Pick Jacker-Upper Writes 3

Hi and hello, Lackeys.

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday saw the birth of 3 - count 'em THREE! - new songs. They are (in the daily order written):

Kumamaru (a.k.a. Pretty Mindball Breaker)

Pulelehua Moke

Be Wary o ye Bridge Jumper

Yes they were recorded immediately after the basic structure was set for the sake of remembering. My memory is so shot that if I sweep the floor or eat a bag of Cheetos or some other non-consequential activity I'll forget how the song is actually played. The rhythm is lost. As is the melody. The post-forgotten strumming is a mad kah-chuck, kah-chucking! in desperation to find what was lost. My face gets contorted,

I stomp a foot. A few "Ah fucks" are thrown around. Don't bring all the little childins around when I lose a song . . . it ain't PG. =P

Now on to strumming. In the release of frustrations to the intended tune the process goes from brain (garr!) down to the arm (jahh!) to the fingers (hahhh!) to pick to string (ARGHH!). So string is strung and the bomb is out. I don't claim to play the guitar. Nope. I strum the guitar. Yup.

And I tend to strum hard.

The red pick to the left is what a "normal" guitar pick looks like. The pink guitar pick to the right is what is left after a couple of weeks of strum-diggity-cha-cha ARGHH! Whittled away, bombed out degraded, the pink plucky is left with a sad, sore stub. It is so short that sometimes the fingernail on my index finger catches a string and is pulled away in ragged pain during a hard chugging rhythm. Yow. What's the opposite of the joyous expression Woohoo? Hoowoo . . . that's it. Fingernail tearing is Hoowoo.

So three more songs down, more stuff written. All is well. Aside from the cold overcast weather. I want to be lounging outside in the backyard again with the bright, warm sun shining upon my fat, flabby ass and my favorite music rushing loudly out of the playroom speakers.

"Come on SUN! Out wit it, mang!!"

Those clouds are total assholes.