Do You Believe In Mayjic?


I want to play guitar.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to learn to play the guitar, I want to be able to just pick the thing up and rattle off any number of Gilmour’s most intricate solos.

I want to be an adult prodigy.

Not at the savant level.  I wish to still be able to order a cheeseburger at the drive-thru window and know if I’ve been given the correct change; and to understand why “under”wear is so aptly named.

But I could entertain the notion of a certain level of musical genius.  Or, even musical sufficiency.  Just enough to amuse myself, the couch and a couple of easy chairs.  The thought of plying fingers to string and making music is so appealing I wouldn’t even mind the calluses; as long as I could pick them up at the local callus shop and apply them in an afternoon.

Would talent and ability hold more meaning for me if acquired over time?  Probably.  But a fellow with a bird’s nest for hair and a cheesy moustache has already proven that time is relative.

So, which way to the closest callus shop?







 

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