Please Smash My Guitar

My ability to play guitar has not reached its potential, nor will it ever. There is room for improvement. There is a giant cavernous abyss for improvement.

They say you're supposed to train your weaknesses, so I'm working on "finger-picking", which may sound dirty to the uninformed and immature - shame on you and your filthy mind. The song I have chosen for practicing this technique is Such Great Heights by Iron and Wine (actually by Postal Service, but I'm using the Iron and Wine cover, so there). You may recognize it from the soundtrack to Garden State.

Yes, I know. Believe me, I too want to punch myself now. Garden State soundtrack? Iron and Wine? I might as well just grow my hair out, buy a $30 Che Guevara t-shirt, and feign outrage over social injustices in third world countries over my Venti Iced Mochacchino. Goddammit, why'd I have to choose "Such Great Heights"? Well it's a pretty little number, and my skill level is actually improving a bit, so it'll be okay.

I'm actually thinking of playing at the Open Mic night that Will and I have been attending every week. It seems to be pretty low-key, with the talented ringers getting as much applause as the hacks. Being a hack, I wouldn't mind cutting my teeth in such a setting. In fact, I've even started writing a song for the occasion, because I don't think they really want to hear me cover Journey.

Writing about this musical endeavor has brought an image to mind that refuses to be shaken: the scene from Animal House where John Belushi finds a ballad-singing guitarist and responds appropriately. It is an odd duality to face; I am simultaneously excited to flex my creative muscle and compelled to mock myself as an emo hipster also-ran.