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I had recently purchased my first heavy metal album (after getting over my Michael Jackson stage and before going through my Death Metal stage), all the while in that dreamy, hopeful state that many an adolescent has gone through at one time or other. I admired the music I listened to and I wanted to be able to produce it myself. To this end, I saved up money for two years in order to purchase a guitar

I was ecstatic when I finally became the proud owner of a brand-spanking-new Lyon series Washburn guitar and a cheap Fender amp. The only problem was that there really wasn't anyone in the God-forsaken town I grew up in who could really teach me how to play.

I got one friend to teach me how to play The Eagles' Hotel California and then someone else taught me all the basic major and minor chords. However, after memorizing a couple more songs, I decided I needed to move on and take some real lessons.

I was lucky and was eventually introduced to someone who actually had a degree from some music school or other and agreed to teach me how to play. There was a catch, of course: he lived an hour away from where I lived... the things we'll do sometimes to pursue our dreams.

You may or may not be sad (I know my parents and neighbors probably weren't) to know that eventually, resigned to the fact that some dreams are unattainable, I quit my lessons. That guitar now spends most of its time sitting in my closet gathering dust, replaced in my life by a box full of silicon. Maybe I'll pull it out now and relive some memories... my current neighbors won't mind at all, I'm certain...

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