Ron guitar 7/16/2012 blogI admit the above picture has nothing to do with the content of the column. However this custom six-string, teardrop-style, electric resonator guitar built by yours truly is for sale. It's wicked cool. If you're interested in buying this sucker drop me a line via my website at www.marrsguitars.com
I know, I know . . . it was just a couple weeks ago that I said I’d be updating this page a few times a week. That really was the plan.
However, things sometimes change rather quickly. Due to a couple of economic and time factors I’m going back to a once a week (more or less) schedule. In other words, the current financial climate of the country (or more pertinent, how said climate pertains to yours truly) has utterly rearranged my schedule.
Allow me to explain.
Writing jobs for Jack-of-all-trade folks like myself are becoming rare as hen’s teeth in this tech-obsessed, text-message-mad, ultra-specialist culture. With a few rare exceptions (such as the print version of this column in Mo. Life magazine) the type of generalist, philosopical writing I cough out has virtually disappeared. My style of writing -- at least in the paying markets -- has pretty much gone the way of the buggy whip and the abacus, the Passenger Pigeon and the Dodo bird. Moreover, I haven't noticed any book publishers trying to break down my door, big ol' fat contract in hand.
Oh, there’s some scribbling work if you’re into being controversial or creating outrage – writing about politics or celebrities (that’s an oxymoron . . . sadly) – and in my younger days I used to do just that.
However, at age 53 (almost) such stuff goes against my grain. Maybe it’s a case of age bringing wisdom. Maybe it’s merely the fact that I find celebrities ridiculous and politics completely and totally corrupt (actually, I find the latter akin to pure evil). I’m just no longer into all these rabid ideological stances and partisan battles, and don’t understand the motivation for people who are. Politics and politicans are stupid in an unfunny way . . . and I’m only a fan of things that are amusingly stupid.
For instance . . . I can watch The Three Stooges or the Marx Brothers all day long. They were smart. As for the likes of Barack and Mitt and the rest of the Washingtonian “Hee Haw” gang . . . I think they’re all a bunch of self-serving, power hunger narcissists with an obsession for controlling the lives and actions of the population at large. Some are worse than others (the initials B.O. come to mind) but even the best of them are pretty bad.
Tangent . . . sorry. Back to the point at hand. I won’t be writing as much as I have been because, for the first time in 20-plus years I’ve taken a job working for someone else (that gig two decades back lasted about two years . . . my working life before that was also as a self-employed individual). The new job has nothing to do with writing, or building musical instruments or taking care of dogs or all the other things one might assume I’d do.
In reality . . . I’ll be driving a bus. Picking up and dropping off very nice folks who need a little bit of help (for a well-known non-profit outfit) and taking them to and from their place of employment. It requires quite a bit of time, and also requires I get up at about 4:00 AM.
Not much to tell you about this gig . . . at least for now . . . since I’m just starting today. But, the time constraints will cut down on the frequency of my writing.
So . . . here’s how it’s gonna’ go. I’ll for sure be putting out a column once a week . . . twice if I’m able. I’ll send out a group email and post notice on both Twitter and Facebook when something new hits the web.
Oh . . . and of course I do still build guitars. But, like writing, I just won’t be building as many. Any such work I do now is entirely custom . . . so drop me a line if you want a stringed thing (at which point I refer you to the photo at the top of this piece . . . just because I enjoy blatant self promotion).
That’s it . . . just wanted to let ya’ll know the scoop. I'll be around . . . just not as much
And now . . . I have to go put on my Ralph Cramden hat.