Hatred of quality

It wasn't until I decided to learn how to play the drums that I felt this way.

I routinely find myself wanting to meet Jimmy Chamberlain, Billy Cobham, Danny Carey, and Neil Pert just so I can shake their hands. And I want to shake their hands so that they're too preoccupied with the greeting to be able to adequately defend my kicking them square in the balls.

Those guys are TOO DAMN GOOD.

And while you would NEVER know it by reading the crap I write, I'm actually quite the perfectionist. If I can't see myself becoming reasonably decent at an activity, I get very, very frustrated - and as always, the measure of "decent" is gauged by those before us who have set the bar on the post by which we are measured. A bar which I would love to dislodge and use to exhume Keith Moon's and John Bonham's bodies so I could perform mystic rituals and bring them back to life just so I could kill them for being so damn good.

One day - and I swear this - I will play "Siva" perfectly... But it won't be anytime soon. In fact, I'm likely to beat Jimmy into submission and force him to re-record the song with dumbed-down drum parts just so I can match it.