The End

When I was 13, I saved up my nickels and dimes for what seemed like ten years to buy my first guitar — some hunk o' junk made by a Japanese company named Mako — and an even worse amp, called a Gorilla. Despite its many horrid flaws, I loved that guitar (it's still at my mom's house, despite my best attempts to get rid of it). It opened up a new world for me and felt like what I had been born to do. When I was about 15, I started playing shows with my first official band and for the next nine years, or so, there wasn't a moment that I wasn't in a band, playing shows, and occasionally touring the country.

(By the way, if you want to be one of those dopes that always asks me how much money I made or how many girls I "got" playing in bands, stop reading now. You don't understand music and you never will.)
When I left the last band I was in, I felt confident that it wouldn't be long until I joined up with another group of musicians and continued on with making music. After a few false starts and several years passed, the possibility of me joining/starting another band began to seem pretty remote. I toyed with the idea of making a serious stab at becoming a touring musician with whatever band I could glom onto, but once I got married and officially became responsible for someone other than myself, that became an impossibility. And now that I have a kid, it's beyond impossible. It's unpossible.

Last week I made the decision to trade the bulk of my gear in and downsize dramatically. That bad boy you see to the left is the main reason I made this decision. I've lugged that ungodly loud thing with me every time I've moved only to store it away, pulling it out only occasionally, because it's too damn big to keep in the den and too damn loud to use recreationally.

Over the weekend, I pulled out all my electric guitars and gave them all a good cleaning, hoping to maximize my trade-in potential. Next weekend, I'll head to our storage unit (Stacey's sister and brother-in-law's basement), gather my 5150 half-stack and head to the local music store with the hopes of not getting completely screwed. If you wanna buy any of my stuff, here's your last chance.

Even though I've had this equipment for a long time and been through a lot with it, parting with the gear isn't the tough part. What's hardest about all this is knowing that once all this heavy duty stuff is gone, I can't jump up at a moment's notice and join a big bad rock 'n' roll band — especially since I'm too poor to buy a decent replacement rig, should such an opportunity suddenly arise. Unless some dramatic offer comes my way, my days of rocking your town are through. It's not a midlife crisis, but it's gotta be close. Maybe I'm getting mine out of the way early?

I'll have to settle for with rocking the den with Connor. He's my biggest fan anyway, so I don't imagine it will to too tough a transition.