a story

When I was 13 something inside of me snapped ­ and suddenly I found myself in a guitar store, renting an acoustic guitar and signing up for lessons. Something inside of me had to get out ... and it picked the guitar.

I took lessons for about four months and then the songs came. Fast and hard they hit me. One every couple of days. I played and sang. Loud. At all hours. Ask my father. I still remember him knocking at my door at 1am in his bathrobe and sleep-crusted eyes.

"Will you keep it down?"

I wrote and played my songs and got older. I went to high school and played in bands and coffee houses. I went to college and started an open mic for people like me to come and play. And, through it all, the songs came along. We grew up together. And there were always more.

Until recently.

My senior year of college I discovered the web. A friend showed me Mosaic 0.9beta, I remember. And I was hooked.

And the songs slowed down.

And I graduated from college and went to work for hotwired and I was struck with this idea that the web could be used for art and meaning and self expression.

And the songs stopped.

I know where the songs went. The went into web pages. And they can't go into two places. That thing inside of me that grabbed the guitar when I was 13 had chosen a new outlet at 23.

­ dmp
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