I wasn't born yesterday

Well, that's it. Not only do I play "La Cumparsita" like a swing tune -- but now I've taken to playing "Hedwig's Theme," the sparkly little waltz from the Harry Potter movies, in something resembling 4/4 time.

"Time for a little technique," Tiina remarks. She pronounces it "teck-knee-kew" to make it sound off-beat and fun, but she's fooling no one. She means the same old scales and crap.

"Do you still have all those Hanon exercises?" she asks a little later.

Oh yes, I can see where this is going.

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I can't miss mentioning that last Sunday's The Amazing Race was the obligatory accordion episode (at least one per season, it's the law). They so often use the accordion as a metaphor for the dark side -- there it is, wheezing away while clowns leer or gypsies cavort malevolently.

This time the accordions provided the soundtrack to a particularly gross fondue-eating competition. I thought this showed a certain lack of imagination, following closely as it did on the heels of the schnitzel-eating task on a ferris wheel. But it did make me hungry for fondue (this in spite of the fact that one of the contestants threw up).

My own karma with fondue is complicated. I can't pass up a fondue pot at a yard sale, though afterwards it sits unused on a shelf, the little demonic forks occasionally falling down behind. 

Once upon a time when I was on a date, my companion was set on fire by an exploding fondue pot. It was in a long-ago restaurant in downtown Toronto called "The Graf Bobby." We were both of us young and naive and so, after we had put out the flames shooting from John's chest, and the manageress had yelled at us, we paid for dinner.

The restaurant is long gone, but it still rankles.