and rome didn't burn

I'm neither the youngest nor the oldest student in the fiddle class. I likely have the cheapest violin, though it's in better shape than many. And when I say cheap, that's a relative term: this baby is probably worth a whole lot more than that Yamaha p120 upstairs. The teacher (who is pretty much blind) had nothing to say when tuning mine, though I did hear him say wonderful things about some of the others. That is cool with me. I'd hate to play a Strad badly, and I have the utmost confidence that I'm going to play this fiddle very badly.

I pity the poor creatures who are going to have to listen to me play our open string exercises for the next week: Mississippi Stop Stop and Down Bunny Up Bunny. They are basically bowing exercises and I'm supposed to do that in front of a mirror to keep the bow hairs (which I'm NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH EVER AGAIN! lest oil from my fingers contaminate the horsehairs) in the proper position on the strings (which I'm NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH EVER AGAIN! lest oil from my fingers eventually contaminate the horsehairs of the bow). And I'm not even allowed to think about getting butter or olive oil on the bow or the strings. This is going to be a pink elephant for me for the entire week. Every time I go past the butter dish...

The teacher was pretty amusing, actually.

All in all it wasn't so bad. Now I have to have "the big three" in my violin case by next week: nail clippers, a soft cloth, and a pencil. Maybe I go to fiddle jail if I don't have those things, maybe I have to listen to the entire class play Mississippi Stop Stop for two solid hours. I don't know, but it could be bad.