Closet Extremist

Still Practicing...

You all know what it's like to be Dead-on Flat-ass Broke don't you? Not two nickels to rub together, running out of smokes, the last beer is in the fridge but you don't wanna drink it 'cuz then you're OUT OF BEER!, no prospects are forthcoming for gainful employment, and you're woefully depressed about your lot in life. What do you do? Beg a couple hunnert offa buddy? Nah, my brains' internal wiring won't allow me to do that. (Hell, Jennifer was kind enough to pick me up a bottle of Very Old Barton to tide me through, and I gave her shit about it. "I support my own vices." I believe I told her.) Go crawling to Mom and Dad? Nope, did that too many times already. Time to stop being a burden to 'em. Put in applications to even the shittiest of jobs? They were in, just the damned phone didn't ring.

When I was out doing a few odd job's for my rommate's parents (Painting thier rental duplex, putting in new faucets, crap like that. ) I passed by the local "Hock Shop" and had to make a hard decision. At the time, I was the proud possessor of two Acoustic, and two Electric guitars. My Amplifier was on the fritz, so I decided that the Fender Squier Strat and the Epiphone Les Paul were on the block. These were both Cheap Ass guitars, so I knew that I wouldn't get much for them. I looked over at my Antares Acoustic/Electric (Made in some third-world country, action so crappy that you have to hit it with a hammer to get any noise out of it, Ivory plastic string guide broken free from the neck, $75 Pawn Shop guitar) and my Martin DM (First, check the list price on that sucker! this is a Low-End Martin.).

When I went to buy that Martin guitar, a friend and coworker took me out to a place in the middle of nowhere called Ciderville Music Store (See #4 on the listing, yes they deserve that 5-star rating.) where I played nearly every Martin Guitar they had on the shelves (they had a LOT). I remember when I first carressed her neck, I got a little tingle, and when I struck a string she positively SPOKE OUT, that she was playing. It was Love. When I stepped up to the counter to pay for it, the man there said "I'll just get you a new one in the box." I told him in no uncertain terms that I did not want this model of guitar... I wanted THIS guitar. He was delightd to sell it to me. I had that guitar for six years, and I don't know how many miles.

I carried the Strat, the Les Paul, and my beloved Martin down to the "Super-Astro-Atomic-Mega-Pawnapalooza, and sold them. I came out of the place with enough cake to get me through to my retail gig, which led to my current profession. After all of the overtime and "Rush Jobs", I'm finally Flush again.

On an impulse, I went out last night and purchased something that has been lacking in my recent life. A Fender Stratocaster. I needed something that was actually "playable" in order to actually play. I was doing the "Am, F, C G" along with the tune in question, last evening, and enjoyed myself most furiously. As for Harvey's request for Mp3's... Maybe after some more practice.

Posted by Johnny - Oh at October 5, 2006 08:48 PM | TrackBack