Ya know, when I was eight years old (or thereabouts), I participated in a summer-camp thing at Greenfield Village (a museum, of sorts, in the Detroit area, which is set up like a little town and which collects historical houses for you to look at and explore). We were all in Thomas Edison's house, baking a pie out of pure lard, and I decided to sneak under the ropes at one point and mess around with Edison's harpsichord until someone came and yelled at me.

Was I bad? Sure. Do I regret it? No freakin' way.