Fumbling My Way Through Life, Episode 1
by Noise Pollution
People think playing guitar gets you laid.
This is such a goddamned fallacy. Playing guitar doesn’t get you laid. Being charismatic and attractive gets you laid. Playing guitar when you’re both charismatic and attractive just happens to be like ringing a bell that attracts simpletons to the inside of your pants.
For the rest of us, playing guitar is something we picked up because… well, because we thought it’d get us laid, if I’m being honest. But you quickly find out a few things when you learn to play guitar.
1: A whole fuckton of people play guitar. By learning to play, you get yourself onto a different list of potential mating partners, sure, but you might not be very high on that list. There’s a good chance that this was a lateral move for you.
2: There are very few opportunities to whip out a guitar if you don’t want to come off as a total douchebag. You can’t take it out at parties without seeming like a tool. You can’t take it out on a college campus without seeming like a tool. Actually, I think the rules about where you can and can’t play the guitar are based entirely on whether or not young people of the opposite sex can hear you play or not. If they can, you’re a jerk. If they can’t, you’re still a jerk, but at least you’re not getting in anyone’s way… Wait. (A run-on sentence approaches!) It seems to me like these social norms were decided entirely by bitter people who don’t play guitar who are trying to get laid and realize that they have one less skill than we do and thusly decided on these rules that exclusively benefit themselves! Oh. That’s because they were. Man, you guys should just learn to play guitar instead of whining about us. Assholes.
3: Guitars are not small. You’re not going to be carrying one during every chance encounter with a potential bedmate that occurs in your life. You’re just not. If you want to score points with your talent, you’re either going to have to bring it up in conversation, or it’s going to be second-date material. Both of those things require some amount of not-totally-stilted-and-awkward conversation-having, and if you’re one of the lucky ones like me who find themselves incapable of such a feat, then your magic fingers (aw, gross) are probably going to be kept to yourself. (potentially grosser.)
All these wonderful factors and more contribute to the non-laid-ness of a number of very talented people in the world. In high school, I had a friend group consisting of about three or four of us who could jam and six or seven who couldn’t. You know who got the most action in that group? My charismatic friend who couldn’t play guitar but was hip enough to know all the guys who did. You know who got the least? Me, the sensitive guy who wrote pretty love songs on his acoustic guitar but would rock out to punk music on his electric guitar when the situation arose, which on paper sounds like a guy who would have people climbing into his pants. But alas, my pants were not made out of paper, and I could not write “badass guitar player, plz bone” on them, so I stayed reluctantly chaste for most of high school. Which I’m obviously not bitter about at all. I’m certainly not bitter enough about it to write up a blog post about it four year after I graduated. Nope. That’s not me. Not that guy.