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Ask a Guitarded Person

Hey Guitard! Let's show some love for the bass players out there! Who are some of your favorite bass players? Any bass players you feel are over/underrated? Do you have an opinion on the pick vs fingers debate? Also, what is your favorite horror film circa 1980-1995? - Tony, California.

   * Favorite/Most Underrated Bassist:

Paul McCartney

Paul was one of the most innovative bass players ever. And half the stuff that is going on now is directly ripped off from his Beatles period.-- John Lennon1

Paul McCartney was a guitar player who was basically demoted to playing bass, setting the standard for most all rock bass players to follow, haha. Seriously though, he is, in my opinion, the most underrated bass player in Rock history. He has laid down some of the most taseful and melodic bass line's ever.

Listen to the bass lines on, A Day in the Life. Just because he's in the rhythm section doesn't mean he has to resign himself to just playing in the background. He treats the bass as if it were a lead instrument, but its not overpowering the vocals or other instruments. His bass stands out but its not stepping on anyone else's toes and it doesn't take away from the song.

One of my favorite songs, I Want You (She's So Heavy) has some haunting, trippy ass bass on it.

______________________________________________________

*My Other Favorite Bad Ass Bass Player

James Jamerson

 I think James Jamerson is behind pretty much every awesome Motown song ever. The guy was just a friggin genius.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Other Awesome Bass Players I like

• John Entwistle
• John Paul Jones
• Geezer Butler
• Steve Harris:

• Cliff Burton: (for me there was no Metallica after Cliff died)
• Justin Chancellor  [Tool]

   And yeah, yeah, I didn't say any other names like, Victor Wooten, John Myung, Jaco Pastorious and all them other overly technical, jazzy dudes. I'm not saying it's not good, but thats just not my type of music.

Most Overrated Bass Player/s

Michael Anthony: While I don't condone bass playing that's so complex it interferes with melody and overall song structure, I also don't condone doing nothing but riding root notes all night long. Have some f*kking imagination. I'm not saying he's a bad bass player, just an overrated one.

Billy Sheehan: If you're gonna do nothing but play bass solos and tapping like Eddie Van Halen, then just play a f*kking guitar. I wouldn't listen to a bass player just because he's fast, no more than I would start a conversation with someone just because they could talk fast. Just because it might be fast doesn't mean it's necessarily interesting. Just because you might have a larger vocabulary than anyone else doesn't mean you have anything profound to say. Shit Ava is 4 1/2, still learning to master the English language and some of the shit she says is more interesting than anything most of the people I went to college with ever had to say.

Geddy Lee: I've never been a Rush fan and as far as bass playing goes, I don't believe in self-indulgency, and complexity simply for the sake of being complex.

• The dude from Green Day
• The dude from U2
• Gene Simmons
• Jason Newstead
• Flea *now he's ok, but some people think he's a bass God, and I refuse to give him any more credit than just a simple, "He's Ok."*

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Pick vs. Fingers

   I'm somewhere in the middle on this one but I lean more towards a "no pick" philosophy. While I believe the bass should be learned without a pick, I also believe in a kind of "different tools for different jobs," type of thing too. If you're trying to achieve a certain tone, a pick could be appropriate.

   But when all is said and done at the end of the day, I believe fingers vs pick is ultimate the difference between a Bass Player and simply, somebody who just plays bass.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Best Horror Movie 1980-1995

The Shining [1980]: By the time I was 9 or 10 I had already seen movies like Faces of Death, The Exorcist and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I don't scare easily. In my leisure time I look at gory websites of  murder scenes, car crashes, and war atrocities for fun. Ever been to www.rotten.com? that's kids stuff compared to the stuff I watch for fun.

   Anyways, I don't get scared by movies, but I do get disturbed by them, and the only movie that ever came close to scaring me was "The Shining," When I first saw it I was about 10 years old and already a veteran of many horror films and I prided myself on being able to literally watch anything without getting scared or sick. The Shining gave me the creeps. I had to get thru it in two sittings. That had never happened before and hasn't happened since. As far as book adaptations go, maybe not the truest film depiction of a book ever done, but it's definitely a disturbing, great movie.

P.S. want some messed up trippy websites that are not for the squeamish?

www.machovideo.com

www.theync.com

Also email your Ask a Guitarded Person questions anytime to bloggeradmin@guitardedblog.com

My Favorite Bathtime Gurgles

The Catholic school in Flagstaff, AZ where I attended 2nd Grade.

  A couple Saturdays ago, me and my wife decided to get off the couch and out of the heat for the day and we drove up to Flagstaff, for the afternoon. I lived there for year or so when I was in second grade. I have fond memories of living there, so it was nice to go back and have a look around.

   If you're not from Arizona, Flagstaff is about a 2 1/2 hour drive from the Phoenix area. It's up in the mountains, so it snows in the winter, and its nice and cool during the Summer. Now this isn't Wikipedia, so if you want any more information on Flagstaff, then you can go look it up yourself.

Elmo's f*kkin radio better have headphones if I'm the one driving on this roadtrip.

Road Trip Music



• Soundtrack: Pulp Fiction
• Soundtrack: Kill Bill 1 & 2
• Soundtrack: Reservior Dogs
• Soundtrack: Natural Born Killers
• Soundtrack: Dazed and Confused
• Soundtrack: O Brother Where Art Thou?
• Soundtrack: Walk the Line
• Unplugged: Nirvana
• Alice in Chains: Jar of Flies
• Anything by The Beatles
• Anything by The Rolling Stones
• Anything by Led Zeppelin
• Anything by Pink Floyd
• Johnny Cash
• 80's music and Heart for my wife

Jessica getting her kicks on Route 66

   We had lunch at Fort Tuthill Park, and drove around town. It was a good trip. Although we were getting along well enough to make the trip, we weren't getting along well enough to make it back without wanting to kill each other.

