Kind of a lazy Sunday night, so I thought I’d take a photo. This is my guitar. It doesn’t have a name; I don’t call it “Shirley,” and I’ve never written songs about it. Or my truck. (I don’t actually have a truck, but a decidedly un-trucky Mazda. Close enough). For the guitar gearheads who probably aren’t reading this right now, it’s a Martin. Don’t get all excited, it’s not a super-fancy Martin that will one day be worth thousands and crazy folkies will pine for because of it’s vintage street cred. It’s a bottom of the barrel Martin, which on a bad day is better than most other guitars out there, in my opinion. But when you’re a poor college student slaving the summers away at Blockbuster Video, this is what you get. Pretty much the entirety of the summer of 2003 was spent working away, scraping together the money for that guitar. Oh, the memories. For the record, I’m not a very good guitar player. Granted, my playing is of overall higher quality than this blog (not saying much, I know). What I really want to do is become a luthier. If you don’t know what this is, look it up.
Ok, this entry is getting pretty useless, so I’ll stop.