My fingertips are a little tender, which will make typing at work today interesting. They’re tender because I’m sick of not playing any music, so I decided to pick up my mother’s old guitar, which is now mine, I suppose, and learn it. (While I previously played the trombone, I decided it was not as appropriate. A guitar stands on its own much easier.) The new strings arrived while I was in New Orleans, so I replaced the old (really old) ones, and I’m off. Given my near-pathological avoidance of physical labor, my fingers need to grow some calluses. Hopefully this won’t take too long—learning an instrument requires pretty regular practice, and I’d prefer to keep a regular schedule and not have to stop to heal. I’ve managed to get in a bit of practice every day since I returned. The internet is a wonderful thing—it can teach one just about anything.
It turns out that my inherited guitar, a Yamaha FG-75, is pretty well-regarded in the guitar community. It seems to have a reputation as an excellent value with good sound and durability. I can vouch for the durability—the thing is about as old as I am—though admittedly it hasn’t been played much in its 30-or-so years of life.
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