Me and Jessica hanging out with the NAU Lumberjack, and that's OK.

   I was annoyed at my wife for being annoyed at my driving. I was annoyed at Ava's color commentary the entire trip which included the usual "boop boop" noises, the standard "Where are we," every five minutes and the "are we still on our trip?" queries every quarter hour, not to mention the crying fits every time she had to pee which was like every 10 minutes on the way back cuz she drank a gallon of applejuice despite both of telling her not to and my wife's refusal to put a pull up on her even though we had them stocked in the car. But after all she's four so what are you gonna do? Next trip I'll take my friend's advice and just put the headphones on that way I can drive in peace and they can complain about whatever they want. 

Ava loosing her sh*t in Flagstaff, while I wait in vain for the dramatic rise in altitude to knock her on her butt.

   We may not be a very traditional family. We make the Griswold family look like Leave it to Beaver.  Mom and Dad never get along, Dad is a narcissistic, bipolar, paranoid who gets kicked out every week, when he's not "resting" in the local mental hospital or sleeping in his car. Ava the little tells stories at daycare and grandma and grandpas house not of how mommy and daddy took her to the mountains, or the park or McDonalds, but rather how Mommy kicked Daddy out again, or the details of Mom and Dad's last fight.

   

   But God Dammit we're trying. It's not that we hate each other and want to make each other miserable. We honestly do care about each other, but we are both [me and wife that is, Ava is an innocent and awesome little girl] flawed. We've both had a tremendous share of trauma in our pasts and historically, successfull relationships have not been strong points for either of us.

   But maybe that's why the universe has fated us to cross paths. I don't believe in coincidence, everything happens for a reason. The reason we met was because we had to. The only way either of us can ever have a successful relationship is to have someone in our life who is just as flawed as the other person. Someone with just as much to learn.

   No regular normal person on this planet has the experience, and the patience to give us the leeway, and huge learning curves that we both need in order to learn what it takes to live with someone happily, and healthy.

   Today was a descent day. Not exactly love fest 2012, but it was pleasant enough. I missed Ava's bedtime but I did wake her up so I could kiss her goodnight. It was a good day. I'm trying not to trip myself out by thinking ahead and just taking it one day at a time. It's winning all the small battles one day at a time that ultimately wins the war I suppose. 

  

This was taken last month on our last date night. It's one of my favorite pictues of us together.

And that is all very much like roadtrip music...and bathtime gurgles.

ok bye.

  

   

Ozzy Osbourne

[This is an excerpt taken from the book "I am Ozzy" by Ozzy Osbourne. It's a great book but this is by far my favorite part.]


'Ok Mr. Osbourne, I'm going to ask you a question' said the doc. 'Have you ever taken any, "street drugs"?'

This was the new guy I went to see when I decided to get clean. I'd spent almost forty years blasting the booze, and the pills, so it seemed like a good idea to see what kind of damage I'd done.

'Well,' I told him with a little cough, 'I once smoked some pot."

'Is that it?'

'Yeah thats it.'

The doc carried on prodding me and checking his notes. Then he stopped and asked, "Are you sure?"

'Well,' I said with another little cough, 'I've taken a bit of speed. A long time ago, y'know?'

'So just the pot, and a bit of speed?'

'Pretty much, yeah'

The doc carried on doing his thing. But after a while, he stopped again. 'Are you absolutely sure it was just the pot and the speed?'

'Well, I suppose I've had a few toots of the old waffle dust in my time,' I said. I was starting to warm up now.

'So pot, speed, and...a few lines of cocaine?'

'Pretty much, yeah.'

'And you're sure about that?'

'Uh-huh.'

'I just want to make absolut-'

'Does heroin count?'

'Yes. Heroin counts.'

'Oh, and heroin then. Just once or twice, mind'

'And you're sure it was just once or twice?'

'Oh yeah. Fucking crap drug heroin is. Have you tried it?'

'No'

'Too much throwing up for my liking'

'The nausea can be intense, yes'

'It's a waste of booze, thats what it is.'

'OK,' the doctor snapped. 'Lets just stop this. Are there any drugs you haven't taken Mr. Osbourne?'

'Not that I'm aware of, no.'

More silence.

Finally the doc said, 'And what about alcohol? You mention that you drink. How many units per day?'

'Oh, about four. Give or take.'

'Can you be more specific?'

'Bottles of Hennessey. But it depends.'

'On what?'

'On how long I pass out between them.'

'And it's just the Hennessey?'

'Well, beer doesn't count, does it?'

The doc shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and let out a big sigh. He looked like he wanted to go home. Then he asked, 'And do you smoke, Mr. Osbourne?'

'Now and again.'

'What a surprise. How many per day, would you say?'

'Oh, thirty-ish?'

'What brand of cigarettes?'

'Cigars, I don't count the cigarettes.'

The doc started to go very white. Then he said, 'For how long has this been your typical daily routine?'

'What year is it?' I asked him.

'2004.'

'Nearly forty years then.'

'And is there anything else in your medical history I should know about?' asked the doc.

'Well,' I said, "I got hit by an airplane once - sort of, anyway. And I broke my neck on a quad bike. Then I died twice during the coma. I had AIDS for 24 hours too* And I thought I had MS but it turned out to be a parkinsonian tremor. I broke my clack [uvula] that other time. Oh, and I've had the clap a few times. Oh and one or two seizures. Like when I took codeine in New York, or when I date raped myself in Germany. Unless you count the abuse of prescription medication.

