(no subject)
A couple weeks ago I took my friend Tracy to her guitar lesson. I've never been a musically talented person, as evidenced by the way I once massacred the strings of an acoustic guitar given to my family (even though non of us play). I thought I was 'tuning' it.
I took the crippled baby. I knew nothing about this guitar or any other for that matter. I knew nothing about where we were going.
It was a tiny building filled to the roof (literally) with instruments and equipment. People stood, people sat. Two were behind the counter, which was surrounded by barstools, chatting idly with the small crowd. It seemed like more of crowd, perhaps, because there was no room. I stood with my guitar case trying to look as if I knew something, patiently waiting my turn and listening.
So The Man asked me if I was waiting for a lesson. I gave him the lowdown on my business and laid my instrument on the table. I also laid on the table the fact that I knew nothing and played nothing, and that he could easily take advantage of me if he had the desire. He didn't. He explained my guitar to me, restrung it, tuned it, and charged me close to nothing for his half hour of time. Turns out my guitar isn't a very good one... it's buckling from the tension of the strings. :-(
I bought a book, a learning to play guitar book... it's a start. I've been deeply thrilled by my silly little plinking sounds for the last two weeks. I'm thrilled by the blisters and callouses on my left hand only. I'm thrilled that I now have a much wider spread on my left hand than on my right. I'm thrilled by passing time alone in the back seat of my car in a parking lot laboring to produce something musical. I'm thrilled.
I took the crippled baby. I knew nothing about this guitar or any other for that matter. I knew nothing about where we were going.
It was a tiny building filled to the roof (literally) with instruments and equipment. People stood, people sat. Two were behind the counter, which was surrounded by barstools, chatting idly with the small crowd. It seemed like more of crowd, perhaps, because there was no room. I stood with my guitar case trying to look as if I knew something, patiently waiting my turn and listening.
So The Man asked me if I was waiting for a lesson. I gave him the lowdown on my business and laid my instrument on the table. I also laid on the table the fact that I knew nothing and played nothing, and that he could easily take advantage of me if he had the desire. He didn't. He explained my guitar to me, restrung it, tuned it, and charged me close to nothing for his half hour of time. Turns out my guitar isn't a very good one... it's buckling from the tension of the strings. :-(
I bought a book, a learning to play guitar book... it's a start. I've been deeply thrilled by my silly little plinking sounds for the last two weeks. I'm thrilled by the blisters and callouses on my left hand only. I'm thrilled that I now have a much wider spread on my left hand than on my right. I'm thrilled by passing time alone in the back seat of my car in a parking lot laboring to produce something musical. I'm thrilled.