Zen and the Art of Playing Bass

Finally, finally, finally, I am making a serious effort to raise myself from the ranks of amateur bass players to professional bass players.

I have a long way to go.  But I have learned, thanks to a bass teacher named Dale Titus, that it can be done with patience and repetition.

Oh, the learning regimen is fairly traditional:  learn scales, learn modes, learn arpeggios.  Absorb scale theory and how it relates to chords and keys.  Learn every inch of the neck.

However, a lot of successful bass playing (or playing any instrument) is great execution.  Getting your fingers on the right fret at the right time, without string rattle or buzz, plucking those strings accurately and quickly -- those skills are hard to attain.  You attain them by playing exercises (Titus calls them "chop builders") slowly at first, concentrating on a good sound.  You then slowly increase the speed of playing those chops until you can do it quickly as well as accurately.

So much of learning an instrument is developing the muscle memory to play it well and right.  Break it into its various parts and learn each part well, taking as much time as you need to do it.  Keep at it on a daily basis.  If you learn one small thing each day, your knowledge and skill will accumulate faster than you think.

I think this principle works for mastering just about any skill or body of knowledge.   It's like the old but useful analogy of the snowball rolling downhill.

Zen and Lawrence Auster

I have read several books on Zen and some from ancient philosophers like Epictetus.  I know the theory of releasing petty annoyances, letting them blow through you like wind through an open window.  Otherwise, you become Neal Rauhauser, utterly obsessed with every wrong or perceived wrong and willing to dedicate all of your being to making your tormentors pay, pay, pay!

Okay, here they are.

1.  Last Friday when I left my motel room to return home after a week's work, I forgot to pack three good business shirts, and left them in the drawer of my room.  I called, they said they would keep them safe for me until I returned the following Monday.  Now they are saying they can't find them, and the maids (who stole them) say they haven't seen them either.  I generally leave a tip for the maid on checkout day, but no more tips for thieves.  I hope Jose or Jesus (pronounced "Hey Zeus") enjoys the shirts.

2.  Lawrence Auster is one of my favorite online writers and we agree closely on many things, except for one subject near and dear to my heart, the Southern Confederacy for which my ancestors fought 147 years ago. Last week Auster wrote that the Confederates "brought war on themselves" and repeated other simplistic Yankee propaganda that would insult the intelligence of a boll weevil.  I struggled with the idea of writing a blistering rebuttal, but in the end refrained.  Larry is seriously ill with pancreatic cancer and winning an argument with him seems rather unimportant in light of that.

With that said, I will assume the Lotus position and begin my mantra.  On second thought, I think I'll watch television instead.

Mystical Moola; On Finding Cold Cash in Old Desks

"I Found It In An Old Litter Box!"

A couple of weeks ago, someone close to me went to a thrift shop to browse among the used clothes, furniture and appliances.  He knows that sometimes treasures can be found in such places, but wasn't expecting the treasure waiting for him on that day.  He and his wife pulled up to the Thrift Shop and saw a small desk sitting on the curb, a very recent donation that hadn't been checked into inventory yet.  My friend inquired about the desk, saying he would like to buy it.  The Thrift Shop employee said, "It's yours for forty bucks!"  Sold!

While loading the desk into his truck, he had to turn it upside down, and that's when he noticed rolled paper peeking from a cubbyhole underneath the desk.  Reinforcing wood brackets were afixed to the legs of the desk, where they meet the underside, and apparently they made neat places to hide things.  He reached into the small space and pulled out several bills...one hundred dollar bills.  His wife began probing the sister bracket on the other side and found the same thing.  When they counted the money, they had 47 one-hundred dollar bills. I saw the money and held it; it was real.

I think some people have a strange money-attraction.  It's a Zen thing, you wouldn't understand.

Well two days ago as I sat in the CPA office in Millbrae where I work during the week, a middle-aged couple sat down in the waiting room where I work.  I work at the reception desk, that being the only space available to me. They were not my clients, they were there to see the CPA who owns the office.

The wife got up and went to the restroom, and this gave the gentleman a chance to share with me some news that was burning in his chest.  He walked over and said, "My wife doesn't know this, but I bought an old desk in a warehouse for $20 and moved it into my building.  While I was cleaning it, I found $8,000 in cash hidden in the desk!"  He then pulled out several photographs of the money, piles of one-hundred dollar bills.  I then told him the similar story of my friend who found $4,700 in his old desk, only two weeks before.

I thought it very strange that I would know or meet people with such similar, lucky experiences in the span of two weeks.  Obviously, the Universe was speaking to me, trying to tell me something.

What?  Go buy old desks? Or maybe it was just saying, "Nyaah, nyaah, nyaah!  I give free money to some people but not to you!"

Thanks a lot, Universe.