Can I just say now how cranky hand carding makes me without a drum carder? The mere thought of it makes me extremely cranky.

The first week of high school has gone swimmingly for Josey. His school is amazing, and I was informed yesterday that he wants to play bass guitar. Bass. Rhythm is genetic, I’m sure I read that somewhere (or just made it up) so obviously he got all his good genes from me. Of course, general awesomeness is also genetic (citation needed) so that was from my side of the family too– I knew my baby was too smart to be a drummer.

Deb from Come Yarn Over left a message for me asking if I could make my little sheep with tape measures inside as customers were asking for some. I haven’t called her back yet. First because I wanted to get a tape measure and see if it was possible (it is) and second because I wanted to blog about it.

This is the difference between men and women. Women think it’s a super cute idea and want to know if it’s doable, and if it is what kind of variations are possible. I’m going to paint with a broad brush here but in general crafty women get cerebral about design and want to help troubleshoot.

Men on the other hand (crafty or otherwise) overwhelmingly turn into immature little boys that think all things potentially butt-hole  related are fascinating and immediately suggest that the fob for the tape measure should come out of the sheep’s butt. This idea is generally hilarious to the men folk, and they think it awesome and good. I have no idea why but every single man that has heard about (prior to my prototype) or seen (post prototype) the sheep tape measure project has insisted that the tape should come out the sheep’s ass.

Here’s the deal fellows, if you want a tape measure to come out a sheep’s ass then you can order one ($9 + shipping) from me special. Email me. Otherwise they are going to be nice and not have anything come out the ass.

I have managed to lose my gruntle after all.

Mainly because I work very hard to not suck at the guitar, and although its meant to be complimentary, it seems like when people attribute my non-suckatude at the guitar to “natural talent” (of which I have none) it detracts from where I really do feel pride: my stubborn, painful, grinding persistence. It takes time and effort to not suck, my chops are hard earned.

No one makes me practice until my brain threatens to bleed out from my ears, I do that to myself. People who are naturally talented aren’t filled with the same dread and self loathing that I am when they hear themselves play.

Sometimes it feels like I have misshapen flippers attached to my wrists instead of human hands.

And I’m developing some kind of neurotic thing about practicing when my husband is around. He makes these faces when I stop to work on a chord transition, or to repeat a few measures until I get the attack just right. Matt thinks I really suck, then he acts all supportive, and reassures me that I don’t suck. I have no idea how to communicate to him that its just practice, and practice sounds bad, and I don’t need the reassurance. I know practice sounds bad, that is why it is practice.

As if that weren’t enough to give me a complete gruntle-ectomy, there are people close to me, people I love that always like to point out “You play very well for being left handed.” and I don’t know if that means if they think I play better for being left-handed or that I’m allowed to live with lower standards because I’m left-handed.I am left handed, but I play right handed.

I don’t want to ask because I have a hard time forming a question about the statement in such a way that might not be slapping down a kindly given compliment. I would just like someone to tell me the answer without me having to create the question. Is that too much to ask?

I could say that it doesn’t get much cooler than Bing Futch when it comes to hot electric dulcimer action. But I’ll let you decide for yourself.

Personally, I don’t think I ever looked anywhere that cool when I played the dulcimer– but my heart wasn’t really in it. I did achieve some cool moments on the dulcimer, like sneaking “Cecilia” by Simon and Garfunkel into a church service intermission and playing the guitar bit from Queens “We will rock you” into the bride’s march of a family friend’s ceremony (a small act of rebellion that earned me the awe and respect from the other flower girls but went largely unnoticed by anyone else.)

The one thing I really liked about the dulcimer (which I also like about the guitar) is the range of styles you can play, every thing from classical to appalachian to standards to jazz to funk and beyond. There are no limits– and that is very cool.

Some people might think it a little overboard to baby talk to electronic equipment, but they aren’t in the same room with this thing. They don’t know it like I do, my sweet little Marshall, my darling noisy baby amp.

I ordered a new Duncan Crybaby Wah pedal and some new strings.  And since I’m down to my last Hello Kitty pick, I figured I’d play it safe and ordered a dozen more.

You know, now that I can hear myself play aloud, and not through ear buds, I sound pretty darned adequate.

