NGD

A few blogs ago we discussed the in's and out's of GAS (maybe I should re-word this sentence). GAS, as you may recall, is a music-related affliction that affects guitarists and it stands for "Guitar Acquisition Syndrome". For some reason, among musicians it only hits guitarists and not those who play trombones or double bassoons.

Last week I caved in to the dark forces of GAS and purchased another guitar and am in the process of selling a 12-string to finance this grand venture. The new guitar is being shipped from Port St. Lucie, Florida via the nearly bankrupt U.S. Postal Service and, if the USPS can stay alive for a few more days, the guitar should be here by the end of the week.

Which all leads to the lexicon of the day "NGD". Among guitarists, NGD is ultimately the cure for "GAS" - NGD stands for "new guitar day". Like GAS, NGD is widely known among avid guitarists, just ask them and they'll go on for hours about NGD.

There's something about awaiting the arrival of a new guitar. You know that it's going to arrive on a certain day because you plug the tracking number into the delivery company's website every 15 minutes to see where it currently is. Then it happens. The big brown truck driven by the guy in the brown hat, brown shirt, brown jacket, brown pants, brown socks and brown shoes pulls up in front of your house and opens the back door of the truck. He grabs a 4' x 2' x 6" box out of the back of the truck and heads to your front door. Although you've been sitting in your front room waiting for the arrival of the package all day you wait for the doorbell to ring and, pretending that (ho-hum) it's no big deal, feigning boredom you sign the electronic gizmo and take your possession into the house.

Believe it or not, the feeling of the new guitar arrival is the same feeling that I had as a child when I waited for my mother to come home from the hospital bringing home my new baby sister. And it happened twice. Amateur psychologists: feel free to chime-in anytime.

Once NGD has become a reality and the guitar is sitting in your house, now the tough part begins. Unlike ripping open Christmas presents, one mustn't open the guitar box for 24 hours. That's because bad things happen to guitars when exposed to extreme temperature changes - their finish material tends to crack, split and ruin the instrument.

Twenty-four hours. Of waiting.

Truthfully, I've been known to cheat the 24 hour rule, opening the cardboard box and allowing the instrument to adjust to the temperature change a bit quicker. This is considered rather gauche among guitarists but it's widely done and we all hate ourselves for doing it. This week, however, I'm going to be straight-arrow and, for 24 hours, completely ignore the presence of the 4' x 2' x 6" cardboard box in the living room.

There it will sit.

It will beckon.

I must be strong.

Readers, enjoy your day. I will - it's my birthday.