Friday, January 18, 2008

Sadly, my fingers no longer bleed.

"Guitar Center, Hello" Answers the voice on the other end of the telephone, as I sit and stare blankly at my computer monitor. Eyes red from the glare of the computer and the fluorescent lighting combined. A bit irritated with the day, I reply, "Hi, I'm looking for Carl, the repair guy" "Uh, Carl is out for the day, he's gone home and will be back Monday" "Ok, thanks a lot, I'll try him then". Shitfuckballs! I've tried getting a hold of this guy for about two weeks now and he's always either at lunch, on the phone, or out sick. wtf!? What does this guy do? How does he make his money?! I really need an estimate or a price for a job I need him to do and no one in the store but him knows the prices of repairs. I have a guitar, a gift from a good friend, that needs fixing and I can't get a hold of this guy. A gorgeous blue piece in a small attempt at recreating an Ovation, only my dream guitar. Ugh. I'll try again Tuesday I guess.

The best birthday present of 2006.

It's time I take the guitar a little more seriously, It sits there, looking beautiful in it's own right, collecting some dust, and feeling neglected. There are days when I come in from a long day at the office and all I want to do is play it, but alas, it needs repairing.

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I love music. LOVE IT! I love listening to it, I love watching it be performed, I love dancing to it, and I most definitely love playing it to the best of my abilities.

I miss the feeling of learning a new song. Of listening to something that later on came back in my head and my fingers deciphered the cryptic message hidden within. Most of all, I miss the soreness of fingers that have been hammering down on metal strings for hours. Blisters. Calluses. The burning and shaved down nails. It's about as gratifying as the soreness you get the day after a good work out.

I am a really good procrastinator. Good enough to get paid for it. And as such, I have been putting off taking Starla (that's right, she has a name) to get looked at and repaired. So now, when I finally have the time and money and having putting on the effort, I try to reach the man who will solve my problems repeatedly, to no avail.

Not only that, but now, with the new acquisition of my super-powered-mega-computer-center-hub capable of dominating worlds, and a couple of music production and editing software programs, I have no instrument to play them with. Granted, I need an interface to input glorious sounds into the applications, but that's the least of my worries, as I have one in sight! (remember to donate!).

I come from a long line of musicians, bohemians, and life lovers and deestroyers. My family has influenced me I think in both their good and bad deeds simultaneously, for the better, and I thank them for that. Because without all their experiences, and mine with them, I probably wouldn't be where I am now, and I probably wouldn't have lived all the things that I've lived up until now which I wouldn't change for the world.

My uncles in line, at our kitchen in Chihuahua, circa 1992,a t what would appear one of numerous celebrations spent at that house.

The house I grew up in (orange), in a now more developed Chihuahua.

It is now the weekend, I doubt Carl will be in on Monday as it's the celebration of Dr. MLK, so I will shoot for Tuesday to try again. Starla's neck and bridge will get straightened out. In the meantime I'll focus on getting the software set up and start shopping for a new amp. Undoubtedly, I will create music this year.

I got started at an early age.