Let me first set the scene. At my house, on the first floor, there is a small porch that one can only get to from the inside. Well, one can get to the porch from the outside, but it would require you to scale a small stone wall. On the porch, there is a wooden swing, which takes some effort to climb into. I went with my full-bodied Yamaha acoustic guitar and set up shop on the swing. I played mostly songs I had written and people passed by nodding their heads at me or dancing a little down my road. My neighbor across the street came outside and smoked a cigarette and listened. It was very relaxing. This all took place about 11 pm last night.
Then a man, not much younger than me, walked in front of my house. He was bobbing his head more vivaciously than any of his predecessors. I stopped playing as he was leaving my field of view. He also stopped walking and dancing and said to me, “I like your trumpet playing.”
“It’s a guitar,” I said half laughing, “but thank you.”
“Do you slice the viola?” He asked.
“No, I do not slice the viola,” I said, bewildered.
“Do you ever mixilate the phalanges?” Is what I think I heard next, but to be honest, I’m not entirely sure.
I didn’t say anything at this point, but it is important to point out that this man was very nice and seemed interested in my musical abilities.
“Sometimes when I trumpet slide, I really get to slicing,” he said.
“Oh do you play an instrument? I asked.
He changed the subject and began walking away. “But your good,” he said. “Even with your little guitar trumpet.”
I am not sure what to make of this little encounter late last night, but I am going to take everything he said as a compliment. He seemed genuine in his almost incoherent babbling, very confused, but genuine. I hope I meet him again and we can talk music. Who knows, maybe he was playing an elaborate prank on me and was very committed. Either way I liked the babbling man and I mean that truly.