Clapton ain't God.

So! What's up xanga?

I'm in the pit of despair, Robbie, since you haven't posted for so long. I hate facebook.

Sorry about that... been busy.

Oh really? Do tell. Busy on facebook!!! jerk...

Hey, I... well... uh... guitar?

Ha! You suck.

Ok, that was low, I ain't posting!

Dang it... all right fine, you're... not painful to listen to.

...

...and... um... you're experienced?

Good enough, I'll post. But I choose the topic.

Fine... go ahead.

(Ok, that was weird...)

Well, here goes. I'm going to get a new guitar soon. Although, when I say soon, that... varys... Heh heh... Soon means, it's gonna happen, but... maybe not as soon as I'd like. What I'd do, most likely, is either sell my electric (the black and white one) and get more money that way, meaning I'd get the new one sooner. Or... I'll have to wait longer and earn a lot, most likely this summer. I'd really like to get it soon though, that way I can get used to it, and then bring it with me to SA!!! Heh, that'd rock. Get it? Never mind. The guitar in question, the one I plan on getting, was used by Angus Young of AC/DC, and is still in use as Derek Truck's main guitar. Angus Young is not so awesome compaired to Derek Trucks if you ask me, but then again, my style of playing come into play here. You see, Mr. Young, perhaps the... oddest charactor in the band, always cranks his distortion up into the stratosphere and blangs on his axe blindly. Well... for some of his songs that is. Now, Derek on the other hand, plays slide guitar with a clear, bright, un-distorted sound that seems to cut the air in melody, perfect rythym, and amazing solos that nearly always leave my jaw hanging, though I may listen to them over and over again. And, I want to learn how to play slide guitar better, so, imitate the best! Though if I really wanted to copy the best slide guitarist, I'd need a Gibson Firebird (Johnny Winter).

H'yar's the geetar:

Can y'all see it? I don't know if it worked or not, I can't see it meself... Here's the link just in case.

http://www.musiciansfriend.com/document?cpd=0OEY&doc_id=99371&base_pid=518291&index=0

I like the cherry finish the best. One beautiful guitar!

Smoke

I stare, silently watching smoke rise to the ceiling. Where did this smoke come from? In answering it came from Dad's pipes and cigars, my brothers-in-law smoking with him in his library, trying his favorite cigars or his preferred pipe tobacco. Dad sits comfortably in his big leather arm chair, relaxed and content to smoke his cigar. Jesse sits on one end of Dad's couch, smoking a cigar of the same brand Dad gave him to try. Aaron trys a cigar of the same brand too, sitting on the other end of the couch. While Luke, ever the rebellious Dutchman, sits in a wooden chair smoking his pipe with fervor. I sit in another wooden chair near Luke, watching as they smoke, listening to their wise words. Somehow, you can't talk about anything worthless while smoking. Philosophy, theology, politics, and the world series. Jesse and Aaron are very avid baseball men. Aaron more so than Jesse. Luke just likes competition. While talking, they take their turns, making points and bringing up various things that most of us didn't think of. While the one man talks, the rest smoke silently, listening intently to his speech, waiting. As soon as he pays attention to his pipe or cigar, another speaks up as quickly as possible so as to make his points. Everyone else smokes silently again, waiting. The smoke merges just below ceiling level, curling, mixing, dancing. The fan putters away in vain, trying to pull the smoke outdoors so as to keep the smoke form becoming too powerful a presence. I sometimes wonder why Dad turns it on when a bunch of guys smoke with him. Especially since Luke is present. Luke alone could make that fan wish it had a V8 as it's motor. The smoke level slowly eases down, as time goes by. The smoke increases in quantity, and the fan can't keep up. If the smoking kept going at this rate, the smoke would soon be down to our eyes, and we'd have to slouch in our chairs to be able to see one another. But it's already been an hour or more, and the married men start to think of their wives again. The cigars are burned down to the labels, and Luke has gone through about two bowls, so they stop all smoking and adjourn.

After that, mostly I remember the subjects that were talked about, and the smoke, rising, curling, dancing, swirling about the ceiling... there's something absolutely beautiful about smoke, what it is for certain I don't know. Maybe it's because of the shapes it seems to make up, endlessly changing. Maybe it hints at freedom, and not being bound by outside forces. Maybe something else. There's also something beautiful about cigars and pipes. Cigars, though sometimes rough in appearance hold something glorious. Pipes, the shape of them, is another kind of beauty, elegant, refined, cared for. Though both sometimes look rough and worn, one cannot help but gaze silently at them, lost in admiration of the beauty beneath the rough exterior. Maybe it's like how women see men, rough on the outside, but something beautiful inside draws their attention, then (if they're of age) poof! They're married. Or something like that. With cigars and pipes (if you're of age) , it's more like poof! You're smoking.

What happens when...?

What happens when two brothers and a sister decide to play with little horses, cows and goats? Hysterical laughing happens. Especially when there's five cows, one named Hollister, another is Abercombe, another Pac Sun... I don't remember the other names. Then add a horse named Zumiez, and a horse named Waldeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnn, and two goats named iTunes and Imeem. Then toss in a few accents. Faith's cows didn't have any accents, she was laughing to hard to talk, her cows just sort of fell over. George's goats wanted to speak normally, so I thought to myself: "Life without accent is boring, I'm going to spice up my horses lives." So I did. Hence, Zumiez became a horse of French/Spanish descent, so that made for an interesting accent somewhere between a french accent... and Antonio Banderas. Waldeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnn took to long to say his name, so he just said his name in such a way as to put the looney tunes dumbells to shame. Zumiez liked explaining his heritage, and how to pronounce his name. Apparently, you say his name like "Loo-me-air." Except it's "Zoo-me-az." So, there's some difference. He was vehement when I pronounced his name wrong.

Well, that was random, I know, but I'm hyper, so...