Monday, July 5, 2010

Thing 83 Smash a Guitar

Ten attempts. Ten. Ten failed efforts to go a whole day without swearing. What the hell is wrong with me? I know I've never been a marvel of rigid self discipline, but this is taking the piss in a ridiculous way. And I was so close too...

I last until eight this evening, having caught myself several times during the day just about to curse, I dodged bullet. I conversed on politics, football and swimming. I took a dip in the Atlantic Ocean and survived a whole drive down to Kilkee, County Clare without swearing...

I did not survive the return journey.

She pulled out directly in front of me, cutting across the lane in her shiny convertible Mercedes. I had to break hard and readjust so as not to hit the back of the car that she was no swerving inside to overtake... I bit my tongue to stop swearing. I composed myself. Then I muttered... "dizzy bitch".

Pixie Head and Little Flower gasped. I realised my mistake. For the remainder of the drive home I blistered the air all around me. There was no word left unsaid. I raided the darkest most disturbing corner of my mind for expletives which will not be mentioned again. And then silence. I think I shocked the ladies...
So I took my aggression out on an old guitar.

This little guitar was in my house when I was but a whippersnapper. CiCi Do was learning to play when she was a teenager, and it was passed on to me on one of my many failed attempts to learn. The Canuck tried to teach me on it, but sadly, after years of living in the attic and being lugged around and banged on by small children for fun - it was no longer serviceable. Useful for only one thing. Venting raw aggression and giggling. Now it's also an ornament. Turns out it was the guitar that kept on giving...
I think it's kind of ironic in a weird way. What with the little chat we had last night/this morning about punk rock and the punk attitude. Which I don't have. Smashing guitars was once upon a day a kind of cool thing. Anti establishment. Caught up in the rapture of making ear drum cracking tunes of perfect rebellion, the guitar would be sacrificed to the music...

The Garth Brooks did it and that was the end of that.

By the way; does anyone think we're running out of actual rock stars? Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty seem to be the only real rebels left, and they're kind of tools. Every other rock star is either trying to save the universe or is busy trying to collaborate with some rapper for extra street cred. I miss the angry rebels who don't give a shit...

Oops. There's those swear words again. You know, I think I'll try again tomorrow...

Eleventh time's the charm.

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