In a long overdue article, I give credit to an unsung hero.

Ol’ Buddha has been pretty fucking opiated. That really drives away your motivation to do some things. I’m not going to say I’m sorry for my lack of writing. If I were sorry, I wouldn’t have done it.

But, that has to change. I need to come to grips with my suffering, that is the pain, and move on. I need to rid myself of opiates.

So, I cut down and will be tapering off them. I’m stoned as fuck.

What, you don’t expect me to be sober, do you? I’m pretty sure we’ve been over that! ‘Snot like you weren’t warned. At any point in time, my going off on a bender is a distinct possibility.

I’m back from the precipice. I think… I can’t keep up the opiate train. Well, I can. LOL Oh, they’ll stuff me full of legal opiates. That’s not making it easy!

But, fuck that… I am a professional. I have obligations. I have a history of not maintaining while riding the opiate train. I need to maintain.

So, I’m not done writing… I’ve still got shit to say. It’s an obligation! If you recall correctly, I’ve told you this before! Sheesh… I obligate myself to writing. I like you, but I’m doing this for me. Not gonna lie to you. We’ve been over that!

Today, in my effort to fulfill my obligation (and to keep myself occupied for some time), I am going to write. Today, I’m going to tell you about an unsung hero of the guitar world.

When you think of music, you don’t actually recreate the lead guitar in your head. If you do, you’re a guitarist – and you think differently. Even then, you might not do that.

What your brain automatically recalls, and this is clearly demonstrated by use of MRI, you recall the riff.

Much of the time, and quite traditionally, that is played by the person who plays the rhythmic portion of the song in the most pronounced manner. In some case, the riff is played by a piano, a trumpet, the drum even, or even a pipe organ!

In the kind of music you probably listen to, if you’re reading this site, it’s the guitar. That’s the guitar riff and I’m not going to get into too much detail with that today – as I have a mission to complete with regards to that subject. It’s on my to-do list!

No, it’s the rhythm guitar. Strikingly, it’s sometimes done by a lead guitar player. Picture Iommi, picture Blackmore. More subtly, picture Jerry Garcia.

It’s the rhythm guitarist that makes you get up and dance. He tells you when to start singing along with the songs you know and love. He drives the music. He, and with him the drummer, set the pace.

I don’t listen to them. Fuck no… They’re just the rhythm guitarist! They listen to me! (That is a lie.)

You listen to them, however. They tell you when to dance. I tell you how hard and with what emotion.

You really do. When you think of a song in your head, you’re remembering the rhythm guitarist – quite frequently. Like I said, sometimes there’s a blend. Some guitarists definitely blur the line, Slash is good for that. He plays a driving rhythm and bitchin’ solos, and he’s considered a solo guitarist. (Sometimes he’s lazy.)

Izzy, is the unsung hero.

Don’t believe me? Watch, I’ll prove it.

Told you.

Want to argue?

That’s Izzy’s part (badly edited, but sufficient enough to show you).

You try playing that flawlessly and being expected to keep up with a lead guitarist,or worse, lead singer, that can’t stay on script. You try playing that with a drummer that can barely walk to his drum kit, never mind count to four.

I play lead not necessarily because I’m good, but because I’ve earned my way to that position by putting my work in. I treat them well and I do actually often rely on them to make sure I don’t get lost. My fake book doesn’t tell me everything. Lots of times, they make sure I keep my timing precise – as does the drummer.

I’m fortunate. I really am. The people who occupy those positions are professionals who take their shit seriously. Without any one of us, or any band member really – except maybe the damned bass player (I kid), we couldn’t do the things we do.

They write the sentences, and we provide the punctuation Without them, we don’t say nearly as much. There is nothing wrong with aspiring to be a good rhythm guitar player. In fact, it’s a significant challenge. It’s also a lot like work.

They get plenty of chicks too. Don’t worry ’bout them any. The lead guitarist doesn’t get ’em all. The ladies notice when you’ve got good rhythm. 😉

I have been with bands where the rhythm guitarist, which was me, was not given nearly enough respect. We often are the people who hold the band together. When the lead guitarist and lead singer get into a fight on stage, we’re the ones that remind them we’re playing music. When they get too fucked up to remember the words, we make sure the audience still knows what song it is we’re at least trying to play.

It’s fucking horrible. If you’re in a band, don’t do that.

And, again, that’s why you want professionalism. That’s what really holds you together. That’s what keeps you getting fed. That’s what keeps paying your rent.

