Two things must I give you.
I will fret no more forever.
Friday night was the most incredible night in my short life. I feel a renewed sense of purpose, of focus...and as always, it wasn't my idea. I was hanging out with a friend at her townhouse when she smacked me down...it was an Urban Legend Par Excellence, the kind you used to have to pay winos for (prior to the Internet), but she made it sound so sensible, laid down the science so clean and clear that it grabbed my cerebellum and spun it like cotton candy.
My rational brain rebels, but my creative side says that, even if this is strictly nonsense, there's got to be some meat to this notion.
Fretless bass excites women.
There it is. My two favorite things, working together like Siskel and Ebert.
I was floored. Ok, I was actually couched at the time, but the thought floored me soon enough. I had, as you might imagine, a good-sized handful of questions. My friend silenced these with: "It has something to do with vibration and the uterus." That's all she shared about the pimptacular science that she has now challenged me to drop. This was cagey on her part, an excellent parry to my curiosity's thrust. Nicely done. Why, you ask, was this such a great deflection?
Because no guy ever wants to talk uterus. We don't. Ever. Even doctors, although they're well-paid to hide this fact. Nope. Nil dicto uteratimum, or whatever. We'll talk about all kinds of other parts, and we'd certainly love firsthand, empirical research on the topic, but when you get to that strange, foreboding Circle of Life we call the cervix, that's like a conversational stop sign. There are no Uterus Monologues, and we won't be in the audience if you create them. Sure, you ladies can talk about our plumbing-it's all external, at least the important parts-but there's only so far you can go, when discussing the distaff counterparts, before a guy just stares into space. We don't get periods because God knows we couldn't handle them. We're stupid, we're useless outside of reproduction, we keep you from being paid fair wages...say what you like, vilify us as necessary, burn us in effigy (or in my boy Dave's case, in person)...but don't make us talk about the U word. We can't. You want to talk about your ascending colon, your experiences making stag films, the fact that we are unimaginably inadequate as husbands, boyfriends, or bassists? Cool. Just leave the U word out, and all is well.
Anyway...
If I want an unfair advantage, all I have to do is play fretless...and I can do that. I bought a cheap fretless back in 2002, when Strangler Mike and I were hawking mortgages in the City of Filth. Two years later, I can whomp the snot out of that beast (these are technical terms, I realize). We'll see what shakes loose on Tuesday night. No, I can't believe I said that either.
I can feel the pendulum, and it is swinging.

Yet Another Shout-Out.
Bill Steinmetz was, at one time, my personal savior. He's going through some rough stuff right now, and I just want to start this out by telling anyone who'd read this that he is an OK Guy, always was, and you should send him an email or something. His blog is at http://www.livejournal.com/users/theferrett (cut and paste it like I do; I'm still working out the link thing). Sure, he was dumb enough to date my cousin, back in the day, and maybe he didn't mean to save my life, but he did. I owe him, and I know it. I'll tell the whole story some other time, but right now let's just walk off with a big dose of gratitude.