All right.
I have been writing one million short stories this evening. I decided tonight that I have to be a bit more Gun-ho! about my self-inflicted assignments. Chances are, by the end of this whole debacle, not only I but also the people who have to read them will be terribly, terribly sick of my writing and consequently my writing style. Sorry, suckers.
I also decided to stop lying by writing fiction. Yes, to whomever asked, this is all true, get over it.
But in other news, I just dug through my massive pit of microsoft word documents and found some pretty funny lyrics that christopherstewartjohnson and I penned a few years ago. That felt pretty good.
Then, in the usual way my brain and subsequent memory works, I started thinking about my guitars. You know, lyrics, songwriting. That eventually melds into instruments. Come on, follow me.
So as I was saying, I started thinking about my guitars. I constantly forget that A. I have three of them, B. I can actually play them, and C. Once upon a time I had quite a bit of fun doing that.
Then I got sentimental. For several reasons.
Here is the part where I walk through, in not too arduous detail, my three guitars (not to be confused with My Three Songs or My Three Sons.)
One.
The Martin 12 String from around 1975 (the one on the right - a stock google image, by the way). It was the first thing I learned on. I loved it. A lot. The sound is unparalleled.
Two.
The 1976 Special Edition Martin with stars on the frets. The heirloom that I will love for the rest of my life.
Three.
The Kazuo Yairi Alvarez extremely limited run Natural wood with no additions but abalone inlay throughout the fret board (intentional) and a pick up (unintentional from the makers, intentional by me). It is beautiful. This one is mine mine, meaning I walked into see Jim Harmes with my dad, played almost every guitar in the store and insisted that although it was nearly the most expensive in the store, it was in fact, made for me.
Okay, I lied.
Four.
I almost forgot about my fourth one. It is hilarious.
Yamaha 1997 electric natural wood with no pick guard, or apparent finish. It rules- it looks similar to the Pacifica style. But it, like all of my other pretentious guitars, was a limited edition.
Eat my shorts.
It has a little Indian girl on the back, and also has my name engraved in the back, thanks to yours truly. Now that guitar, that one has memories. Without divulging too much information, I will say: Tom Petty, Jackson Brown, Kansas, The Sundays, and Mazzy Star.
Now that I have talked about this seemingly moot point of my guitars, I forgot what I initially wanted to say. Thanks.