I had a couple of emails asking about the HK guitars and Squiers, and one comment that I can’t approve because the language was NSFW. Since my answers are all a little redundant they are all going here after the cut.

Squiers are a subbrand of Fender, they are considered an introductory guitar offered at an introductory cost. Epiphones are the Gibson equivolent of the Fender’s Squier. The cost of a guitar is *not* an indicator of quality. There are plenty of very expensive guitars that sound about as good as bricks wound with rubber bands and plenty of rock bottom guitars that wail, whine, moan, and sing practically by themselves.

If straight from the factory (pawnshop, best friends garage sale, or closet) your guitar doesn’t sound out well, give it a good once over. Get a soft, clean, lint free blanket and start your operation. Change the strings (one at a time, not all at once) and while you’re changing out the G and D strings (the two in the middle) clean out the truss rod. Carefully open up the back panels (again, one at a time) and blow out any dust with compressed air.) If the ends of the frets aren’t rounded carefully round them down or have them rounded down for you at the guitar shop.

If it is still not ringing out or sounds dirty, time to get your local guitar shop involved. Ask them to check out the set up, and while they’re at it change the headnut from plastic to bone.

What should I get in addition to the guitar?
Buy a whole bunch of picks, some extra strings in different flavors, a string winder (get the kind with a cutter already on it), a tuner (I have the Barcus-berry “Soul Mate” and it has never mislead me, there are more expensive ones out there, but the Soul Mate is hands down the best I’ve tried.) An amp of some sort with headphones– there’s a fair amount of sucking involved in just learning, it’s much easier to practice when you’re not worried about the suck factor.

Picks are cheap. Try different thickness, shapes, materials. Practice scales and fake book songs with at least 5 distinctly different picks. Make at least one of those a thumb pick. Memorize one scale (E phrygian mode is a good one, especially if you’re learning to sight read music for the first time) and play it 5 times, changing your pick each time. This is the best way to find your most comfortable pick, as well as your style “voice.”

I bought my(self, husband, wife, child, relative, boyfriend, girlfriend, niece, nephew, dog) a guitar but it (I, he, she, they, it) ended up frustrated and it has been in the closet for (a month, six months, a decade, four centuries) and (I, he, she, they, it) needs some advice to know that (I, he, she, they, it) will stick to it. Got any?
Tons. Crap guitars make life suck, as can the wrong guitars. Instead of getting something rockbottom cheap that is sure to frustrate, do your research and buy something workable with a fair resale value.

I’m not terribly fond of the 3/4 sized guitars, at all. My main issue is not the cuteness factor (I’m all for cuteness!) but that they tend to not tune well and it takes a much more experienced hand to make them sound good on the higher notes. A normal sized 5 year old can hold a telecaster or stratocaster just fine.

Any younger. then there are a few options depending on your  vicarious ambitions for your child.

I purchased a $15 3/4 sized guitar for Lexi when she was 3 and gave her a few picks, then only showed her how to properly hold the guitar, and how to fret without buzzing the strings, and how to hold the picks. No chords, no notes, no scales, no pressure. The running theory is that you let the child go a little Frank Zappa and make all sorts of cool noises, but make sure that proper physical form is used thus encouraging maximum creativity as well as giving a strong foundation to proper technique in the future. Supplement with a very decent autoharp so that the proverbial ear for tone and pitch can actually develop at the same time.

If it’s classical music you see in that crystal ball start with a naturally smaller instrument such as a mandolin, cavaquinho, or a lute (all of which come in electric varieties) and sign up for twice weekly lessons and encourage daily practice. Do your research and make sure that you invest in something that will have good resale value in the future or that will last your little one well into college with proper care.

Don’t make a habit of putting a guitar away where it takes any longer than a few seconds to get it out. Putting a guitar in a case and the case in the closet is the kiss of death to reliable practice. Get a rack or a stand or a wall mount and put it there to keep it safe.

If you’re trying to encourage someone else to practice, then do it by asking them to play and then clamping your mouth shut. Tightly. Staple your lips together if you need the extra help. Your (husband, wife, kid, distant relative, boyfriend, girlfriend, roommate, dog) does not need your help, advice, criticism, or feedback. Making pained facial expressions counts too, if you can’t control yourself buy them headphones or leave the house for a while.

