Men, boys, prices of toys. We've all heard the variations a bunch of times.
"The only difference between men and boys is the price of their toys."
It's pretty much it. Christmas means toys, or perhaps just one new toy. I never boxed it into Christmas alone. If I needed a new toy, I went out and got me one.
There never seemed to be any pattern to when the need for a toy would arise, when that itch would first start needing a good scratch. One day, one minute, one thought would enter your head. That visiting electrical impulse popped the kernel of a seemingly unecessary yearning for a new toy.
Once it's in your head, you're really not happy until the toy is in your hand. You can, however, wait it out and stare it down, which I've honest to God done a few times. There have been times I just had to have a thing, a toy. Instead of running out and buying "it," I showed some self restraint, self-control, and waited until the urge faded. And it will...if you wait.
A whole bunch of my acquaintances have a GPS in their car or truck. They love them.
Or maybe loved is more like it.
Seems that the biggest shortcoming of a GPS is that once you come to the painful realization that you don't drive somewhere unknown five to seven times weekly, and that most of the America we know is fairly well-marked, a GPS is more a novelty, and amazing one at that, than anything else. It's a toy. The biggest appeal of that unit sucking on to the inside of your windshield could be to someone on the outside of your windshield who might want to walk away with it.
I want a set of drums.
I've always wanted drums. A real set of drums, with a real bass, a couple
of attached Toms, a floor Tom, one hellacious snare, and some big crashing cymbals. Give me a couple pair of sticks and cut me loose. OK, there is no need for a big honking drum set like the one on the right. Maybe a simpler set, as seen below, would do just fine.
One problem, I don't play drums. Nor do I play any other musical instrument you might name. I have no musical ability.
One paragraph ought to pretty much cover things. See, I have no musical ability whatsoever. Despite loving music forever, despite growing up in a music loving family, despite trying several in
struments in my life, and that would include paying for lessons, I can't play a thing.
So, why drums?
I figure it this way - I am never going to play in a band, never going to perform solo, never have to amuse anyone but myself with a set of drums. The added benefit, of course, is even lacking an ounce of talent, I might be able to make some sense of the drums, some recognizable beats, some rhythm.
I actually know more than a few guys who can pound on drums and make them sound good. These are guys who don't read a note of music, never took a lesson. These are guys who just got tired of tapping on table tops and glasses with spoons and forks, then went out and bought some drums.
Then, just last evening, I remembered once having a neighbor who used to beat on his drums in their attached garage. I remembered how, when he'd first start to "practice," you would have sworn someone had just tossed seven or eight galvanized garbage cans out into the street from an attic window. You had to listen with some intensity to make out a vague repetitive noise that would indicate drums, and not the township's recyclable truck doing a rollover nearby.
Yeah, a small set ought to do it.
"The only difference between men and boys is the price of their toys."
It's pretty much it. Christmas means toys, or perhaps just one new toy. I never boxed it into Christmas alone. If I needed a new toy, I went out and got me one.
There never seemed to be any pattern to when the need for a toy would arise, when that itch would first start needing a good scratch. One day, one minute, one thought would enter your head. That visiting electrical impulse popped the kernel of a seemingly unecessary yearning for a new toy.
Once it's in your head, you're really not happy until the toy is in your hand. You can, however, wait it out and stare it down, which I've honest to God done a few times. There have been times I just had to have a thing, a toy. Instead of running out and buying "it," I showed some self restraint, self-control, and waited until the urge faded. And it will...if you wait.
A whole bunch of my acquaintances have a GPS in their car or truck. They love them.Or maybe loved is more like it.
Seems that the biggest shortcoming of a GPS is that once you come to the painful realization that you don't drive somewhere unknown five to seven times weekly, and that most of the America we know is fairly well-marked, a GPS is more a novelty, and amazing one at that, than anything else. It's a toy. The biggest appeal of that unit sucking on to the inside of your windshield could be to someone on the outside of your windshield who might want to walk away with it.
I toughed it out. Probably for the better part of nine months now, I denied the urge. Then, just within the last couple weeks I awoke to a day where the smoldering want for a GPS was gone, it was over, it had passed. Patience had paid a dividend, brought its own reward, which is me not throwing money away on something, a toy, that will serve no purpose, fulfill no practical need. Phewwwfff, that was close.
I've always wanted drums. A real set of drums, with a real bass, a couple
of attached Toms, a floor Tom, one hellacious snare, and some big crashing cymbals. Give me a couple pair of sticks and cut me loose. OK, there is no need for a big honking drum set like the one on the right. Maybe a simpler set, as seen below, would do just fine.Where to start?
struments in my life, and that would include paying for lessons, I can't play a thing.So, why drums?
I figure it this way - I am never going to play in a band, never going to perform solo, never have to amuse anyone but myself with a set of drums. The added benefit, of course, is even lacking an ounce of talent, I might be able to make some sense of the drums, some recognizable beats, some rhythm.
I actually know more than a few guys who can pound on drums and make them sound good. These are guys who don't read a note of music, never took a lesson. These are guys who just got tired of tapping on table tops and glasses with spoons and forks, then went out and bought some drums.
Then, just last evening, I remembered once having a neighbor who used to beat on his drums in their attached garage. I remembered how, when he'd first start to "practice," you would have sworn someone had just tossed seven or eight galvanized garbage cans out into the street from an attic window. You had to listen with some intensity to make out a vague repetitive noise that would indicate drums, and not the township's recyclable truck doing a rollover nearby.
Yeah, a small set ought to do it.
