So, “What’s the big deal,” you ask? Well, that “dry heat” that our region of the country is famous for? It’s murder on acoustic guitars. Humidity is a key ingredient in keeping your axe in top shape, and it’s a commodity that these environs are damned short of.

See, when it dries up outside (as it has today), the pulpy part of the wood in your guitar contracts. Since guitars are made primarily of wood and glue, contracting wood pulp can make all kinds of exciting things happen. Bridges can pop off unexpectedly, bracings can come loose, and the wood itself can crack if you let it go too long. Even with only mild dryness, the tone of your instrument can suffer as the top will sink, altering the acoustic response of the instrument.

And I’d got my prized Gibson J-45 just sitting in the parlor. Drying up like fig. Damned criminal, I tell you.

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Here’s something to listen to while you wrestle with Christmas lights, or traffic, or disobedient children. Make a game of it — see if you can point out all the mistakes. I even open with one, to make it easier for you.

At any rate, this was my go at an “Add-a-Track” event (for lack of a better term) that recently went down at one of my favorite guitar Web sites: Wholenote.com. It works like this: Someone submits a backing track (bass, drums, keyboards, marimba… whatever) and then everyone takes turns playing guitar over it. While I generally think that five solid minutes of noodling is… annoying… this was mellow enough that I thought I’d take a shot.

Larry Carlton, eat your heart out!

On second thought… please don’t take my lunch money, Mr. Carlton.

Anyhoo… enjoy! Or not! Press PLAY to decide…

Oh… it’s worth mentioning that the backing track (entitled, “Bluetude”) was originally written and arranged by Scott Lerner.

Thanks, Scott!

]]> http://www.drewswerds.com/guitar/bluetude/feed/ http://www.drewswerds.com/schlock/drinking-with-giada/ http://www.drewswerds.com/schlock/drinking-with-giada/#comments Sun, 16 Sep 2007 17:55:54 +0000 drew http://www.drewswerds.com/schlock/drinking-with-giada/ So, just to verify that any Todd is three-quarters “odd,” I present our latest household diversion: Drinking with Giada (also known as the Giada De Laurentis drinking game).

Back-story, you inquire? Fine.

2007 has been a year that has seen the missus and I clock more time in the exercise room than ever before: weights, treadmill, crunches, sweating… trying to stop sweating. We’d go absolutely mad without some sort of opiate to dull the pain and monotony of, you know… like, working.

Enter the Food Network!

While doggedly working to burn the calories we’ve consumed throughout the day, we watch “celebrity chefs” make all sorts of delicious-looking (and absolutely counter-productive) delicacies. Hey, it works for us.

Anway, one of our favorite shows is “Everyday Italian” with Giada De Laurentis, the perky, pearly-toothed, high-forheaded (and curiously hot) granddaughter of Italian filmmaking legend Dino De Laurentis. She makes good stuff. And now you can participate in the fun with the unofficial companion drinking game. Here’s the dirt…

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Summer may “unofficially” end today, but the mercury tells a different story. It’s damned hot! This photo was taken at 5pm, and we still haven’t dipped below triple-digits.

Mr. P’s new thing is to keep The Missus company while she works on the computer. He doesn’t take messages, but, ever the fountain of knowledge, he claims to be well versed in keyboard shortcuts and an expert with the mouse.

Well… he looks comfortable. Sort of.

Introducing the newest member of the Todd household: Red Hopscotch.

This is the same rabbit who, on three separate occassions, escaped from a neighbor’s house and was often spotted nibbling greens in our back yard (the rabbit formerly known as Clover, also formerly known as Pancakes). A few days after The Missus returned him for the third time, he showed up in our backyard. Again. But this time he was sporting a wobbly hind leg and a back injury.

Did I mention that we’re the neighborhood animal rescue? What do you think happened next?

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We hung out with the Davis in Burbank this weekend. In addition to envying their pool and brunching at The Ivy, we walked a couple of blocks from their house and happened upon this very cool car show. Jellyroll was in full effect and got at least as much attention as the vintage Fords, souped up Pontiacs, and classic Chevys.

I took a bunch of photos. You can check out the whole roll by cruising on over to Flickr.

The morning was cool and agreeable as a small lizard poked his head from behind the chalkboard menu. “SERVING HOMEMADE MENUDO DAILY,” stood in blocky script at the top, but everything else had been wiped away the night before. The lizard, scanning with jerky eyeballs, was more interested in the crickets to be found underneath the prep table than the special of the day. It stopped and eyed the large man eating at the counter before scuttling behind a translucent jar of pickled vegetables in search of its own breakfast.

The cafe was otherwise deserted. Joe hunched over his huevos rancheros and shoveled mechanically, stopping occasionally for brief gulps of black coffee. He sat with elbows bracing his solid frame, his stubbled countenance reflecting dully in the brown Formica countertop. The stool beneath him looked overmatched.

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The topic of knock-knock jokes for us started this past Memorial Day weekend when some of the kids from our neighborhood were over to visit Mr. P, the Snorg, and Phoobes (our two cats and Scottish Terrier, respectively). One of the smallest guys, upon spying the resplendent Mr. P on our kitchen counter, asked — in reverent tones — if he could give the old guy some pets.

Now, my digression at this point, will only go so far as to make you aware that my wife and I, in a completely natural and conversational way, have constructed little back-stories, plots, and dramas around the otherwise blissfully mundane lives of our pets.

Yes. We’re those kind of people. We crack each other up.

I won’t go into them all now, nor will I go into vast detail about Mr. P’s accolades as Mr. Fruits and Nuts, except to point out that he appreciates a good joke, and has a knack for telling them; jokes that cats find funny, anyway. Humor is, after all, highly personal.

So, as the little guy is itching to get a handful of the neighborhood’s most handsome abyssinian, I happen to mention this fact:

“He’ll really be your buddy if you tell him a joke. Mr. P loves jokes.”

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I do have a few items in the hopper, however.

For starters, I owe Tom a short-story/ vignette/ haiku- written- blindfolded- with- my- left- hand that was due last Monday. And Shawn is expecting a CD review from me any day now. And then there’s the how-to piece I plan to post on automated remote system backups (sounds exciting, no?). So there is activity behind the curtain. It’s just this damned need to pay the bills that is keeping the action to a minimum. I’ve even flaked on taking snapshots: an activity that requires next to no thought or effort. Geez…

So to my adoring public, who sit with blue faces while waiting to exhale upon the arrival of my next riveting, witty, thought-provoking, laugh-out-loud-funny tear-jerker, I offer this tender morsel to tide you over. It comes to you via my beloved wife, who presented me with an example of the most time-honored and unusual form of popular humor to come out of the past century: the knock-knock joke.

While I was getting dressed for work this morning, she looked over her morning paper and offered:

“Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Acowsez”
“Acowsez who?”
“No silly, a cow sez moo! “

Ba-dum-ching!