Birth of an Obsession - November '06

So where does it start, this thing, this passion? Well, I would like to say something wise, something intelligent, something artistic like “The desire to create, to be a part of the whole visionary process – to join the legions of other artists throughout time by expressing feelings and thoughts through the Polyhymnia muse…” Sure, I’d love to be able to say that. Of course, to say that, I would need to start wearing tweed jackets with little leather patches on the elbow, a pipe full of Borkum Riff clenched between my teeth and start waving my hands wildly when I speak.
But I can’t.
No. The desire to learn to play the guitar actually started with something a little more, well, er, base than that. A friend of mine is a well-respected novelist and essayist (who also happens to be a bit of a guitar player as well) explained it to me one night over several drinks. When I posed the question ‘Why?’ about the entire creative process, he paused, leaned back in the booth, dropped his eyelids about half-closed and exhaled a large plume of cigarette smoke. I leaned in expecting something truly wise and insightful. After a moment, he said “I write for the same reason that I believe all art to be created – to get women. Plain and simple.”
And it was this reason, well, that coupled with a real heart-felt longing to actually play music, that propelled me into a large consumer electronics store where I wandered through isle upon isle of DVD’s, CD’s, cell phones and computers back to a tiny, neglected area of the store that they had set aside for musical instruments and home appliances. There it was; a discontinued Washburn acoustic that looked as if it had been coming off a three-day drunk. Scratched, missing a few strings and dusty from top to bottom.
I fell in love.
My salesman, Sean, a pimply faced, over-eager kid saw the opportunity of a life-time. This model was being discontinued and had been marked down several times. I am certain now that it had become the sales goal of all employees to just get rid of it and Sean saw that weird and faraway look in my eyes. He knew he had a live one and he was not going to let me leave without that old homeless guitar in my hands. He didn’t have anything to worry about. After a few minutes of haggling, I walked out the store with my first guitar for about $75 dollars. I looked over my shoulder to see the sales manager hugging Sean and weeping. It was a good day for everyone.
It wasn’t until I was sitting in the car, looking at the guitar propped up in the back seat like the little orphan it was, that it occurred to me that simply owning a guitar is a lot different than actually ‘playing’ a guitar. So there was a slight flaw in my plan. Unless I actually learned how to play, the only other option I would have would be to sling the guitar over my shoulder and walk through the mall and try to look cool. I know from experience that this does not work well from when I tried the same back in high school with the tuba. The only thing that attracted at the mall was having large, heavy things thrown at me.
So now that I had a guitar, I set out to learn how to play. After a new set of strings of course. But we’ll get into that next time.

-Hunter60