Guitar Players and Their Picks


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There is an old adage that goes something like this:

If you ask a guitarist for change all he or she will be able to produce from their pocket is a guitar pick or two.

Coming up changeless I usually offer the person behind the counter two guitar picks sheepishly saying, well, I’m a guitar player and I never have any change only picks in my pocket.

Any other normal person will always have a couple of nickels or dimes on their person, at least that’s when we all carried cash in some former another.

Recently I purchased something somewhere ( hows that for being deliberately vague?) and the total price comes to let’s say Five dollars and twenty five cents.

I easily produce the Fiver but a trip to my pocket only produces a two guitar picks of the heavy variety. I always use heavies. Someone once told me to use the heaviest picks you can find and so I do. I like the way they feels and how they sound.

The longer you play the more attention you pay to detail.

I offer the picks knowing she’ll say no thanks and then I’ll have to fork over a paper dollar.

To my surprise she accepts the picks in lieu of a quarter saying she plays guitar too.

One time when the washing machine repairman cleaned out the filters and traps in the washer he found about three dollars in change and a dozen guitar picks.

Seems to be equal in value.

Electric Guitars


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I haven’t played mine in about a year. The band stopped rehearsing and besides there’s no place to play anyway.

Somehow through this dark mess of months stretching now into a year and for who knows how long I have picked it again because why not?

I have been playing and practicing a lot over the last year and I can hear my guitar voice building and starting to develop. I’ve been playing for 50 years so maybe it’s about time.

During the summer when I could sense my ears were getting better I was stopped dead in this thought and it makes sense given all that we’ve endured.

Here goes…

Ok, so I’m getting better, I can hear the improvement. But for who, for what? There’s no place to play anyway. Zoom doesn’t cut it and the cats don’t care.

I’ve been dragging this feeling around for months. It’s a hopeless state of mind which might only be the tip of my iceberg. Maybe these days it’s normal to feel like crap.

But I keep on playing even mindlessly strumming a chord until it connects to a neuron somewhere in my brain with music and soon a sogng appears. I’ve been listening to music since I don’t know when so there’s a lot stored up there.

Maybe mindlessly is an unfair characterization since that chord, those notes found a home somewhere in my head. How can this be?

Usually, when I post something I state an issue or a problem and by the end of the page I’ve worked out some sort of resolution. But not tonight.

This is going to be a continuing effort I think.

The Year 2020


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Hi folks, 2020 here and as most if not all of you are ready to shove me to the curb, into a dumpster and off a cliff I have few words to say.

None of the mess you’re in this year is my fault.

For example…Hurricanes are larger and more destructive. No kidding.

Everyone has known the climate is changing for years but no one really seems to be interested in taking actions that would cost money to begin to fix the problem. And by no one I mean a select group of old white men in Washington DC.

Wildfires, droughts, floods, tornadoes -See above. The changing weather is not news to anyone.

The virus.

You could have worn masks. You could have stayed away from motorcycles rallies in South Dakota and campaign rallies both indoors and outdoors.

You could have stayed home at Thanksgiving but you didn’t.

You could stay home for Christmas but you won’t.

You and I’m speaking to politicians now who called the virus a hoax every day since January and now you want the vaccine to protect you from the hoax.

Nice way to cut into line just because you work in Washington.

Let the old people die first except when they are friends of the president and then they get special antibody treatment.

When was the last time a helicopter whisked you from your front door to a private floor at Walter Reed Hospital with your own cadre of doctors?

Am I angry? You bet. That fool on the hill can’t be gone too soon.

Remember, the virus would magically disappear in April when the weather got warm.

My only hope is that he disappears one minute after 12 noon on January 20th, 2021.

Can Someone Tell Me Why This Is Happening?


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When I first started this blog carving out out my own little section of the internet I would write something on a particular topic like Reading, Running, Writing or Rhythm.

The tags would put the piece into place where someone who was interested in running might read it. Same for reading or writing or rhythm ( music). Then I would get real people reading my stuff, commenting on it and off we’d go. Relationships formed, such as they were, and people, real people commented and wrote back and forth often to much hilarity.