Which leads me back around to opiates. They’re an occupational hazard! We’ve been over that! Eventually, for pretty much everyone, they sap your professionalism. You can only chip for so long. Eventually, you stop maintaining.

I am seeing the warning signs and justifying it by my injury. “Oh, I don’t have to be motivated. I can just sit here and get high as balls and ignore my to-do list. I have an excuse. I’m injured!”

I can’t do that. I have obligations.

Which means I’m pretty sure I’m going to go back to writing. It’s not a big burden, and it’s good for me to have that obligation taking my time. That’s time I’d otherwise be finding excuses to lay down, use a tablet, and just be high as fuck. The leg still hurts. The only difference is I’m high as balls. It’s going to hurt for a long time, maybe even life. I can’t just go through life high as balls. Oh, I’d like to. Don’t get me wrong. I just can’t do that.

So, I’m going to obligate myself to writing this today – and I’m going to obligate myself to submitting this today. I am going to post this at the usual sites and that means I’m obligating myself to respond for some period of time. I’ve gotta get back to keeping myself busy. Doing nothing is just a bad idea for me, doubly so if I’ve got a shitton of opiates – and a legal right to have them. Until next time…

Shut up and play us a song!

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Some notes and an update!

As most of you probably know, I was involved in a rather spectacular automobile accident. I am pretty fucked up, but I am on the mend.

I expect to resume writing for the site. However, there are some caveats.

As you may recall, I only submit the links to other sites if I’m going to be on those sites and able to respond in a timely manner. As such, I’m unable to commit to doing that daily. I simply lack the time.

If you’d like to get a notice of when articles are published, simply register on the right. That will send you a notice to tell you that new content has been published.

I can’t commit to doing this daily, at least not at this point in time. I have appointments, physical therapy, and even a nurse that is on-duty in my home. As such, I have other matters that are more important.

Summary: I ain’t publishing shit daily. I ain’t submitting it to the various sites. If you want it, just register. I promise, I won’t spam you with stupid shit.

That’s it, actually. That’s all I have to say today. Huh… That’s weird feeling. Anyhow, there it is. I’ll submit the articles if I have the time to monitor the responses. If not, you’ll have to find ’em on your own.

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I do not have the plague! It’s worse…

So… I got a phone call this morning.

My doctor told me I do not, in fact, have the plague. Instead, I have a mystery! Let’s go back to the beginning!

*ring ring*

*checks Caller ID and it says it’s the doctor’s office so answers*

*some verbal sparring takes place as I test them to see if they’re telling horrible lies and not really aliens pretending to be my doctor*

“No, David. You don’t have the plague.” The doctor lied.

“How do you know I don’t have the plague?” I cleverly responded, still in test mode.

“I know you know that’s not how science works.” He feinted left.

“Something theoretical, then. I can work with that.” I said, trying to keep my options open.

“I have other patients, David.” He said, trying to find excuses to leave the arena.

“How many of them pay full price and cash?” I asked.

“David, you have mono.” He said, completely ignoring my brilliant riposte.

“Don’t you lie to me!” I coughed, cutting him completely off mid-sentence.

“… and appear to have the common cold.” He finished, completely ignoring me at this point. I’m not sure why I pay him.

*time passes while I pretty much make him read WebMD to me, at least I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s actually doing*

“I don’t have a rash and I’m old. I should not have mononucleosis!” I decided.

“The tests say you do. I need to go.” He said, admitting defeat.

“But you said you didn’t run the tests personally AND that it was just some nameless lab tech that isn’t a doctor! I don’t know who they are, or what they have for credentials.” I said into a now dead line, the dirty rotten bastard had hung up on me.

Yup… Somehow I’ve contracted mono and the common cold. I’ve collected not one, but two, viruses – minimum. Y’all are fucking a disease vector, General Public. A disease vector!

I have no idea how I got mono. I did do some meet and greet – but I didn’t actually stick my tongue in anything strange. I couldn’t. The missus was watching.

They also don’t know that with 100% confidence – I checked! They want me to go get some tests and they’ll confirm it with greater certainty.

I decided to get a second opinion. I called my daughter. She wanted no part of it and told me to stop being a baby and that mono certainly isn’t an emergency. She did tell me she loved me, before she hung up.

In fact, she was quite emphatic about telling me that she loved me. The phone went immediately dead after that, so I assume it was an emotional experience for her and I’m probably going to die.

