GUITAR DAD

There are times, usually late at night and in the wee hours, when Guitar Dad's home is eerily quiet. No pitter-patter of little feet. No swinging Star Wars light sabers. No Dora the Explorer or Wow Wow Wubbzy on the tube. Just good old-fashioned peace and quiet.

While I appreciate such tranquility, I've decided I much prefer the noisy, unruly and sometimes belligerent atmosphere of a house full of kid-centric mayhem. This realization became clear to me this morning when, after a good hour of hushed conversation with my beautiful wife, my son and daughter emerged from slumber and proceeded to quickly wrestle all discussion away from mom and dad.

We couldn't get a word in edgewise. These little people are complete chatterboxes. They just can't stop yapping. And I can't stop feeling extremely lucky for it.

So it has come to light that the performance of Yo-Yo Ma and other notable maestros at the presidential inauguration was something akin to lip-syncing.

I guess I don't have a problem with that, except that I've always appreciated the imperfections of live performance – a touch of over-emphasized vibrato here, a few rhythmic surprises there, even an occasional wrong note. That's what makes a live show sound, well, live and become an enjoyable extension of the slick studio recording (which is what millions of people worldwide heard from Mr. Ma and his colleagues).

Apparently the musicians and producers felt strongly that the sounds, the intonation, the delivery needed to be unblemished for such a monumental occasion, and the frigid weather prevented such precision. That's cool. The music was magnificent and moving. I bet the live version would've been fun, too.

Today marks the official beginning of what many hope is a huge step forward for America. Regardless of your political leanings, there's no denying that Barack Obama is a strong, charismatic leader, maybe just the leader we need for these troubling times. With great excitement, I look forward to seeing the results of the strategies of our new commander in chief. Godspeed, Mr. President.

I usually don't use this space to complain. But I'm fed up with seeing drivers swerve, unexpectedly slow down and otherwise drive erratically because – you guessed it – they're texting their friends or monitoring their BlackBerries or iPhones. This is ridiculous. On my 20-minute drive home from the office the other day, I saw not one, not two, but three motorists driving dangerously because they were distracted by their electronic gadgets. If someone crashes into my car because of the aforementioned actions, I will start punching. Seriously. So long as we're not gravely injured because of their stupidity. 

For as long as I can remember, I've been keenly aware of the heavens. At night, I gaze skyward to inspect the moon and stars and ponder the mighty universe. Lately, though, I've been downright mesmerized by the constructs of space, as my son and I eagerly devour an especially good (and well illustrated) astronomy book, one chapter each night.
 
Did you know that the Sun is 93 million miles from Earth, and that it takes eight minutes for its light to reach our eyes? Well, that's just an appetizer. The most distant galaxy discovered is more than 12 billion light years away. A single galaxy (and there are untold billions of them in the universe) can stretch hundreds of thousands of light years from end to end, with millions of stars burning within its boundaries. And this entire endless circus is built on gases, dust, celestial explosions and gravitational pull.
 
After centuries of careful study and amazingly astute findings, mankind is still just scratching the surface in mapping and explaining the cosmos. To consider the vastness of space makes me feel so tiny, so fleeting, so insignificant. On the other hand, it does make me feel like part of something beyond powerful, beyond understanding. It's kind of a religious feeling, now that I think about it.

Few rock musicians have created a catalog as rich, vast and downright earth-shaking as Led Zeppelin's Jimmy Page, born on January 9, 1944. Happy 65th to one of the world's most treasured guitarists, songwriters and producers.

I walked outside my office today at lunchtime and felt a sudden chill in the air, the result of a fast-moving cold front. Without a jacket, I moved briskly to my car and actually turned on the heat for the short drive to Quiznos.

Funny thing is, I now see that it was a reasonable 65 degrees outside this afternoon – not exactly frigid.

Having lived in Florida for 15 years, I've grown accustomed to year-round balminess, and I quite like it. So today, after enjoying sunny days in the upper 70s since "winter" officially began, I was a little taken aback with the slightly nippy weather. I know, I'm a total wuss.

Without a doubt, winter is the best time of year to live in Florida, when much of the rest of the nation is suffering deplorably cold and nasty weather. Our summers, on the other hand, can be excruciatingly hot and humid and, well, long. But I'll happily stay where I am for now. Something tells me that trading our warm sunshine and swaying palms for anything else would be ill advised.

Regardless of your musical taste, you've got to acknowledge the monumental talent of Danny Gatton (1945-1994), a relatively unknown guitarist's guitarist who possessed otherworldly six-string chops. The video below is the introduction to one of Danny's instructional tapes and nicely showcases his masterful abilities and tasty Fender Telecaster tone.