Now, it seems there are algorithms stalking the blogs looking for key words that lead me to being liked or followed by marketing firms or somebody trying to sell somebody something.

Are people really reading my blogs or am I being cherry picked so I can be in someone’s marketing shopping cart?

Kind of the last thing I need right now.

So Long Ago



I found some old pictures of the kids when they were really kids although they will always be the kids I guess except back then they were knee skinning braces wearing Brownie and Cub scout kids.

I sent copies of the pictures from 2007 to the above mentioned kids.

My daughter replied – Gee – It seems like so long ago.

Everything seems like so long ago.

Club 502 OR ( It’s All) A Numbers Game OR My 500 Mile Summer


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I never seem to be able to settle on a title for theses posts. I suppose since I’m covering a lot of ground that one specific title wouldn’t do.

Alternatively, I could limit the post to one subject but in my mind with things all running together at a blurrying pace I have trouble keeping my thoughts from mashing up at the end of the street like a three car pile up.

Club 502 sounds like one of those places where one would knock on a barely visible door in the seedy part of town, a peephole would open and you would say ” Joe sent me” and those magic words would gain you admittance. The password could also be Swordfish – See the Marx Brothers for that payoff.

My first waking thought this morning was seeing the number 12 spelled out before my eyes as in “Twelve.” I have no reasonable explanation for why. Apostles, Epistles?

Numbers on my mind and in extrapolating, which might or might not be the right word to use here, the numbers came to me in a flash it’s all a numbers game anyway isn’t it?

The answer to all of the following questions is numbers.

How old are you? How tall, how much do you weigh, what is your heart rate, your blood pressure, how many hours did you sleep last night, how many brothers or sisters, how many children?

What year is your car, how old is it, how many cylinders, what’s your mileage, how big is the gas tank, what do you pay for insurance?

And so on and so forth and so what? Surrounded by numbers, enveloped by math only we used to call it arithmetic.

The unified theory of the unified and unknowable universe is a set of numbers. Get them in the right order and bingo ( again numbers) you win something on a cosmic game show. Maybe ” The Price is Galactically Right.

Running the numbers down the rabbit hole. Running the numbers and we finally get to where we’re going as postulated above somewhere between the multiple titles and here.

I started a run streak on Memorial Day of this year because I could I suppose and what else was there to do except to not get sick and to not infect anyone else. So far, so good. Tragically I am unable to share my luck.

So I ran and I ran and I ran and after 50 days of running I took a day off and then went back at it. The odd fact in all of my running which continued to yesterday was the number 502 as in that’s the total mileage on my running feet since that day in late May 2020.

That number is well beyond my wildest running dreams or expectations or anything in my running memory or history.

I don’t know how this happened and as winter starts to slowly creep down the lane I wonder how much mileage I’ll continue to accrue. I’m not a big fan of running in cooler temps or when the numbers Celsius or Fahrenheit start to drop.

The nice thing for me, the bonus in all of these words and sentences and phrases and non-sequiturs is I can let my mind wander or RUN if you will.

You start at the starting line aka the top of the blank page and you end up at the finish line which is right HERE.

The Crazy Store


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I stopped at my favorite local coffee shop yesterday after a good sized run of about 6 miles.

The sun was warm and with only outside coffee service available all of the sidewalk tables and chairs were occupied. No matter, I was getting mine to go.

I was still in running gear which included shorts on a day with temps in the high 50’s when I arrived at the coffee joint.

I got my order and stopped to chat with a couple of friends who were enjoying what might be the last decent day to sit outside in warm sunshine until maybe sometime next March.

Ok, to the point.

One of my friends introduced me to his table mate saying this is Phil and in a nod to my apparel he said – ” He usually dresses normally, not in shorts.”

I said I appreciated the normal comment but that I had been to the Crazy Store on the crazy side of town and of some of their ideas were not so crazy anymore.

No one seemed to take issue with me or my shorts or my mention of the Crazy Store. In fact, it seemed like a good idea to everyone who joined in the conversation.

Being crazy that is.