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by Barb T
Rated: E · Essay · Music · #1112835
Are you a guitar player? Do you use picks? Wonder where they go? Me too.
Where do all the Guitar Picks Go?



People who know me will say that I am many things – among them are thinker, philosopher, a writer, and one of my favorites – a guitar player. It would only seem natural that throwing all these attributes of mine into a blender, would be a cause for consternation, and I believe I would have to agree.

I have been driven, almost obsessed with inane and frivolous thoughts of guitar picks. More specifically, where do all those guitar picks go? Over the years, I have purchased literally hundreds of different picks. As my tastes and needs changed, so did my pick style. I have owned standard wedge shaped ones, ones that slip over the thumb, and even ones that had a scalloped edge so that I could hold on to them better. Despite this ever-varying taste in picks, one thing has remained constant – I keep losing them! Again, I ask, “Where do they go?”

I am sitting here contemplating this problem and am trying very hard to ignore the echo of “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” reverberating through my poor, defenseless brain. I honestly, just do not understand how I can continue to go through a nonstop supply of guitar picks. Do they go to some mysterious “Guitar Pick Heaven,” where they are retired with the honor of having assisted some poor, hapless, and perhaps talent-lacking musician? Is it the guitar pick’s method of protesting at having been used and almost tortured by my guitar playing? Is it possible that the picks are on strike because I have occasionally chewed on them while trying to work the kinks out of my latest batch of lyrics?

I’d like to entertain the notion that not only have my picks gone to Guitar Pick Heaven because they have been saintly through their patience, and toleration of my discordant playing, but that there is some mysterious being who is using them to play their own music. Could it be possible that my playing has seasoned them so that when used by that mysterious being, the sound they produce is so much more melodic and sweet than that which I would produce myself?

Whatever the answer is to my question, I have come to one definitive conclusion – It is fine to be a philosopher, wonderful to be a writer, titillating to be a thinker, and great to be a guitar player, but in order to preserve one’s peace of mind, try not to be all these things at once. It is torture!
© Copyright 2006 Barb T (barbieistheone at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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