As I was tidying up the other day, I was horrified to discover that the cello Rob rented me for Christmas has actually, literally been collecting dust.

I learned to play the cello as a kid. Not Suzuki or anything serious — just orchestra class in school, and a few private lessons as I got older. I was something like fourth or fifth chair in the high school orchestra. Out of eight. I wanted to be better, of course, but it was never my top priority. I had a lot of other things going on.

I just liked playing the cello. I liked the deep, mellow tone. I liked putting rosin on my bow. I liked being part of an orchestra, playing beautiful, classical, important-seeming pieces I had never heard before.

Since I met Rob, I have spoken with great fondness about the cello, which I haven’t been able to play since high school, since I never actually owned an instrument. So, finally (and undoubtedly with designs on adding a little rock cello to the band), he rented one for me for Christmas.

It was one of the most thoughtful gifts I have ever gotten. And now, one of the most guilt-inducing.

I’ve had a whole arsenal of excuses: It’s my busy season for work. It’s too loud to play in the house without disrupting the entire building. I don’t have rosin. I need music. I need lessons.

The real problem: I tried playing it. And. I. Suck.

Sure, some of it came flying back to me. I was pleasantly surprised at my muscle memory, how easy it was to finger the right notes with my left hand. But something about the bowing is just horrendous. The sqwuaking! The moaning! It sounds like an elderly cow trying to pass a kidney stone right here in my living room.

Molly DOES NOT LIKE IT.

I don’t remember it ever sounding this bad. I don’t remember it ever being this hard.

So, most days, the cello just stares at me, reminding me that, like so many things in my life, I am willing to try for about fifteen minutes, and when I discover that I’m not the best at it, I flat out give up. Then, I plummet into an existential crisis about how horrible I am at everything. And then, even worse, once I have given up and sent the cello back, I sit around marveling that I ever gave it up in the first place, and wishing that I had tried harder  to be better or at least to have enjoyed it while I still had the opportunity.

This could literally be the great metaphor of my life. It occurs to me just how absurd that is. If I only had a month to live, would I spend it trying to re-learn the cello? And if I did, would I be so mad at myself for not being very good?

Before I cut off monthly rental payments, this cello deserves another chance. I deserve another chance. I am going to try again to play the cello, if for nothing more than the adventure of working on something that does not come very easily to me, and for the opportunity to try to laugh at how horrible I am at it.

And then, I’m going to assess whether or not trying to play the cello really brings me happiness, or if it’s just something I’m doing because I feel like I should be doing it, and, worse, if doing it not very well is just making me feel bad about myself.

And if, in the end, I give it up, I’m not going to be mad at myself for that, either. I’m going to be proud of myself for recognizing that there are many adventures in life, but you can’t have them all at once. And how lucky am I to be able to choose more than one? Or choose at all?

Or something like that. There’s a fine line between being a quitter and being good to yourself.

In the meantime, the least I can do is take some photos of the damn thing for posterity. Photography is another one of those hobbies of mine that I don’t put enough effort into, for fear of failure and for the sheer disappointment of not being good at it right off the bat.

Are other people that much more patient with new or difficult things than I am? Or do they just not have to work as hard to get great results? That is not meant as a rhetorical question. Sincerely, dear universe, I ask of you: Am I trying too hard, or not hard enough?

Chicago, IL (October 31, 2009) — For the first time in more than ten years, the legendary band Recollection has reunited under a new name — Guy Incognito — to christen Amp Rock Lounge in what some are hailing as the band’s werewolf bar mitzvah.

“Get it? Werewolf bar mitzvah?” said Amanda Newman, band manager and wife of keyboard player Rob Newman. Newman also masterminded the Groucho Marx glasses as a Halloween costume for the band.

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I suggested ‘Kosher Delight,’ but they just had to be ‘Guy Incognito.’”

For more than two hours on Saturday night, Guy Incognito delighted a drunken audience of dozens with their awkward jubilee and self-aware swagger.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, they’re so good,” said fan club president Ben Ferguson, whose wife, Abbie, wore a shirt with band members’ faces strategically situated atop her breasts. “I want to have their babies,” he added.