I have to drive a long ways if I didn’t want to see a doctor that isn’t actually a witch doctor that graduated from medical school back before I even had children. I’m not sure I believe a word they say.

Trust me… I’ve inspected every inch of my body and I have no rash. Since that dirty rotten liar doctor told me that I’d have a rash, everything itches. I’m thinking this might be his subtle revenge, or it could be the mild dose of opiates. I’m not yet sure.

The fat bastard doctor didn’t even make my lab appointment for me. “Just show up during their regular business hours, at least 72 hours before your next appointment with me.”


I should probably remind people that I live in backwater Maine. The nearest medical services are many miles away. They aren’t very good. They’re actually particularly good at thawing people out, not kidding, but I’m not actually frozen. So, while I admire that skill – it’s not actually very beneficial to me until such time as I’m frozen.

They pick up major problems with a helicopter. They don’t usually take that helicopter to Farmington. No… Farmington is where you go for medical service when you have no choice in the matter. Let’s just agree that it’s obvious these doctors couldn’t get much more remote and there’s probably a reason for that.

Thus, I don’t have the plague. At least he seemed pretty confident of that. I asked!

I have the common cold. That makes sense.

He told me my spleen was swollen. I told him I had a concoction of weed and opiates in me, and that frankly I didn’t even know I had a spleen. He told me we’d discussed this when I went to his office. I don’t recall that, but I’m gonna guess he was the more sober of the two of us.

He was recommended to me by a fairly shady character that I, of course, consider a great friend. He came with an endorsement something like, “Yeah, he is probably the better one of the lot and writes a lot of prescriptions.” (Good enough for me!)

So, the fucker could be wrong – and I could really have the plague.

I shouldn’t have mono. I’m old. Mono is not actually all that easily transferred. My whole body hurts. My whole body is not a spleen. I don’t notice anything swollen in particular, but he tells me it is. I ain’t even sure how to check for that. Nobody was willing to tell me. I’ve tried poking and prodding myself but it just kinda hurts everywhere I touch.

It’s a goddamned mystery, is what it is.

Wait until the missus gets up! Oh, she’s gonna be so mad! (‘Snot like she’s gonna have sympathy.) She’s not gonna let me kiss her for weeks.


Actually, I can use that to my advantage. I’ll get her a nun’s habit and our new sex game is going to be called “Catholic Sex.” There’s no reason to let a fortuitous situation go to waste.

Moving on…

I don’t fucking know. They tell me I have a pleasant blend of the common cold and mono. They want to run more tests to confirm it. They bribed me with stronger drugs, if I go into Farmington to pick up the prescription. That’s a pretty good bribe. I’ll almost certainly make that trip and stop at the lab while I’m there!

He said he’d email me and, as I write this article, I see that “he” (his damned secretary) has emailed me and it looks like they straight up cut and pasted that shit from something – probably WebMD.

He also told me that I’ll feel “somewhat better” in “probably” a “day or two.” (I forget the words between those ’cause they aren’t important.) I’m pretty sure he’s just making that up. Seems a wee bit vague and like maybe he’s assuming a few spherical cows – but I’m not the one with a medical degree.

If he wants to have a penis fight, my degree is higher than his! His lack of rigor is just not okay! Yeah, I’m probably going to die.

I’m supposed to get lots of rest, drink lots of fluids, and probably stay away from people. Fat chance of any of that happening, but the advice was nice. The dirty and diseased General Public has given me this. I will give it back to them. I will continue to perform. It’s my job.

I have decided to use this to my advantage. I’d like to sing less and concentrate more on the guitar. I don’t actually like singing. I will foist such duties off on the band. They’re all very capable.

Boy, won’t they be surprised! We have a show this coming Saturday! I can’t sing! (Awesome!)

In all seriousness, I’m not gonna die. I’m just going to be tired and sore, for an indeterminate amount of time that is ‘up to six weeks.’ And, if we look at it with the right eyes, my doctor told me to get high and shitpost online! (Eat these drugs and stay in bed!) He also gave me the chance to be even lazier on stage!

Damned right. It’s pretty much the best day ever. I ain’t even gotta write anything for the site. “Oh, I can’t. I’m resting today!” Ha! That’s right, doctor’s excuse, if I miss a day!

Umm… I will probably write. I mean, this is me we’re talking about. Not saying it’s gonna be any good, but I will probably do it. You might get pure drivel, such as this article.