The doctor nodded.

Then he cleared his throat, loosened his tie and said, "I've got one last question for you, Mr. Osbourne."

'Go ahead doc.'

'Why are you still alive?'

He was right. There was no plausible medical reason why I should still be alive. There's even less of a reason I should be so healthy...I mean yes my short term memory hasn't been too great since the quad bike accident, but I have a memory therapist now to help me with it - and I still have a mild stammer. But my heart's in great shape, and my liver's like brand new. After a million and one tests, the best the doc could come up with was that I had, 'a bit of cholesterol.'

haha, thats a very amusing story. That dude is very lucky to be alive. That also shows you just how strong genetics can be. I like Ozzy Osbourne. He is a good singer. He can really rock his ass off.

ok bye.

***You find out earlier in the book that Ozzy's false positive AIDS test was because he was taking so many drugs that his immune system was obliterated, haha.***

Screw the Stairway to Heaven Rule!

Screw the Stairway to Heaven Rule!

 Maybe I'm just getting old, but in my opinion the state of rock guitar in modern music these days is in pretty sorry ass shape. Just because you have a distortion pedal and a de-tuned guitar doesn't make you some badass on the guitar.

   And I don't care how damn fast you can play either.

Just because this douchebag is the world's fastest talker doesn't mean that he's actually saying anything INTERESTING.

Just because someone can type 100 wpm doesn't mean that they can write a best selling novel.

BOY YOU SAID IT CONDESCENDING WONKA!

 I'm sure there are plenty of people who will tell me how wrong I am, and how friggin awesome people like Yngwie Malmsteen are. Well I met that dude on his tourbus. I saw him yell at his wife while he watched tv with no shirt on while his gut hung over his leather pants. Believe me, there was nothing awesome about that dude. (That's a true story.)

   I would be suprised if any kids these days could actually play "Stairway to Heaven." It's an awesome song. Complex, chord changes, melodies, different guitar styles throughout the song, a rising sound and a classic solo.

   People always joke that the song is too basic, or overplayed, or anyone playing it immediately comes off as too pretentious



I'm calling Shenanigans on that line of thought.

   It's so overplayed supposedly, but I can't remember the last time I heard anyone play it.

   Too basic? Think real hard guitar players. When was the last time you heard anyone play that song and it sounded even halfway descent. 

   The song has developed that ridiculous reputation over the decades because its usually one of the first songs most rock guitarists try to learn to play. And after Waynes World it just became part of the universal consciousness to hate on the song. Then every guitar shop had to have that same "No Stairway" sign to show how cool they were too.
 
   I contend that this is largely the doing of your local guitar store know it alls who just got tired hearing newbies play it over and over again at the stores while trying out their gear. Once it got that rep as a song that only newbies learn, then it no longer became cool to play. No self respecting guitarist could be caught dead playing it, especially after the Wayne's World movie. How can you have any street cred as a band or as a guitarist if  you're playing Stairway? After all thats a beginners song! Thats like a concert piano player doing Chopsticks.



But actually it's not like that at all. That's what I'm trying to f*cking tell you.

   The reason most beginners (at least when I was first learning, I'm not too sure about kids these days) try to learn Stairway is not because it's easy or basic, but because it's a complicated song, it's got fingerpicking, some complex chords that you don't hear in most other rock songs, a bad ass solo that covers almost the entire fretboard and a hard driving section at the end. And also because it's an awesome song, and it sounds cool as hell.

   Begining rock guitarists don't want to start out learning the basic shit. We want to hit the gates running and start playing the cool sh*t right away. Hell, the first song I attempted to learn on the guitar was "Dee" by Rhandy Rhoades! I could barely play a C chord and I'm trying to play Dee, and I can't even read tab.

 

   That's why Stairway to Heaven has been unfairly hated on by the so called "guitar elite," who can't bear let themselves have anything in common with the uncultured beginners of the world, and have tarnished the reputation of one of the most perfectly crafted rock songs ever, just to make themselves feel better at other people's expense.

   And yeah I'm sure there are plenty of people who can make just as strong of an argument against everything I've said. If you want to do that then go ahead, and congratulations, you've just proved yourself superior to someone who's mentally ill and was just recently released from a mental hospital. 

  How proud you must be. 



Gibsons Robot Guitar

Gibson's Robot Guitar

   The first time I ever played a guitar was sometime around 1982. I was 9 years old. I'm almost 40 now and I still have a hard time believing sometimes that a guitar can actually tune itself.

   The price range is from $1000-$3000. It comes with seven factory preset tunings.

• Standard: E,A,D,G,B,E,
• E flat: Eb,Ab,Db,Gb,Bb,Eb
• Drop D: D, A,D,G,B,E
• Double Drop D: D,A,D,G,B,D
• D Modal: D,A,D,G,A,D
• Open G: D,G,D,G,B,D,
• Open E:  E,B,E,G#,B,E 

   I've never played one, and I'm not a very technically saavy person, so that's about as technically in-depth as I'm going to get into with the robot guitar. 

   Some people say that this leap in technology is taking something away from today's musicians, or that this is only for lazy guitar players.
  
   I have to disagree. Just because it tunes it for you doesn't mean that it's playing itself, or thinking of what to do any of the time. That's still up to the player. I'm going to use an old reference here but just because someone may be a writer, doesn't mean they have to know how to fix a typewriter when it breaks down. I've been playing for over 25 years now and I'm a fairly descent player, but even I have trouble changing strings, and I have to rely on either my snark tuner, or the app on my I-Phone to stay in tune. I rely on electronics to stay in tune anyways.

   I can understand that some people are purists and like the old ways better, but sometimes just because something is older doesn't mean its better.

