Monday, April 5, 2010

classical guitar

Classical guitar is the best and easiest way to attract women (and men). As a long-time practitioner of the avoidance of the practice of classical guitar, I have deep insight into how the underworld of classical guitar looks.

First, when training classical guitarists, the key is to make the learner appear as sissified as possible, as correct form can only be achieved by repeated beatings by belligerent peers. Ways in which this can be achieved include mandating the use of a foot stool, instructing learners to wear a toe-less sock over their elbow, and the utterly-inhumane practice of coercing boys in middle school to file their nails.

These elements are employed with heartless efficiency. While to the teacher, the protective sock is guarding the arm of the boy against any of the unsightly marks that could be left by the edge of the guitar, to the boy, the unsightly sock has just branded him free game, and will inevitably result in the loss of any and all lunch money he may have carried.

Furthermore, wonderfully-manicured nails are the hallmark of beautiful tone and sound for classical guitarists, and teachers will encourage their students to grow their own nails out to unsightly lengths, and prune them with a variety of elements found only in the beauty section of a store, well beyond the no man's land that is the shampoo aisle. A mere entrance into this territory is grounds for a good old fashioned lockering, not to mention what is to be done to the poor sap who actually goes through with it and files his nails.

Luckily, while these sorts of behaviors can produce some discomfort in the early ages, the determined individual will soon find their sufferings rewarded when the women gather round like the doves of Delaware, anxiously awaiting a mere morsel of the meticulously magicked melody.

Unluckily, if you specialize in the observance of a continual guitar-practicing sabbath, wherein no notes are ever played by your filed nails while your arm rests comfortably within its sock guard, and your foot stands proudly on the footrest, you experience all of the awkwardness, while remaining resolutely at the edge of the periphery of the greatness that classical guitar.

The consolation prize to said individuals is the amazing experience of having a guitar teacher showing up to one lesson smelling oddly smokey, and yet intoxicatingly sweet at the same time. As the smoke slowly dulls your senses, he reveals a liter of oil, and begins to pour said oil gleefully over the fingerboard of your guitar, all while shouting "WOOOOOOO-EEEEEEE, LOOKEE HOW THIRTY HE IS!"

I believe that was our last lesson. And the fingerboard is still stained.

3 comments:

Bruce said...

What, no footnotes?

chris said...

I got lazy. they shall return next post, assuredly.

bek said...

i hope that sock was one that you wore many a time and once holy, cut and worn so admiringly on your arm. mom didn't let you cut a new sock did she??? and...let me guess, you cleaned said guitar with old underwear???