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| The uke - when you want to play music, but don't have the patience to learn a real instrument. |
With the notable exceptions of Thomas Pynchon and middle-aged white guys in Hawaiian shirts, few people are willing to publicly admit their fondness for the ukulele. Even Pynchon himself once described ukulele players as, 'feckless, clownlike children who will not grow up.' In the pantheon of ridiculous instruments, the uke is eclipsed only by the accordion and kazoo. It lacks the face-melting badassitude of the electric guitar, the hipness of the bass, or percussion's cacophonous fury.
However, the ukulele does hold three major advantages over other, cooler instruments. First, it is cheap. John later admitted that he chose the uke as a gift mostly because, 'I don't like you enough to splurge on a guitar.' Second, it is small. While unimpressive as a living room centerpiece, the uke's compact size makes it the perfect travel instrument. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it is easy* to play.
*Relatively.
For the musically-incompetent, this last fact cannot be emphasized enough. The attics of the world are filled with dusty mandolins, trumpets, and digeridoos heartlessly cast aside by frustrated owners who quickly despaired of ever mastering their respective instruments and went back to watching reruns of Duck Dynasty. My own attempts at learning the acoustic guitar petered out after a week when I proved spectacularly inept at strumming, a massive disappointment considering my former dominance of Guitar Hero on PlayStation2. Life fails to imitate art, often humiliatingly.
So a few days ago, after gingerly stumbling through a disjointed version of 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow', I was almost catatonic with joy. For the next two hours I played the same chords over and over again, delighted by the almost-recognizable tune I produced with only a cheap box of wood and a few nylon strings. For the first time ever I had blisters on my fingers.
There is something incredibly pathetic about a grown man's pride in learning a new skill. Although I managed to refrain from humblebragging about my accomplishment on the internet ('took all day but finally got the E7 chord lol'), I was unable to resist casually mentioning my newfound uke talents to friends and co-workers. I even showed off a bit of fingerpicking to my parents on Skype, like an 8-year old who just learned how to whistle. 'Hey Mom, check out this intro to 'Dust in the Wind! Mom? Mom? MOM!'
We expect this kind of needy attention-seeking from children, because children are generally useless human beings who require validation for the smallest of accomplishments. Kids get a gold star for not shitting their pants (literally, in many cases). Adults, on the other hand, are supposed to have outgrown this need for constant approval. We should be able to acquire a new talent or ability without taping proof to the refrigerator.
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| Where the magnets at? |
My generation forgot to learn this lesson. The smallest act of self-improvement needs to be shared with the world, so everyone can be impressed that you jogged 2 km on the treadmill and did a couple pushups before breakfast. Ideally there should be an app for this, so you can receive anonymous kudos from similarly insecure people who are also desperate to be congratulated for their slightest progress in the Sisyphean ordeal of human existence. Also, you'd probably like a cookie.
I'm one of these people. I am a Millennial. I am unmarried, I do not own a home, and I have never held the same job for more than a year. I have no pets, investments, or marketable skills besides a U.S. passport and the ability to talk American pretty OK. I do not volunteer, speak a foreign language fluently, or cook edible meals. I have voted precisely once, writing in 'Turd Ferguson' during the 2008 presidential election.
But I can play two songs on the ukulele, three if you count the refrain to 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight'. And I devoted most of the afternoon to telling you all about this.
Life is absurd.
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