   I love writing and the process of writing, but I'm not about to trade in Microsoft Word and my laptop for an old dusty typewriter any time soon. The less time I spend messing with typewriters and correcting tape, and ribbons and crap, the more time I can spend actually writing, and creating, thats whats important.

   This is a timesaver. Especially if you play live and make a living playing guitar. From what I understand, the guitar tunes pretty accurately and it only takes a few seconds. If you play live, and have to rely on multiple guitars for songs in different tunings then this guitar is a lifesaver.

   It is expensive and there are no replacement parts for it and I understand in case your guitar needs repairs or replacement parts that there are only four authorized Gibson Robot Guitar dealers in the U.S. to send your guitar to.

   A self-tuning guitar is impressive and this guitar is an important first step. Now that we know that it can be done, the next few years will be spent refining the technology, and making it more affordable.

The Esoteric Song of the Week

The Esurance Song

 I recorded this before I sold my guitar. I kept hearing it on tv and I couldn't get it out of my head until I learned it on guitar.

  I'm playing with my fingers instead of a pick. 

The Pro's and Con's of Being Institutionalized

You Wanna Know What It's Like

To Be

In a Mental Hospital?

1. Cheech and Chong were not there.

2. Timothy Leary was not there. Although I like to think he was there in spirit though.

3. You are allowed to scratch your balls.

4. The drugs were good, but not that good.

5. Jimi Hendrix wasn't there, but there was a guy who smeared feces on the walls of his room.

6:00 AM: The orderly/nurse guy wakes you up to take your vitals. Young, black dude, long hair, kinda looks like Arizona Cardinals wide receiver Larry Fitzgerald, but way more effeminate. Oh dear. Aw, what do I care, at least he's nice, and besides, I'm the last person to be judging anybody right now.

   Blood pressure, pulse, and temperature. The room has no door. The bathroom is in its own separate room like in a motel, but there is no door. two single beds no windows, two lights above each bed, two small tables, two chairs, two small dressers.

   My roommate, still sleeping, just grunts and sticks his arm out. I'm not sure why, but I didn't think that was very polite, so I sat up, and said good morning at least. A minute or two and he's done. Breakfast isn't until 8:15. The day doesn't officially get going until then. I'm still groggy. I take Seroquel every night before bed. It's an anti-psychotic mood stabilizer. It also knocks your ass out too. They give everybody a sleeping pill with whatever bedtime medication you take. It's optional, but f*ck it, I took it anyways. I've stopped fighting. Last night after evening group therapy, I decided to finally accept my present circumstances. Just because you can voluntarily go in, doesn't mean it's that easy to just voluntarily get out. Especially when just yesterday you tried to kill yourself for the 2nd time in less than 12 months. I decide to stop fighting life, and allow myself to go wherever life decides to take me. And right now that means getting my ass back to bed. 

7:15 AM: My roommate wakes me up. He kinda reminds me of Seth Rogen. He is very chipper. This immediately has me worried, since he's usually very withdrawn and sullen. He's Jewish, with black, curly crazy hair, big beard, dressed like he's about to play tennis at a country club. I wonder if he knows this is a mental hospital. I hope he doesn't. Hell, even I would rather be at Wimbledon or some sh*t right now than here if I could choose. More power to him, I'm not gonna be the one to ruin his trip.

Dude, you snore! my roommate says in a rather good humor, more surprised than annoyed.

Aw, hell I'm sorry man. Hope it didn't keep you up. I'm rubbing my eyes, groggy, still trying to wake up.

Nah, man its cool. I only woke up once, and I thought for a sec that you were my last roommate, and I got up cuz I was gonna punch you in the head, cuz I f*kkin hated that guy, but then I realized, Oh sh*t! no, it's cool, that's just the new guy. So I went back to bed.

How lucky for me.

8:00 AM: My world consists of one long hallway, My room is at the far end. On the other side is the lobby, which consists of the nurses station where there are two phones you can use during designated times. Next to the nurses station is an adjacent small ass room that has a decaf coffee in styrofoam cups. That sucks ass, but there are also Honeygrams crackers too. I stuff my pockets every few hours and munch on them throughout the day. There is regular coffee in the cafeteria on the other side of the premises, but my doctor has not not yet granted me cafeteria privileges. So its decaf coffee, and all my meals are brought to me. An adjacent side room which is the day room, with books, games, coloring and a television, with CABLE. We don't even got cable at my folks house.

  

I got the television to myself for the first time. I decide on deadliest catch, until I'm interrupted by "Angry Coke Head" guy. He's a middle aged white dude, kinda reminds me of Glen Cambell's mugshot.

 He walks in, and demands the television be put to CNN. He watches for 2 minutes then leaves. But he will come back. It may be 5 minutes or 50 minutes, but he will return and claim he was watching the entire time and demand it be put back to CNN. He's harmless if you just let him watch his 2 minutes of CNN until he leaves again. There is a lot of drama around the television, so I usually just stay away from it, and either read or color.

   As I wait for my breakfast to get here. My doctor finally comes to talk to me. Our conversation lasts all of 15 minutes. He says if I make an effort to get involved in the activities instead of just hiding out in my room. He'll consider letting me go in two days. I tell him that if he doesn't grant me  full privileges today, I'm checking myself out against medical advice. He tells me that he has no problem granting me full privileges but if I attempt to check myself out, he does have the right to appeal. If I loose the appeal, that will land me in the county mental hospital.

   I get to eat breakfast in the cafeteria. Omelette, bacon, sausage, donut, fruit, bagel, orange juice, caffeinated coffee, all you can drink. I don't even eat this good when I'm in Vegas.

