Uno, Dos, Tres...

As a mature, semi-productive, nearly-non-starstruck (I'm so over that) adult, I tend (by necessity) to live in the here and now. However, on occasion I allow myself the luxury of fantasizing about 'what could have been' and bemoaning my parents' lack of foresight in their failure to expose me in greater depth to my God-given musical abilities, specifically the guitar. Not to toot my own horn, but I am a legendary air-guitar player... I never miss a lick, no matter what the song being played might be.

Now, before you stick up your nose and say, 'Yea, right...', let me explain. The guitar is really only an organized set of finite combinations of sounds (crudely regarded as 'notes') capable of producing a near-infinite set of definable harmonic frequencies (technically referred to as 'chords' or 'riffs'). Are you smelling the coffee, yet?

Further, since I possess the ability to mentally reproduce the most intricate of 'licks' as played by inferior players such as Clapton, Hendrix, Vaughn and Allman, there can be little question that I would have been superior to them in my performance of my art. Then, I, too, would command the respect and adulation of the adoring masses (not to mention being filthy rich), and by now I would have my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame outside Grauman's Chinese Theatre.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall (it's a cliche, I admit... get over it) when my fans kneel before my handprint and place their own hand inside. I yearn to see the expression on their faces when they realize that they have no answer for the sixth and seventh fingers...

but, hey, that's just me.