I will note that this goes back to my rules for performing musicians. This is a clear demonstration of why you need to keep yourself healthy. If I’d not been healthy when this hit, that’d suck even more. I have a job to do, contractual obligations. I can’t get sick and take the night off. Well, I can – but I really shouldn’t.

It does explain the energy drain and lethargy. It does explain the ague. The common cold bit explains much of it – but the mono is probably why my throat is horrible. (Side note: It’s that weird sort of horrible that makes doing Axl Rose impersonations kinda fun.)

So, you’re not getting an article today. Instead, you’re getting the most appropriate song I could think of.

Until next time…

Shut up and play us a song!

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My symptoms have been narrowed down to the plague…

I tried rest. I tried well-wishes, ’cause I got a lot of those. I tried wine, which was a remarkably good choice for a while. I have tried juice, tea, so many showers, and maybe even a few drugs not actually prescribed by a doctor.

Because there are questions about my bowels (not kidding), I shall inform you that they have returned to normal. I appear to have just a head cold and a cough, complicated with ague and general malaise.

After reading between the lines at Wikipedia and WebMD, I’ve diagnosed myself with the plague.

The good news is that, assuming I survive, I’ll become immune to this particular plague strain. If not, I hope it leaves gnarly bone scars and archeologists dig up my bones and vindicate my theory 1000 years from now!

So, you’re not getting anything special today. Nope… Ain’t happening.

I’ll ramble for a little while. I won’t actually be submitting this one, either. You can submit ’em anywhere you want, or not at all. I give no shits. I will not be obligating myself to respond today. Ain’t happening. I’ve got the plague!

I haven’t touched a guitar, not even to bring them in the house, since Friday. Strangely, my fingers don’t itch and I’m not pissy about it. I’ve played guitar while I was sick or injured. So, it’s a wee bit odd to not feel those itchy fingers yet.

I think I’m just going to offer you a dire warning – but it’s not a warning about the plague. It’s topical…

I’ve had a few comments and questions lately that have led to me trying to explain to them that I have, in fact, lost some of the joy that I used to get when I listen to music.

Much of my music listening consists of critical evaluation of the piece. Much of my listening is with a purpose, such as to gain increased familiarity with the piece. Some of it is evaluation as a piece for replication. It’s not really fun. It’s the cost of entering the field.

It’s also kinda amazing to how many people link me to videos I already know. Yesterday, or the day before, someone linked me to a popular 50s song, as though it was a song I was unfamiliar with. It was one of the rare times I followed someone’s link! I berated them. The name would have been adequate.

So, I don’t always get the joy I used to get. I find that listening to music, most frequently if it’s new, is a chore. I often get people who ask what I think of a certain piece – which turns it into work.

I don’t mind, don’t get me wrong. It’s just not the joy that it used to be. It hasn’t been, for years.

Once upon a time, one of my favorite things to do was to get a brand new album and listen to it, end to end – and over and over. That’s pretty much torture today.

It gets worse, too! The people who live in my house ALL seem to get constant ear-worms. The missus will play a song – 100 times! She’s not doing it to learn it, she’s doing it to satisfy her ear-worm. I assume it can’t be helped and the worm must be sated, ’cause it just sorta happens to some people.

Let’s see… This is pretty short and I’ve finally gotten a call back and will be able to see a physician today. If you remember my Lessons for Performing Musicians, you’ll remember that it’s important to keep yourself healthy. The public is disease ridden – and they want to get close to you. You will get sick.

So, as this is far too short…

I bet not one person even offers to drive me to the doctor’s office. Instead, I bet they all want to come with me – and have me make a half-dozen stops along the way. They’re probably plague carriers.

Meh… I’m gonna stop at the chainsaw store. That’s right… Where I live, we have stores dedicated to stuff like chainsaws! That’s pretty much the best day ever, right there.

I can’t believe you’re still reading… Sheesh… You have no taste. None! You should actually be ashamed of yourself!

Anyhow, the next bit I was thinking about putting into words was a bit that comes from a conversation with a wonderful contributor.

No… You’re not normal…

Normal people don’t think that life would be fucking awesome if it were just like a musical.

Normal people do not, in  fact, randomly break out into song – as the moment strikes them, and often at inappropriate times.

Normal people don’t dedicate large portions of their lives to actually understanding music. They’re passive listeners – not active listeners.

Normal people only see music as a small part of their lives – even if they listen to music all the time.

Normal people don’t spend countless hours looking into the specifications of music-related gear.