If its you you’re trying to encourage, then accept that sucking is part of learning and hide behind those headphones for a while. Don’t start out practicing for 10 hours straight. Buy a book of scales and modes, and one of chords, learn to read tabs and sheet music. Get yourself a fake book if you like. Then do the first set of scales 2-3 times, not perfectly, just make sure you play every note. Set the guitar down, walk away. Go back later in the day, or the next day, and do the same thing. If you feel really inspired, grab your fake book, find an easy song and do the first couple of bars.

Lather, rinse and repeat daily.

Always address any discomfort right away and solve it. When I first started playing it was with a crappy brutally bad no-name acoustic guitar, the frets weren’t rounded (and I habitually ripped skin from the fingers of my left hand right off with those frets), it had no sustaining sound at all, the two lowest strings buzzed no matter what I did from the 2nd frets on down, it continually went out of tune, and since I didn’t have anyone that could tell me what was going wrong, I thought it was all me.

Tis a poor sculpter that blames the clay, after all. Right?

Wrong. But I didn’t have anyone for a few years that told me I was blaming myself where the guitar failed. So I practiced away, simultaneously sounding awful and literally bleeding my way through each chord. I was (mercifully) eventually set straight and had a very nice guitar placed in my hands, and so the cycle of abuse (and poor self esteem) ended.

I also learned that the right chair can make all the difference in the world. Try your office chair, your diningroom chairs, your couch, your bean bag, steal a bar stool, try it out. You don’t have to look cool, you just need to be able to play comfortably.

Once you have the right chair, find something to prop your left foot on. A box, a block, a stepping stool, a couple of phone books. Sitting with your leg crossed for a little while is okay, but when you’re really going strong and want to keep on playing, being able to put that foot up helps tons.

I’ll be happy to answer any more questions, just remember that I’m not really an expert (but then maybe that’s my appeal, experts are so intimidating sometimes.) wendy at yarnporn dot com or leave a comment.

Did I sleep and then wake to do these things, or have I been up and am I planning on sleeping in? Am I vampire? An insomniac? An overachiever? An underachiever? Consumer of way too much caffiene?

I think it’s the carbs, or the lack of carbs really– it’s thrown me all out of whack. I found myself laying in bed actually having fantasies about a bowl of white rice. Not that I don’t feel very healthy and satisfied with the foods that I’ve been eating, it’s just that there’s nothing quite like a bowl of rice for a midnight snack. Oh sure, I have that lovely brown and wild rice mix, but– it’s really not the same. Its like having a crush on George Clooney and being rescued from an evil masher by Val Kilmer– sure they were both Batman, but really– Val is just not George. I just look at my bowl of Val Kilmer brown and wild rice and think “Why bother?”

I’ve moved onto practicing the E Dorian mode. Someone with a clue about music theory can explain it better than I can (I just play the notes) but basically the 3rd and 7th notes lower 1/2 step, it’s kind of jazzy.

Yeah, my axe is muffin-bucker bad isn’t it?

Since I haven’t practiced since August, I’m back to E major scales– which may not sound dreadfully fun, but I like E major, it’s uplifting. Even when I was forced to practice my dulcimer (because my parents hated me) I always looked forward to E major, it was a bright spot in an otherwise blighted pre-teen existence. Nothing cures a fit of angst like speeding through E major scales and then free styling a bit, even on a dulcimer.

Holiday shopping is done, gifts are wrapped, and we even snuck in a pre-Christmas early unwrapping tonight before dinner time for the kids. Lexi is a fantastic gift unwrapper, screaming “Oh my favorite, it’s what I always wanted!” before even actually knowing what the gift was. Josey was an equally satisfied customer, although somewhat more restrained. I bought Matt a foot massager thing, and he bought me the Badtz Maru bass guitar and a 10w Marshal practice amp– I didn’t bother concealing his gift at all, since I figured after a long day of Christmas shopping he deserved to use it right away and he hasn’t had a chance to wrap mine since they have yet to arrive.

I’m amazed by my husband sometimes. I feel spoiled. I am spoiled.

