Gratitude and Roundabouts
Had 3 gigs this weekend for the first time in a while, and as I type this the tips of my fingers ache from the extreme toil. Only guitar players understand the unique pain of the suddenly defenseless and black-tipped index finger as it jams itself down on yet another crazily strummed Who song. I'm an excellent judge of this, and can usually predict when the entire finger will pop like a zit and start bleeding all over the sound hole. It can be quite a crowd-pleasing moment. At the end of the Sunday afternoon gig I knew I was at least an hour away from bloodletting. No worries at all.