8:45 - 9:15: Morning medications.

9:15 - 9:30: Community Meeting. Staff and Patients time to meet and discuss issues and crap. Today's highlights.

• more markers to color with please
• whoever is throwing puzzle pieces away just cuz they can't put the puzzle together, please stop doing that.
• More Honeygrams in the small kitchen please.
• Weird girl has a fit throwing hell ride. I call her "Dances With Headphones." she's bitching about having her privileges revoked. She has to be forcibly removed. She reminds me of Amy Winehouse's Mugshot.



9:30 - 10:30: Educational Group. Different topic every day, informational crap. Today's topic. Medications and side effects. I still have the handout they gave for that one. It was pretty interesting.

10:30 - 11:45: Group Therapy: Group therapy uses a textbook and a method called. "The Roadmap to Piece of Mind." I kept the text book and I still try to consult it when I feel myself loosing it.

   Group therapy is the only time you really ever find out what other people are there for. With the exception of some of the younger folks who will usually ask right away why you're there so they can size everybody up, most people, especially the older folks, wanna keep the conversation light. Any conversations I'm having with anyone outside group revolve around either what's on tv, or what kind music we like.

    I don't want to give any specific details out but some of the things that sent people to this place include, schizophrenia, alcoholism, depression, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, people grieving of recent losses, and various other drug and mental problems.

   Nobody is forced to attend group. People come and go. Shit smearing wall guy, gets pissed when he's interrupted, starts telling everyone to f*ck off then storms out. He storms back in then he's forcibly removed.

11:45 - 12:15: Free time. I spend my free time making phone calls and coloring or calling my wife, I'm not allowed shoes with laces, shorts or sweats with drawstrings, or pants with belts. All I have is my slippers and same sweatpants and shirt that I've had on for the last two days. Some people don't look like they've changed in weeks. Some have a seemingly endless wardrobe. Some people have elastic bands keeping their shoes on. Just like that lyric in Pink Floyd's Nobody Home.

   I'm not allowed a razor, and I ask if it's possible if I can have a shave. They tell me that I can be taken to get a shave (seeming to imply that I won't be doing it myself) during the alloted time in the morning, however this coincides with breakfast, so if I choose to get a shave then I forfeit my cafeteria breakfast and have to have my food served to me in the ward.

   F-that. Any chance I get to leave this building I'm taking.

12:15 - 12:45: Lunch. There are several different wards in this place. The only time we cross paths is in the cafeteria, if you have cafeteria privileges. It can be tense if you're not used to having people stare you down, wondering what you're in there for, but it's not like jail. No fights, just a lot of crazy people, staring down alot of other crazy people.

   Today's menu: We got a choice, pizza, hamburgers, hotdogs, fries are standard and offered every day. There's even a dude making wraps and salads too. There's a different specialty theme every day. Today's is Mexican food. I have frijoles, rice, enchilada, some grilled chicken, fruit, a piece of cheese cake, coffee. The cafeteria is packed, but I am the only one who has a table to themself. 

   I always have a table to myself.

12:45 - 1:45: Afternoon Meds followed by Free Time: I just ate and I'm dying for a cigarette. No smoking allowed. I'm told that they'll give me the patch or the gum, if I want. I've tried the patch before. It works, but it gave me real eff'ed up dreams at night. And no I didn't wear it to bed. So I try the gum. It seems to work.

   Cash Cab is on tv. I sit and watch some. I kick everyone's butt with the trivia questions.

   How the hell you know all those? Have you seen this one before? I'm asked.

   No, I'm kinda like Rain Man, except I'm not good at math. That's my standard reply.

A lady sits next to me. She reminds me of Yasmine Bleeth's mugshot.

 She says I look just like Andrew. I ask if that's good or bad. She says its someone she used to have a crush on. I say "oh ok," and return to Cash Cab. I'm unimpressed and now slightly irritated. She asks me if I scare her. Now I'm worried if I continue this conversation that she'll think I'm trying to flirt with her.
   "F*ck Off," I say loudly as I stand and walk out of the room. I felt kinda bad about that, but it had to be done. It was just business. Last thing I want is this bitch thinking she's connected with me. Then she'll never leave me alone. That's the cool thing about being in a mental hospital. You can get away with sh*t like that, and nobody really gives it any thought. After all, you don't know any better, you're crazy.

1:45 - 3:45: Group Therapy: The trick to thriving in an institution such as this is to surrender to the routine. Get involved in whatever is going on. Even if you just go to group and sit and not talk. You gotta stay busy. If you keep yourself occupied enough you forget you're institutionalized. There is comfort in the routine.

   People are always coming and going throughout a group therapy session. Nurses and techs pulling people out to take vital signs. Case workers trying to get people approved on AHCCCS, looking for  housing for people in halfway homes, drug rehab facilities, and outpatient treatment. People checking out, checking in.

   I get pulled out for an EKG. Its the third one I've had in two days. They tell me the EKG's are standard for all patients, but I don't see anyone else getting them.  I ended being told by my new psychiatrist after I was released that taking Seroquel and Prozac together can cause a condition where your heart can suddenly stop. It was not normal for me to be getting regular EKG's they were making sure I wasn't experiencing heart failure.

   I guess they thought I was too crazy to be informed of this.

3:45 - 4:15: Free time. I decide to call my wife. She wanted me to call but part of me doesn't want to. I'm doing ok here but whenever I'm reminded of the outside world I get sad. It's a double edged sword. I love talking to my wife or my mom but after I hang up, I'm very depressed. I love having my wife and my Dad visit me, it gives me hope something to look forward to when I get out of here. But as visiting hours come to an end, I fight back tears. I don't want them to go.

