If there is one thing I have absolutely no talent for but wish I had it is music. Ever since I was a kid, I've always wanted to play a cool instrument like the guitar or the drums, but all my attempts were met with frustration. I gave my sister's geetar a good go for a couple of weeks when I was nine, but being uncoordinated (that is not knowing what my right and left had were doing at the same time and unable to move two fingers independently without exacting concentration) I abandoned it after learning the oh so rocking three blind mice.

I've never taken up the drums but that old left hand right hand thing still would get in the way. Any keyboard instrument is pretty much the same. I will say that my musical frustrations were assuaged a bit by learning how to play the kingpin of 15th century chart topping mega-groups--the trombone. Now unless you are into ska, the trombone doesn't really offer much of a chance to rock out. I really wasn't all that good at it anyway; I was just consistent.

So, I suppose, I've harbored a secret jealousy of people who are in bands and have a musical sense; you know how it is; you want to do something and just can't succeed at it. The temptation in this situation, of course, is to buckle to slackertudity and just give up. I won't say that I haven't done that with music, because it is pretty obvious that I have. I guess it isn't too bad standing in front of the stage listening to the music that others make.

A guy can dream, however, and in those dreams what music I make.

Sometimes when I'm not doing anything in particular, I get the distinct impression that someone is going to come up behind me and bonk me on the head. Budding paranoia? Probably. What a hoot it would be if it actually happened. It is kind of like peeking around a corner in a dark house to see if there is a ghost. You know it is not there, but you still do it. Well maybe you don't, but I do it occasionally despite my decidedly anti-ghost lifestyle.

I was complaining the other day that time-wise it doesn't seem like it is June, but more like July or August. I would assume this is because I didn't take much time off of school, but hopped right back into summer semester--thus, unlike other years, it seems like it is later in the summer than it is. The feeling is exacerbated by friends or colleagues who are quitting good old Salt Lake City--a sort of deadline of the ultimate kind (other than death). Feeling summertime squeezed because of a lack of time makes me anxious. It seems like you only have so much time to do fun summertime things and enjoy the weather.

All of this is stupid, of course, in that it is still only June and there is plenty of summer to come--if not too much summer to come. Getting away last weekend out in the west desert for my buddy Jason J's bachelor party was a good way to reel back the time. Now it feels like June 30th.