.