   But in the end, my need to connect with my loved ones, outweighs my need to isolate myself so I don't get homesick. Isolation is the reason I'm in this place to begin with. I isolate myself from everything in the world that bothers or depresses me, and I don't let anything out, or in the little bubble I live in. Thats not real life though. Whats real, is the yin and yang, opposities. It's necessary for the world to exist. Within every bad experience is the seed for its opposite good experience and vice versa. So I call my wife, and my parents, and I look forward to and enjoy their visits and accept the inevitable sadness I feel when they must leave.

   In the end everything and everyone eventually leaves us. We will ultimately loose everything, including ourselves. To fight this is to fight life and the universe itself. I may be stupid but I'm not that stupid.

   This crazy old bastard is asking someone at the nurses station to look up some shoes for him on the internet. This asshole is always walking around complaining and f*cking with people. He reminds me of Phil Spector's mug shot.

 A real loudmouth. He's harmless and all, just a real pain in the ass. He was the guy who was smearing his walls with feces last night. Today they are cleaning and painting his room. He's been bitching about the fact he can't nap in his room right now. I don't even think he sleeps. At 6am he's already wide awake roaming the halls trying to start shit with whoever gets in his path.

   He's looking for Nike running shoes. He asks the nurse what website she's looking at and she answers its Nordstroms website. He becomes enraged at this and calls her a "stupid, f*cking c*nt, whore." he's cursing her out for at least a good minute or two until three large black orderly dudes come and take him away.

4:15 - 4:45: Community Meeting. Once again time for staff and patients to touch bases.

• Tomorrow we are being visited by therapy dogs.
• Anyone with full privileges can spend 30 minutes outside tomorrow walking the grass or playing basketball.

4:45 - 5:15: Free Time: Power Nap.

5:15 - 5:45: Dinner: Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, fries, fruit, cheese cake, coffee. If I had money, I could get a fountain soda or starbucks, but I have no money. I'm just happy I don't have to drink the decaf coffee they got back in the unit.

6:00 - 8:00pm Visiting Hours: Only two hours a day for visitors, but I suppose it could be worse. Me and my wife sit and talk in the lobby. She's not allowed to where the rooms are located. We have the lobby and the day room available to us. After a while they open up the door in the dayroom that leads outside. If you don't have full privileges then this is the only time all day you get to go outside. There are a couple benches, and a small open area covered in astroturf. The walls around the yard are at least 15-20ft high. There is no scenery to look at. We lie on our backs, hold hands and talk as we gaze up at the moon. We laugh, smile and have a good time. It was a great visit. I was sad when she left, but I didn't fight it and the sadness didn't overcome me this time. I think I'm making progress.

8:00 - 9:00: Snacktime, then more meetings: Tonights snack, chocolate pudding. Then you have a choice of group therapy or 12 step. I go with group therapy.

9:00pm: Nightly meds, and my additional sleepy pill. I hang around in the day room, reading, and watching tv, while I wait for my medicines to kick in.  One of the guys starts talking with me. He gives me props, for saying alot of good things at group today. I'd never heard him speak before. We chat for an hour or so about, music, concerts we've been to, marriage and kids. It was a very pleasant conversation. Kinda hard to imagine that within the last 48 hours we had both nearly succeeded in our own suicide attempts. He was a nice guy, but he reminded me of Tim Allen's mugshot.

  

10:00pm: The day room is shut down. The television is turned off.  Some people remain in the lobby reading or chatting with staff. Most go to their rooms, not everyone is sleeping. I'm reading in bed. I just realize my roommate screams in his sleep. I hope he doesn't choke me to death in his sleep.
                                                                                                                                                              

   My experience of being in mental hospital was that in some ways it is good to learn to develop routines, and learn to socialize with others, get stable on your medications and get some good information from the group therapies.

   But in many ways the system fails you in that at no time did anyone ever personally speak to me about what I did, and why, and why I shouldn't do things like that, and what are healthier ways to cope with things. Any personal one on one interaction was only to ask whether or not I still felt suicidal. And if you still do, then their job is to babysit you until you are no longer a danger to yourself. It is simply a timeout for adults.

  Ultimately you are just a name on a file, a collection of symptoms, which must be managed with a collection of medications. My problems, my issues, my behaviors are complex and to only see me as a collection of words in a file is not doing me justice.

   Some people are so out of touch with reality that they have to be babysat 24/7. These places are necessary for those people. But for others this is not a place for long term care. It should be considered a rest stop. A place to rest, gather yourself, examine where you've been and where you want to go and then you leave and get right back on the road. Because ultimately you can't learn to deal with reality by isolating yourself from it either in an institution or by isolating yourself from the outside world and living in your own little bubble like many of us, including myself do.

  To fight reality is to fight the entire universe and creation itself. Many of our so called "problems" we face in life are ultimately nothing but our own attempts to resist the natural flow of life. This is probably the most important thing I learned from this experience.

   I'm starting to realize that when you accept your present circumstances, and stop fighting the flow of life thats when the really cool sh*t starts happening. If you're not fighting against life, then by default life is cooperating with you, and things start working for you, and you start meeting the people that you need to show up in your life.

  blah, blah, blah, ok I'm done. I  don't feel like writing anymore.

Where in the World is Roger Waters?

Guitardedblog.com

Presents:

Where in the World

is Roger Waters?

   8:00am: Tuesday, May 15, 2012. I wake up at my parents house. Once again I've been booted out of my wife's place. I'm estranged from my wife and kids, living at my folks (and they don't seem all that thrilled that I'm there either)unemployed, broke, my car has hardly any gas in it, I haven't eaten in days, and it's been nearly two weeks since I was in a mental hospital for nearly killing myself. I'm starting to think that maybe I should've stayed there. Life is so much easier when you're institutionalized, and the food was great. I've never eaten that good in my life.