Here’s a screen cap of the pics on the auction for my new guitar. Don’t you love it? I like the Sex Pistols-esque “Hello Kitty” on the back. There was much debate on which was better for me, the pink or the black version, the font decided it all.

It’s a little disturbing and quite sweet that a concerned person emailed me to say that playing a Hello Kitty guitar might undermine my legitimacy and seriousness as a musician. At first I thought it was a joke. Then I realized this person has kindly overestimated my musical potential and emailed back explaining that legitimacy and seriousness are not things I’m known for musically.

For the record, I have a Hello Kitty waffle maker and I take waffles very seriously.

So what’s with the Hello Kitty stuff anyway?

Everything has a threshold, pass that threshold at the end of the spectrum and you flip into the extreme of the other side.

At one point in time all I wanted was a pair of black Chuck Taylors, a pair of Levi jeans that didn’t flair at the ankle and a gray and pink sweater. I got the Chucks. Then I got orthodic inserts which meant I couldn’t wear the Chucks, a leg brace, bifocals, orthodontic gear and back brace. Oh yeah, and my parents were in the middle of a bitter divorce.

There is no cool when you hit that point. It’s just cold.

I knew that, I gave up even trying. I picked a pair of Buddy Holly frames because they were the cheapest. I started buying pants at the military surplus store because they were not only cheap but because they concealed the leg brace. The shoes I wore (which I really had no choice, they were the only ones that were my size that could fit orthodics and my narrow feet) were ugly bulky British manufactured work boots and oxfords.

At this point in my life my favorite things included 4-H for dairy goats, home economics, reading, watching Monkees reruns, swimming and trying not to get beat up. Then I saw her. Hello Kitty. At age eleven I didn’t care about irony. I was just thinking how cute the t-shirt transfers bearing the pink maneki neko were.

I bought them.

I took them home and carefully transfered the happy Hello Kitty onto some t-shirts that I’d tye-dyed with the little kids when I volunteered to help at church day camp.

Hello Kitty made me smile.

Later, Hello Kitty and kawai stuff became sort of an in-joke. The back of my motorcycle jacket was painted with a pink Kitty-like skull, Misfits style, by a friend in high school. Kitty’s face was sandblasted into the headlight of my Norton Mk3 by the body shop guy I worked for one summer. My kayak was Kitty pink.

Sometimes my hair is Kitty pink. I have the aforementioned HK waffle iron, plus bento box, and Pez dispensers. I have a few kitty hair combs. I want to buy the Kitty sewing machine for the kids.

Hello Kitty still makes me smile.

I will never be accused of selling my soul at the crossroads.

I played dulcimer in church and trumpet in school band. I wanted to play violin at church and flute in the band, but as you may have guessed; my parents hated me. Want to get your kid beat up at school and church? A dulcimer is the way to go.

My voice was not produced to make the sweet plaintive music of the raths and hills, to float like slow smoke over the ruins of forts and lodges and grass hay fields to sweeten the very sky. My bardic ancestors bequeathed me little in that way.

I can play Yellow Submarine on a ukulele, along with a handful of blues riffs– and much to the horror of my immediate family I am willing to do so, if given occasion or excuse, in public. Although I’ve failed to master Chuck Berry’s harmonized slide technique on any other instrument, it sounds great on the ukulele.

I think that I’m the only one of my circle who failed to learn the intro of “Stairway to Heaven” on the guitar when we were kids. I had a little acoustic guitar that I practiced on, but it was cheap and Oregon is humid and the neck bent so that I had to tune the stupid thing every two minutes. I cursed it then, but I am really good at tuning to this day, so at least it wasn’t a wasted effort.

My husband has purchased a guitar for me and I’m eagerly awaiting it’s arrival. I believe the Fed-Ex guy is a little scared of me, as I run out when the truck pulls up and ask “Is it here? It’s about this long and it’s from Massachusetts. Are you sure? Have you even looked in your truck?!”

A little obsessive? Me? Noo. Not me.

My very own Fender. On it’s way. To me.

My very own black Fender. Stratocaster.

My very own black Fender with a Hello Kitty pick guard.

In the words of the immortal Eric Cartman: “Super sweet”