Normal people don’t dedicate giant chunks of their time to learning to play an instrument with any degree of proficiency – if they do, they stop by the time they’re 20, as usually about the second year of college or life kills that for them.

Normal people don’t give up fun activities to get tones they’re not satisfied with from a musical instrument. They don’t put that work in – they’re sane!

You’re not fucking normal! None of you are.

No, there is no ‘everybody else’ that thinks like you do. You’re a tiny subset of a very large population. The numbers dwindle even faster when you decide to try to make a living from your musicianship. That’s probably ’cause it’s insane to do so.

You’re not normal. Get that nonsense right out of your head.

“I have lots of musical friends!” You might exclaim.

“I have a little something called data and your first major flaw is called selection bias!” I’d almost certainly retort, possibly with a punctuation about the sexual prowess of your mother.

You’re not even remotely normal. You’re not much more than a statistical term known as a ‘margin of error.’ There are probably more people with herpes than there are serious musicians. There are probably more full-limb amputees than there are serious musicians.

You are free to decide if that makes you special or if it makes you insane – or possibly both. Either way, it’s not normal. No. Beside, I know some of you. I’ve known lots of musicians. You’re not fucking normal. You should also probably see a damned therapist, the whole lot of you!


I’m pretty sure that’s all your getting today. I’d like to take a moment to thank you all for stepping up and offering to write an article so that TheBuddha could die in peace. Oh, wait… That’s none of you! Ungrateful heathens. You’re gonna miss me when I’m dead, you’ll see.

Listen carefully – it’s got an organ in it! (It’s probably a Hammond! Until next time…

Don’t even think about playing me a song. No, not even quietly.

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Unofficial View From The Stage and A Video.

When you’re a performer, you’ll often interact with large numbers of people. Seeing as they are people, it’s pretty safe to assume that they carry the plague.

I’m not sure if I have the plague or cancer. Either way, I’m dying at a slightly more rapid pace than usual. Everyone keeps telling me that I’ll get better, but I’m pretty sure they’re just trying to cheer me up.

I love getting to spend time with the people, but they’re disease carriers. Sometimes, you get strange women (not necessarily attractive) who will want to hug and kiss you. They don’t know my name, or anything. I’m in a cover band. They’re just drunk. It’s probably one in a series of regrettable choices they’re going to make that evening!

In ye olden days, it was a pretty good way to get nookie. However, I’m not in a position to take advantage of that job perk. Either way, I digress and, seeing as I’m nearing the end of my life, I don’t want to waste time on trivialities! (I suspect nobody is gonna believe that trivialities bit.)

Someone, probably the drummer, has infected me with their plague.

So, there’s a view from the stage:

Humans are just the tool things like typhoid use to survive. We humans are covered in all manner of disgusting things. You will catch the plague.

I’m not even sharing this article, like I didn’t yesterday. Don’t care. Got the plague. Nobody even offered to fill in for me. Nobody. So, I’ll do it myself!

Alright, I have a video for you.

I’ve realized my attempt to turn ‘pipe organ’ into a scientific unit of measurement is not going to be effective. There’s just too many damned variations in pipe organs!

(Also, I found a pipe organ in Massachusetts! I don’t have time to visit them yet, but I’m gonna email ’em and ask if they’ll let me play their pipe organ – with supervision, of course.)

I don’t know how to play a pipe organ. Nope. Don’t care, either. I’m pretty sure playing a pipe organ, skilled or not, is just about the most awesome thing you can do. Pipe organs players have more in common with a conductor than they do a pianist.

In my effort to find more information about pipe organ air movement quantities, I found some pretty sweet pipe organs! Some of ’em have pedals that you can stomp on – and they mechanically ring bells, bang drums, and all sorts of awesome shit.

HOLY BALLS! I previously did not know about the bells! I’m pretty sure you can understand my excitement! If you can’t understand my excitement, you’re on the wrong site.

And, yeah… I have no idea how to play a pipe organ – nor do I care. I don’t even think my ineptitude will diminish the sheer joy of playing a pipe organ. An instrument of that magnitude has no choice but to be awesome.

Man, my feet would be flying like horses and my fingers would rip out somber notes that reverberated through the audience I’ll probably have had to chain into the building. I’m pretty sure at least one of us in that group of people is gonna be having the best day ever. Pretty sure…

Alright, enough nonsense. I have the damned plague and I’m going back to my couch and tablet. If you want me, you know where to find me. If I don’t answer, I’m dead.