   The plan for today? get the hell out of the house, library opens at 9am. Go to the library, read books, job hunt, and keep myself occupied til closing time at 8pm. Go home, take my medications, go to sleep. Trying not to think about my almost failed second marriage, my wife who's changed the locks, and my daughter who I've alienated to the point it seems she no longer wants anything to do with me. Psychiatrist appointments I have to get to but can't afford, medications I need to keep me stable but have no money for, bills piling up that won't be paid. I tried to get a job at Walmart but even they wouldn't hire me. Any optimism, or lust for life that I left that mental institution with two weeks ago, is rapidly fading.

  Roger Waters is performing "The Wall."tonight in downtown Phoenix.

• I saw Pink Floyd play in 1994
• In London I went all the way to Battersea Power Station just because it was on the cover of Pink Floyd's Animals album.
• I saw Roger Waters live in 2000
• I saw him again in Phoenix in 2006
• I saw the first leg of The Wall tour in November 2010

   This could be just the thing I need to get me out of my head for even just a couple hours. I need a break from reality, in a legal, healthy way.



This was from one of the London shows last year, just to show you how bad ass this show is!!!



9:00am: I ask my folks for an early birthday present (my birthday is 5 months away) denied. I decide to sell my acoustic guitar and amp. That just leaves me my one shitty electric left. I just sold another guitar the day before to pay for a new battery for my car. At this point, I need to get happy, and fast. There will always be other guitars, there will never be another concert like this, ever again. My folks tell me they will never give me another dime ever if I sell that guitar to go to the concert. With all the problems I have the last thing I need to be doing is something fun. I back down, and leave the house with my tail between my legs, defeated.

9:30am: I sell my guitar and amp anyways. My fuel light is on, that gives me about 30 miles til empty. No cigarettes, haven't eaten since Saturday evening. If I buy a ticket I have $5 left. Instead I go to the thrift store, buy a dress shirt, pants, tie, belt, just in case I ever get a job interview lined up. Might as well get some good clothes while I have the money. I drop them off at the dry cleaners, I put $7 in my gas tank, buy a pack of smokes. I got about $35 left to my name. I drive towards the library, where I will spend the next 10 hours.

11:30am: Scew it, I'm GOING to that damn concert somehow. I check stubhub, ticketmaster, craigslist. I can't get in any cheaper than $50. I have no way to get any more money. I decide that I will go to downtown Phoenix and wander around downtown until I see Roger Waters. Then I will tell him my story and ask him for a ticket to the show. I know who his three guitar players are, and I know what two keyboardists and drummer look like, so if I see them walking around I can also ask them too. That improves my chances somewhat. I don't have the gas to get downtown, and even if I did, I can't afford the parking. I turn the car around and drive to the light rail.

12:00pm: What the hell is wrong with me? That is the stupidest idea I've ever had. Like that would ever even work. I turn the car around back to the library.

12:30pm: Wait. Sure, thats not gonna work, but WHO CARES? I got nothing better to do, I could use the exercise, and at least I could say I tried. I'm not doing this to succeed. I know its going to fail. But that doesn't mean I can't do it anyways. I heard someone say, that someone once said, you miss 100% of the shots you never take. I turn the car around again, heading to the light rail station.

1:30-3:00pm: Downtown Phoenix, it's 106 degrees out. I haven't had anything to drink. Showtime is at 8pm. I'm starting to think think this was a bad idea. I make my way for the Wyndham Hotel. Just as good a place to start as any. I see a Mexican newspaper on the side of the road, I pick it up cuz I'll need it for later.

   After canvassing the lobby and the escalator to the second floor. I hit the elevator, I stop and get out and walk around on every floor on the way up, and do the same on the way down. I find a comfy chair in a corner of the lobby. They got the AC cranked and it feels great. I sit and pretend to read my Mexican newspaper as if I'm waiting on somebody. If anybody starts asking questions I'll pretend I don't speak English.

3:00-5:00pm: Walk around the block, look in all the cafe's and bars.

   Alleyway behind the Wyndham. See three Mexican cleaning ladys coming out. They look like they've just finished their shifts and are heading home. I decide to ask them if they know anything. I quicky throw together some sloppy ass Spanish.

   Perdon, senoras. Hay un musico de Inglaterra se lo quedo aqui?

   My Spanish is ok but I rarely ever use it so it's rusty and it's entirely learned from textbooks, so I have no conversational experience with it. Consequently, unless I'm being spoken to like a child, odds are I'm not going to understand what anyone says to me. Imagine someone from another country who learned England-English from a tape, but then tried to talk with someone from Alabama. That's kind of the way it is with me but not really I guess. What I'm trying to say is I had no idea what the damn ladies told me. But their body language told me that they had no idea what I was talking about. Ok, so that plan failed miserably.

  I make tracks over to the Hyatt Regency, same routine. No luck. Hit the Arizona Center, no luck.

   I see a a guy sitting outside starbucks talking on his phone. He's got some badge or credentials of some kind hanging on his shirt. F*ck it, I'm asking him.

   Hey man, are you working the roger waters concert tonight?

  Um...what?...no....excuse me [goes back to his cell phone conversation, very irritated]

   Damn its hot outside. Back to the Hyatt, to cool off, then over to Cooperstown, walk around the arena a few times. The Hard Rock, The Tilted Kilt, Majerles. It would be a whole lot cooler if I could afford a beer at any of these places, instead of the dirty looks I'm getting just ordering soda. They try to charge me. I say I'm my groups Designated Driver, and if they could cut me a break on the sodas, we make it up with the tip when we check out. Free soda baby! I might be broke but at least I'm enterprising.  Even if I could drink alcohol which I shouldn't be doing, I couldn't afford it. Then over to the Wyndham, then back again to the Hyatt.

