Today was my first piano lesson.

I had been saving $20 a week for the last two years. Thankfully, I had a sweet job at the organic market in Hampden, and by sweet I mean they hired me, which I didn't expect considering I was 14 years old. But I wore my best track suit to the interview, I brushed my teeth real good, and I knew a lot about asparagus so I was pretty confident when I walked into the store and asked to see the manager. I had me a meeting and there was no way I'd be late.

You see, I was raised right. Mama don't play. She would say, "Baby, there ain't nothing you can't do. Just be on time." And she told me this while standing in the basement folding a load of laundry as I sat at the piano and counted the keys: 36 black and 52 white. Ain’t that a bitch. Now, I won’t go badmouthing anybody because Mama said that wasn't respectable, but I did secretly think the piano had the power to integrate in a positive way, which is precisely why I needed to save up for those lessons. I was motivated and I had theories. Theory number one: I needed to master them keys. I figured, if I could play all the notes without favor or fear, I'd: 1) get a scholarship to Johns Hopkins, 2) perform at the Hippodrome, and 3) run for mayor. The keys would spark a new generation of peace, love and happiness!

Mama said patience is a virtue.

I needed to graduate high school first. Fortunately, reading books and studying were my favorite things, besides hugging mama and laughing at the TV. We watched one of those political debates the other night. Everybody was yelling at each other, being mean and whatnot. It was funny in a prehistoric way, but it was mostly sad. It felt out of touch with what people really needed, which was, as mama would say—one love. And there wasn't a stitch of soul in any of those podium pitches to save America. When I'm mayor I'm going to preach unity and affection, I'll speak in iambic pentameter and haikus, the poet in the pulpit, I got nothing to lose. You know why? Because our collective psyche evolves at a snails pace. So I might as well be funky. And there’s a chance humanity will never realize our divine gift of compassion; we’ll just keep slapping each other upside the head until we’re zombies. As a species, we behave like spoilt three year olds; this is theory number two.

Let’s break out the slide rule.

Ok, so humans have been on earth for around 200,000 years, but, we are only three grumpy years into our ultimate destiny of true enlightenment. Now, we’ll assume society will eventually mature beyond this hella bitch phase when we’re around 25 years old. So when we divide 200,000 by 3 we can see that each birthday on the road to self realization happens every 67,000 years. Which means: We should be nicer people in about 1.5 million years.

Anyways.

I'm going to focus on the piano for now. I'm bringing love to the podium, y'all. It's a start.

⌘