Here’s the damned video. It’s pretty awesome!

Now, the narrator is a little stupid – but it’s not their fault. They don’t realize that they’re listening to a very complex bitchin’ solo!

Seriously… Turn your volume up and listen carefully! They’re bitchin’ solos!

Damned right – and, unless I die of the plague, until next time…

Play quietly and somewhere else.

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TheBuddha Approves of Taking a Day Off!

I’m fucking exhausted, not feeling terribly well, and can’t sleep.

I’m pretty sure someone has infected me with the cancer. I’m seldom sick, so it must be cancer!

As such, I’m taking the day off. I’m actually around and not sleeping. I’m just tucked into the couch. I could take the laptop, but I’m just gonna use the tablet.

I don’t like anyone enough to write an article on a tablet. I don’t even like me that much! I don’t have a ‘Holy Shit’ article. I should write one. I had one, but holy shit happens.

Last night was good. I’m fucking exhausted. Everyone else was, too. I’ve pretty much been mostly awake by myself. Everyone here has meandered off to do quiet things or nap.

I wrote you a ‘View from the Stage.’ I did it while I was waiting. It was horrible and I’m not gonna be able to salvage it. So, I’m not gonna do any more.

If you’ve been diligently practicing – don’t forget to sometimes allow yourself a day off – and sometimes even force yourself to do so. Until next time…

(If you’re going to play us a song, do it quietly. Thanks!)

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What happens when musicians break the rules?

I’ve been doing piss-poor time management.

It was looking good.

I wrote you a giant article – one of my longest yet.

While I was intoxicated.

I’m still intoxicated.

I’m not editing that today. Nope.

So, you’re not getting a good article today. That block of time was drunkenly squandered. It’s an occupational hazard. Someone should fucking call OSHA.

What that is, is me breaking my own rules.

No, really…

That’s what happens when you break my rules for performing musicians.

You horribly mismanage your time, get shitfaced at a hotel room, and don’t actually do what you should be doing. What I should be doing is editing that article.

Ain’t doing it.

I broke my rules, got injured shitfaced on the job, and am unable to perform my daily duties.

I already told you, it’s an occupational hazard.

The best solution is to have a “safety meeting.” Maybe while we’re at that “safety meeting,” we’ll learn how to prevent these horrible occupational hazards!

Seriously, those rules are there for good reason!

I’m not really kidding about drug and alcohol use being an occupational hazard. That’s not entirely humor. It’s a real hazard and it comes with the job.

Which is why I advocate, if you’re handling drugs – know what the fuck you’re doing. Seriously, read a fucking book. If you’re gonna take drugs, know what they are and what they do. You should also know why they do what they do – and what the physiological ramifications are.

That way, you can do your drugs safely!

It’s an acquired skill, often requiring a period of apprenticeship and with very high tuition costs!

If you’re not going to read a book, at least ask an old junkie. If the junkie got old, chances are they practiced ‘harm reduction’ (knowingly or not).

As a musician, you’re going to be exposed to drugs. Statistics tells me that you’re gonna put some of ’em into your body. Some of you may end up being exposed to lots of drugs and put hitherto-unknown-to-science concoctions into your body.

It’s just math!

Really, getting shitfaced is an occupational hazard. If you’re not careful, you’ll start bumping into cones and other assorted objects! We should probably be forced to wear hard hats – or at least high vis vests. I’m calling OSHA.

Shit, I’ve seen musicians who needed a bib as PPE and hotel rooms that would have been a field-day for a forensics unit. It can happen to the best of ’em.

The best solution, so far, has been to not let drugs or alcohol impact your life to the point where it fucks up your ability to manage your time. If you do, you have broken a rule. It’s highly likely to incur a penalty and the severity of that penalty can be quite harsh. (Wear your safety goggles at all times!)

It is in the interest of that, that I go right ahead and say that you should practice “harm reduction,” if you’re going to use. It’ll help you manage your time better. It’ll still keep you productive – and probably also have the benefit of keeping you alive longer.

To think, I have been paid to perform in high schools during the Nancy Reagan era – doing the “Just Say No” thing! Yup, I’m pretty sure those were federal dollars that paid the band I was in. It’s one of the most absurd times in my life. In hindsight, it seems a bit surreal.


I’m not sure what you want to take from this – if anything.

It’s not like I’m going to tell you don’t do drugs. This is me. I’m saying do them responsibly – and know what you’re putting into you, and how much you’re putting into you. Practice harm reduction.

