THE BROWN ACID IS A BUMMER, PLEASE...

Do NOT take The Brown Acid. There are people at the Medical Tent, should you find yourself a recipient of said substance... Yes, Wavy Gravy will be there. I still prefer to call him: "Hugh."

I never knew anyone that had taken The Brown Acid. I DO know some people that bought The Esteban Guitar though... Mostly people that, in their 30's and 40's, finally "came around" to: Some bullshit resolution/realization that guitar was the only instrument worthy of a credit card after the television advertisement and subsequent purchase. A bad idea and a knee-jerk flashback, of sorts. "Learn to play the guitar AND grow the head of a dog in three weeks or less, or your monkey back!" They tried to play one for a couple of weeks, found the instruction manual/CD too confusing and/or simply put the chunk-o-wood and guitar picks in the closet. Which, is a great place for one of those instruments. Sorry, "Estaban," Les Paul and Mel Bay beat you to that by decades. Still: "There's one in every crowd," to quote P.T. Barnum and Eric Clapton. At least Clapton had the good sense to put a dog on the album cover...

Andres Segovia once said: "The guitar is perhaps the only instrument that I will never Master." Let that soak in for a moment... Six strings (or 7, or twelve), five (or ten) digits, 24 frets. You're going to "Master" that? Good luck. At least a piano only has 88 options and a limited amount of "inflections." A visual aid:

A representation of my favorite guitar. Mine's a 1959, this one is a year or so newer. Mine does not have the "Magnatone" swirly at the top of the fret board. Otherwise, it's a fairly accurate representation. Dark Emerald Pearloid. My strings "pass through" the body, as well. I swapped out the machine heads for faux Grovers (I kept the "Empire" pegs) but, otherwise, it's a "stock" unit. I favor this instrument over my "other ones," a Korean made Epiphone Custom Shop reproduction of a 1957 Les Paul Junior, "TV Yellow." The next candidate is a 1949 Magnatone/Dickenson Lap Steel. As I age and my fingers become less cooperative, the '59 Magnatone is much easier to play and shall never see the inside of a closet. At one point, the LPJ was relegated to the care of my Local Guitar Guy though, to fix the "backwards" ground on the p.u.. Koreans read right to left.

Yes, Honey... Sometimes I DO: "Love my guitar more than the dog." Unless it's a cold night and the dog is "out and about." I jest. Your Rosanne Arquette nose/lips and Marylin Monroe hips are preferable... You will never suffer the fate of the closet or replacement parts. Of course, the Magnatone doesn't sass me or tell me to take out the garbage. I will never buy my guitars dinner or bring them flowers. I promise. I will also never wake up with my arm, dead asleep, under their head and not care to wake them.

Women, Guitars. Hmmmm... "How do I Love Thee? Shall I count the ways?" Not if I want dinner, a kiss, pleasant conversation, pointed argument, a good cuddling or a song. Notice that I placed you first, more than once, Dear. Please. The "song" part might just be You, too. I never need an apology for screwing up a chorus, making a bad sandwich or being out of coffee with a guitar. It all works out, in the end. Guitars don't give me The Look That Turns My Soul To Warm Marmalade from across a crowded room, Kiss Me Goodnight, Keep Me Warm with a simple wink or bring me The Perfect Cup Of Coffee. Then again, you never screech feedback, handle a Wah-wah pedal or Roland Workstation with finesse... Even Steven. The guitars don't have "names" and look silly in makeup or a nice Polka Dot dress and silk stockings. You, make my Chuck Taylor's stick to the floor when you laugh. The guitars do not offer any "thanks" for a four hour marathon of stroking. I have never complained that you needed re-stringing or a trip to the Luthier. You win. By hands, head, heart and soul.

The '57 Repro (O.K., this one is a Gibson...):

 My Epiphone actually plays better than the original. It also cost about $10,000.00 less.    

Up at my usual Captain Insane-O Hour: 05:00, with a cup or cups of coffee and cigarettes, news articles, bad TV programming, no birds (yet) and "General Peace and Quiet." I woke from a beautiful dream with the lyrics to "Splendid Isolation" in my head. My dreams Love me more than I Love myself. My dreams Love Somebody Else more than they Love me. Or, are too engaged in songwriting/weird Architecture/fish with Kangaroo heads, etc., to notice that I washed my face and hands before crawling into their Realm. Something like that... I switched to my Winter Sleeping Arrangement last night and kept the window over my head open a notch. After The Neighborhood became quiet. It's been the Queen Biscuit Drama Hour around here, lately. Neighbors. Asch. Who "needs" 'em? I'd make a pretty good Hermit. Of Mink Hollow, of course.

"Lock the gates, Goofy, take my hand":

Y'er Buddy and First Mate if and when ya' get too fucked up to drive the vessel or change the music...
-Doc