Once hailed for their electrifying live performances on the North Shore coffee house circuit and exclusive rehearsals in their drummer’s mom’s basement, Guy Incognito has spent the past decade cultivating their introspective pop sound. That is, they haven’t been doing much of anything for a long, long time.

[Caption: Drummer Scott Hinden's mom has a really sweet basement.]

Despite this hiatus — this period of “going incognito,” if you will — Guy Incognito continues to be one of the most influential bands in the lives of their little sisters, girlfriends, and would-be girlfriends, who know who they are.

Guy Incognito is the reunion of front man Barry Horwitz with his longtime collaborators and BFFs Rob Newman on keyboards and Scott Hinden on drums. The trio, then known as Recollection, first released an album in 1998 that featured photos of them at a suburban train station posing pensively while wearing denim jeans and sport coats and carrying single red roses. I mean, if that doesn’t make you swoon, then you’re just an animal.

In the past year, the band added bass player Matt Wechsler, primarily for his ability to grow his own ’stache.

“They hadn’t had much luck with keeping new bass players,” Amanda Newman said of Wecshler. “This time, they kept it in the Tribe. Sure enough, Matt stuck around, and next thing you know, the band was back and better than ever.”

“He’s hairy, just like us,” added Horwitz, whose own arm hair actually looked like crazy rocker tattoos that night. (See first photo, above.)

[Caption: Horwitz gets nice and sweaty, too -- just like Steven Tyler.]

Though not actually a member of the band, legendary rocker Steven Tyler of Aerosmith, pictured above, made a cameo. Unfortunately, due to technical difficulties, no one could really hear his voice very well.

“It’s too bad the balance was off,” said Kenny G, father of band manager Newman. ”I couldn’t hear Rob enough,” he added, placing his beer hand territorially on Newman’s keyboard. “I really, really love Rob. Have you seen that smile? It’s like the Kennedys!”

Kenny G later noted with some excitement that Newman wasn’t even wearing his wedding ring.

“I was afraid my ring would catch during a really intense glissando and I’d break a key,” Newman later explained. Newman’s signature is his athletic manner of playing the piano as if it were a drum set, including a lot of banging and foot stomping and often leading to cracked, bleeding fingernails. “Why, is Amanda pissed?” he asked.

Uncharacteristically, Newman’s wife did not fly into a jealous rage, although she was quick to indicate that, back in the day, the would-be girlfriends of the band then known as Recollection would routinely give her “the stink eye” when she showed up for gigs.

“They can have him,” she said. “He’s out of his mind. I mean, have you seen this guy? He’s dressed up as a Newsie, and not even for Halloween,” she said, referencing the 1992 cult classic film, Newsies.

Newman had no comment on her own ensemble, which was described by audience members as “showy” and “obnoxious,” though it remained unclear as to whether they were talking about the costume or Newman herself.

“I mean, she showed up with her parents in a white stretch limo,” said one audience member, who declined to give her name but was dressed up as what appeared to be a rose. “That’s a bit over the top.”

Newman, after claiming her parents ordered the limo without trying to be ironic, quickly added, “But, I mean, it went really great with my outfit, don’t you think?”

But no amount of sequins or Aquanet or electric blue tights could upstage the musicians of Guy Incognito that evening, who performed at their signature high intensity. Even the bartenders took note.

“I just wandered into this place after grabbing some pizza next door,” said some drunk guy dressed like Big Bird, “and the bartender is all, ‘Did you see Guy Incognito play? They totally rocked.’

“And I was all, ‘Guy Incognito’ — who’s that?’”

Indeed.

Click here to view the embedded video.

The above footage was selected for publication specifically because it is Kenny G’s favorite song, and because it best illustrates Newman’s “foot-stompin’” style that his grandpa (who numbers among the six or seven who actually read this blog) loves so very much. More videos, in larger format, here.

For a complete photo gallery of the evening’s events, look at the pictures on the right. Or, oh, OK, I’ll make a link.