If you’re going to inject, learn safe injection methods. You can buy your rigs at the pharmacy, or even get them exchanged for free. They’re single use devices. If you’re going to shoot pills, that’s fucking stupid. If you’re going to do it, at least invest in a real micron-level filter.

Know what you’re snorting, whatever. People put drugs into themselves in a whole host of ways and insufflation is a pretty common method. They’ll stick drugs in their ass, their eyeball, wherever. Know what you’re putting in and how much.

Anyhow, that’s all the article you’re getting today.

It’s pretty much some warped PSA. We need to get OSHA involved! It’s a damned occupational hazard – not entirely different to black lung for miners!

In my imagination, I’m picturing a United Brotherhood of Cover Bands. This amuses me. However, that’s your box of crayons and you can color that picture any way you want! I’m not typing it out.

Until next time…

Shut up and play us a song!

(Or not. I will not play guitar again until tomorrow. I will not even practice. Take a day off and watch August Rush, maybe?)

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By the time you read this…

By the time you read this, I will have written some 200,000 words for this site. All but like 0.5% have been in the last four months. I know this, ’cause I found a plugin that’ll tell me!

I’m taking today off – but I’m writing this early.

I did want to use it as an excuse to share a few things.

You’re all too kind, pretty much

I appreciate the encouragement and the people who visit and comment. I appreciate all the emails, private messages, and even the people who argue with me.

Wikipedia tells me that a novel is 40,000 words long. I’ve written five novels worth of words – in four months. I’m taking today off!

Someone recently threatened me with this site being what people remember me by.

I’m pretty sure they thought it was a compliment and I responded inappropriately.


No, I really don’t think this site should be my legacy. Frankly, you deserve better than that! I’ve written 200,000 words – and none of them are very meaningful or important.

Today, when I wrote this, I told you about bells and how much I wanted to play a giant pipe organ, preferably without pants.

Yeah… I don’t really want this to be how people remember me. When they post my epitaph in a local paper – I really hope it doesn’t have a mention of this site – not even as a side note.

I smash a keyboard, largely for my own amusement and because I’ve got shit to say and nobody else seems to be saying it. If they would, that’d save me some time and effort.

Shit, the other day I went out and bugged someone just to learn about harp guitars. I’m pretty positive that’s about the least productive thing I could have done. The appeal of harp guitars is really limited.

Call it a hunch, but I’m pretty sure the information in that harp guitar article was actually valuable to two people – total. Total – in the entire world.

I smashed the keyboard and told you about it anyhow.

I ain’t even sorry for that. Nope… That was probably my favorite article so far! Hells yeah, it’s a harp guitar!

And, yet you’re all usually pretty patient with me and seem to like my keyboard smashing. I enjoy it, and giggle way too frequently while I smash the keyboard and hope that words come out of it.

Y’all even tolerated me through my bout of existentialism – where I had to decide if this was going to be work or fun. I pretty much decided on the latter – and now I sometimes tell you about shit like bells, through the eyes one of the least mature people on the planet.

So, thank you for reading some 200,000 words of absurdity. Quite a few of you don’t actually play guitar, and I’m glad that you visit. The site is mostly about guitar, but it’s also very much about learning and passion.

Yup… 200,000 words and not a damned one of ’em useful.

No, I’m not kidding. I’m taking today mostly off. Until next time…

Shut up and play us a song!

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Son of a bitch! They fixed it.

For those that didn’t notice, the site was down. Some disk filled up, at least the partition did.

This made me pretty fucking happy!

I was pretty pleased with this. I was like, “Hells yeah. I’m not telling anyone to fix the site. I’m taking today off! Labor Day weekend? Count me in!”

Some jackass, probably another hosting customer as it’s shared hosting, went and notified the fucking admins and they fucking fixed it.

That’s not okay. I was kinda hoping it’d be broken until Tuesday, and then I’d have an excuse to just laze around and maybe make something on the grill.

Bastards! Now, nearly 5 hours later, the damned thing is up and running again. I’m going to submit a support ticket asking them to kick the complaining client off the servers! This is horrible.

It’s no longer the best day ever!

So, I’m going to go find something to do that fixes that. I am still pretty much taking the day off.

The worst part about the server coming back online is that it came back after I’d decided that the site being down was a pretty sweet thing! It came back while I was typing out my text submission.

Like I said, “Bastards!”

