The Day of My Tatooeveryone’s got stuff. i’ve got stuff, you’ve got stuff. stuff i move around with me wherever i go and stuff that moves with me wherever i go. that’s life: stuff.

the best stuff are the memories of all the fun stuff i did and the stuff that will become fun memories that i’m going to do.

here’s some of the memory stuff

I was 19, living in Chicago in this weird shaped apartment building that was built on an angle. my apartment had two windows, both of which looked out onto the chicago “L” (elevated train) tracks. I liked to make funny faces out my window at the passengers racing by and sometimes I did other things out my window directed at passengers when friends were over. I had just come back from living in texas for almost a year. a place called denton, tx near dallas. it was said that bob dylan used to sit on the roof near the college campus there and play his guitar.

now texas is a whole other story or at least another paragraph, so i’ll get back to where i was going with the chicago apartment story above. the real point of telling you about that apartment is not because of that actual apartment, but because of the guy living on the bottom floor in a storefront of that building. well…he and i started up this thing that later became a kind of marriage and a daughter resulted..but again, that’s another long long story. where i’m really going with that apartment part, is that this guy, the one in the bottom floor store front,  played guitar and he taught me the C, F, G and A chords, which apparently were enough for me, because i promptly sat down and wrote some songs. and that started me on the long road to becoming a bass player many years after…and that is yet another whole story.

but wait…now that i’ve had more coffee, i remember that my first guitar learning experience was actually when i was around 15. we lived in the chicago suburb of skokie, and after years of enduring the pain of sitting thru a boring hour a week of piano lessons, i decided guitar was for me. so my mother took me down to the local music store and bought me a really really cheap guitar, the kind of instrument that would make anyone want to immediately stop learning to play. you know the kind. at any rate, once a week, instead of the boring piano lesson, i got to go to an equally boring guitar lesson. the best part was what happened before the boring guitar lesson. there was this great ol chinese restaurant, old old wood furnishings, dark, smelled great. i’d go in there before my lesson and order french fries. so i know that doesn’t make sense, but this chinese restaurant had the absolute best french fries i’ve ever, to this day, tasted. as for the guitar lessons. that lasted i think, for a few months. and now, the paragraph above this one, segues correctly.