Yes, I believe it is the second, or "B" string that is out. I used to play this back in the day. It was not until I lived in a house and would at times bring things to the dump myself that I discovered how deeply irresponsible this unauthorised dumping was. And to be surprised that the dump was closed on Thanksgiving? Like the town employees are supposed to work holidays for you? It never occurred to me then. But every time I get to the dump late and see some guy eying the gate, checking around whether anyone's looking so he can leave is stuff off on the side I think of that.
What never occurred to me for one moment at that time in my life was that draft evasion was cowardly. It was simply self-evident that crazy grownups were trying to get you killed, and that there were practically no conceivable circumstances in which you might be called on to assume physical risk in service of your fellow creatures. This is the problem with being raised in a family with no tradition of military or police service, and no exposure to violent unrest that might lead you to start thinking about how people are supposed to react to that when it comes up.
The draft was gone by the time I was of age, though I registered for Selective Service on the very day of my 18th birthday. I don't know how I would have felt about it if I'd come of age in Vietnam-era America, when things were very different.
5 comments:
Note that his guitar is slightly out of tune. Gives off a 'sweetness' with a slightly-enlarged octave.
You have a sophisticated ear. I couldn't tell whether a guitar was in tune, which is one reason I never learned to play guitar.
Yes, I believe it is the second, or "B" string that is out. I used to play this back in the day. It was not until I lived in a house and would at times bring things to the dump myself that I discovered how deeply irresponsible this unauthorised dumping was. And to be surprised that the dump was closed on Thanksgiving? Like the town employees are supposed to work holidays for you? It never occurred to me then. But every time I get to the dump late and see some guy eying the gate, checking around whether anyone's looking so he can leave is stuff off on the side I think of that.
What never occurred to me for one moment at that time in my life was that draft evasion was cowardly. It was simply self-evident that crazy grownups were trying to get you killed, and that there were practically no conceivable circumstances in which you might be called on to assume physical risk in service of your fellow creatures. This is the problem with being raised in a family with no tradition of military or police service, and no exposure to violent unrest that might lead you to start thinking about how people are supposed to react to that when it comes up.
The draft was gone by the time I was of age, though I registered for Selective Service on the very day of my 18th birthday. I don't know how I would have felt about it if I'd come of age in Vietnam-era America, when things were very different.
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