Son of a bitch. No, it’s like 15:00 Eastern – and I don’t see me writing a damned thing.

Hmm… Fuck it… I’ll bang out a “Things Look Different From The Stage” article. Son of a bitch… I just can’t give up on my consecutive articles streak. Damn it all to hell.
Continue reading “Son of a bitch! They fixed it.”

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Behold, I have made an image!

You’re not getting a good article today.

I’ll give you something to read, but it’s not going to be good – or educational. It’s not even going to have anything to do with music – probably.

Do you see that image on the left?

It took me three hours to do that. Including trying to figure out a way to embed the image so that text flowed around it.

Obviously, I failed at that.

Even after figuring out how it was supposed to be done, it wraps exactly one line of text and then jumps to the bottom – meaning you get one single line of text next to the image.

But, that’s actually the end of a long story – and I’m just gonna tell you why you’re not getting a good article today.


I searched and searched for a way to make actual public domain images using an web interface. I then tried to find one that already had a template for a seal of approval – what I really wanted.

There are no seal of approval generators that are any good. The one that I can figure out how to use, waited until I got to the end and told me I had to give them money.

It did let me get as far as saving them – and closing the tab. Being functionally retarded, I closed the tab – and didn’t actually check the saved images. I uploaded it by FTP and decided I’d better check the URL in my browser.

It had saved watermarks on it – lines right through the middle.

I went back and recreated it and it again offered me the chance to give them money and they’d have sold me a bunch of packages of images, including 3D images, that I didn’t actually want. I didn’t pay them.

I wish I had. That would have saved some time.

Eventually, I gave up trying to actually make a graphic. Surely, someone had made what I wanted and stuck it into the public domain.

Not really, no… No, it looks like nobody as quite done that. I was so tempted to just steal an image at this point.

I did eventually find an SVG that’d do – and it was in the public domain! Thank you, open source people – once again! However, it’s a stamp of approval and not a seal of approval. Beggars cant’ be choosers, so I was okay with this – sort of.

Except, I don’t actually know what to do with an SVG file. I know what an SVG is and I have a viewer. I know that I should know how to edit them – but fucked if I know what specific (Linux) apps can do this.

It’s SVG and there’s a tons of editors. Tons…

Not gonna learn that. Nope. We can scratch that right off the list of things I’m willing to invest time in.

I’ll just open it up and export it with my handy dandy SVG viewer app. It’s fucking Linux, I can do that.

They all changed the background black. I have no idea why.

Fuck… There went another forty five minutes as I tried all the viewer apps and debated installing something like InkScape.

Nope… Not installing InkScape – or GIMP. They’re too complicated for me and I’m not going to learn to use them.

I got the bright idea that there’s an online SVG editor. Surely, that has to exist! Off I run to Google…

Yes! They exist!

The first two, after finding them and waiting for them to load and jump through the very different mechanisms to upload my file, I discovered they’d not actually upload my precious SVG file.

By now, I’m getting pretty pissed at this process.

I tried one more. It took me forever to figure out their stupid fucking interface and then the fucking thing wouldn’t export as anything – no matter how many times I needlessly tried it again with slightly different settings.

Finally, I said fuck it – and I sure as shit said fuck it to actually caring that it had things like a transparent background.

I opened that SVG back up in my handy dandy image viewer – and took a screenshot.

I resized that and exported that bitch as a JPG! Fuck image creation.

I was then two and a half hours deep into the process already and I figured that’d actually been good progress – for me. I don’t do image generation. We’ve already figured that out, certainly by way of demonstration!

So, I was particularly pleased with myself – having finally reached the point where I just said fuck it. It was a pretty satisfying fuck it to say, actually.

I then figured I’d embed it in WordPress and wrap text around it.

It couldn’t be that hard, after all!

Lies! It’s horrible!

By the time I figured out the abstract lingo was not actually align to the left – but was actually to align with none… I then realized the fucking thing will only display one line of text as it “wraps” around it.

I could change CSS and fix it – but my CSS skills are just a wee bit worse than my image generation skills! Learning CSS is also something that’s just not likely to happen.

So, I spent like a half hour on that, before deciding I’d just set it as the “featured image” and call it good. To do it properly, they fucking want me to learn to do it in a special “child theme” that appears to be damned specific to WordPress.

I am not gonna figure that out. I’m sure as shit not going to figure out how to do that today. I already spent 2.5 hours.

And that’s why you’re not getting a good article!
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