   At the Hyatt, I think I actually see one of the keyboard players,making his way into the bar. It looks like Harry Waters, Roger Waters son who's in the band, but I'm not convinced. I check google for a recent picture  to confirm and no, its not him. Dammit! where is everybody!

Roger Waters, will you stand up please?

   I check craigslist, nobody is selling for under $50. I post on craigslist, Maybe someone out there has a cheap seat that they're willing to undersell to someone a little down on their luck. The whole premise of me even being there is a desperation move, this is even more desperate. But I throw it out there and wait too see if anyone's biting.

   I get a $40 donation on my blog from my cousin. Awesome! with another donation, I might be able to get a ticket at the box office. After about 20 mins of research I find out that whenever anyone donates to my blog, it takes 14 days for me to get the payout. So I'm back to the $30 plan.

6:00pm: It's probably too late to find Roger Waters or anyone else at this point. I haven't eaten, I'm dehydrated, thirsty as hell, I feel like I'm gonna pass out. I get a phone call, I don't know the number and dismiss the call. Oh SHIT, it could be about the tickets! I search for the number but then I get a message asking if I'm still interested in buying a ticket.

  This person goes on to tell me that he won tickets in a radio contest and is driving there now to try and sell them and he'll definitely hook me up for $30. I can't believe my luck. But I'm immediately suspicious. The text is coming from an LA area code. He doesn't say he's driving downtown, or to US Airways Arena, but instead says "The Venue." He asks me how much the tickets on the street are going for. When I say I don't know, he says to go find out.

Yeah I'm not going anywhere.

   Then he asks me to try and find other people for him who also need tickets. I don't know how exactly I'm being played, but I'm definitely being played. That was my last hope. I think about going home.

7:00pm: I walk to the arena. I have to walk past there to get to the light rail station. I find some shade and sit. Its too hot to smoke right now.

7:40pm: I remember when I saw Paul McCartney in concert in 2010 it had sold out months before but I got standing room only tickets the day before the concert hella cheap. I decide to go to the box office and see if I can do the same here.

   Just then fake ticket guy messages that he's on his way and he'll still hook me up with the $30 ticket. I decide to ignore that until I find out whats going on at the box office. I'm waiting in line, I'm making myself crazy, what if the person in front of me gets the last ticket! I'm jumping up and down, I feel like screaming. A window opens up and I cut off some filthy middle aged hippy lady. I have a sneaking suspicion that she probably has pubic hair growing up to her belly button.

   The lady at the window tells me they're sold out. I ask her to check again, she says they've just opened up some "limited view" seats for $39. I look thru my pockets, a twenty, a ten. I open my wallet, two dollar bills. I practically throw them at her while I look thru my pockets again. some quarters, a dollar coin from the vending machine that I got my light rail pass. I got $34 and change. I ask her if I can borrow the remaining $5 and change. She smile's and politely says no.

Dammit! so close! its not fair!!! I suppose I can take my chances with the fake ticket guy. He messages me again, says he's almost there. He's wondering where I'm at.  Maybe if I wait til after the show starts one of the scalpers will hook me up cheap.

   Oh shit, lemme check my bank card, I may actually have like $5 on there. Shit I have to pick up the clothes I bought tomorrow at the dry cleaners. So I actually need to have like $10 on the card, and I seriously doubt that. I try to access the app on my phone to check. My battery is almost dead, the lady at the window is getting impatient. People behind me are getting restless. The friggin phone is taking forever. Sh*t now its not taking my password! I'm shaking I keep entering it in wrong.

   F*ck! it's one of those letter puzzles! I always get those damn things wrong. I ask the lady if she can figure it out for me. This bitch is getting pissed, she aint even looking at me anymore. I get it on the 3rd attempt. I have just enough in my account to cover what I don't have in cash, and I can get my dry cleaning with 72 cents to spare.

Not too bad for limited view, I thought.

   I sat there in the limited view section all by myself. I was so happy, I held back tears. The last few weeks had been very difficult. Cops, mental hospitals, doctors, nurses, counselors, therapists, psychiatrists, marital troubles, people constantly telling how much of a failure I am. Ive been told im everything from ADD, OCD, autistic, bipolar, paranoid delusional, narcissistic personality disorder, social anxiety disorder. Plenty of people around to tell me Everything thats wrong with me.

  With just about nothing going right in my life these days this was a big victory. Just to know that something anything could go right for a change was uplifting. The same problems I woke up with today will be right there waiting for me tomorrow whether I went to the damn concert or not. I still would've been broke anyways. No regrets, I had the time of my life. I'll never forget it. For a couple hours tonite I wasn't the failed husband, father, unemployed, broke mentally unstable looser. I remember when I saw Pink Floyd in 1994 I was 20, young, the whole world ahead of me, before things started going terribly wrong.For a couple hours last tuesday night I was a kid again. No worries, good people, good music, good times again.

  I was just another fan enjoying the show and everything was perfect And yeah that was worth any sacrifice.

***I want to officially add I don't intend to portray my wife Jessica as just some one dimensional, mean spirited, succubus, who does nothing but throw me out and put me down all the time. In her defense, she is very supportive, has a nice butt and tries her heart out to be good to me, until I eventually take advantage of her, alienate her, torment her and piss her off enough to the point that she's forced to throw me out. In person she's actually a very relaxed, upbeat, sociable and classy lady.***