My first creative passion was music, the practice of taking a bunch of random noises and mushing them together to make something not just recognizable but emotionally resonant. It felt really good, and my guitar and I had a decent run. The tragedy of music is that you can’t eat it. Or, to put it another way, unless you are very very good–like Mark Knopfler good–people do not sit around the dinner table waiting for your tunes to spill into their bowls.
My Martin may sit on its stand collecting dust, but the All-Clads I got as a wedding gift, shit, they get a workout every day. Continue reading
You Make It You Eat It 