skryche

A couple of days ago I went and rented a violin. I half-heartedly asked people for recommendations as to where rents the best violin, but eventually I just found a place that was fairly close to my apartment. I haven't played the violin seriously in nine years, I probably haven't been within ten feet of one for eight. I was a different person the last time I played.

I got to the (unbelievably cluttered) store — the guy behind the counter seemed amazed by the fact that a new customer was just walking in off the street. He showed me his rental violin, and I was flustered. There was no way I could pick it up in the store and try it out; I felt way way too self-conscious. I plucked the stings a little, then was all "'k, I'll take it."

Playing the new instrument has been strange, but it hasn't made me feel like I was eight years younger. What has been a trip is I keep finding myself thinking about the details of a violin. Like I'll remember the white ivory-esque triangle on the bow where the horsehair goes into the end, and then I'll check the new violin to see if this has the same thing. Or the metal bracket that keeps the chinrest on with its little paperclip holes. Last night I found myself sniffing the violin for that "violin smell".

The reason that I'm playing the violin at all, of course, is because of this play I'm in. Come see it.