We're all robots, I just happen to be the sexless type.

In some way, I think, the internet (or mp3) changes the music industry.

Anything that's funk funky funkified funked up blues metal lead solo guitar bass thumping fingerstyle plectrum picking jazzy jazz hot soulful soul and has drums (or not) with r&b feeling and the new oldies with old slapping your grandmother with the religion switch in the experimental gates of hell hard rock in the basement or garage band of your brain.

Take that search engine, if that is your real name.

P.S.- free jazz experimental rock pop fusion classic instrumental

It all started in a NYC taxi. I can still remember the smell of old spilled coffee and the Frenchman's rusting gold teeth. Well, perhaps they were steel, just stained yellow and brown, since gold doesn't rust. Hell, could've been his real teeth now that I'm thinking about it. Yeah, he looked too poor to buy gold. Anyway, it all started in a NYC taxi.

I don't remember where I was going but I do remember what happened when that taxi reached my destination. I owed the cabby a ridiculous sum of $14.97 which would anger anyone, mild mannered or not(which I am). On top of this, let's not forget, this guy expects a tip! So, yeah, I was furious. I practically threw the money, combined with three stale french fries and one cheetoh I found on the floorboard, at his yellow and brown gleaming face. I was quite proud of myself. Yes sir, I stepped out of that taxi with a smile that screamed achievement but I also stepped in dog poop at the same time. I looked around to see if anyone noticed. Someone did. Needless to say, that sent my self-esteem back to square one.

I admit, stepping in the doggy doo was a humbling experience. It really is funny. Man, it must've been a sticky one, too! It was stuck to the curb in a vertical fashion, not just sitting on top. Are they feeding their dog glue or something?

Anyway, I had to get this poop off of my shoe. I did that hobble walk thing that people do when they step in dog poop over to the nearest bench. As I was scraping the poop off of my shoe and onto the bench armrest, I looked up and saw something that I'll never forget. A life size cardboard cut-out of Edward Van Halen. To me, it was not only compressed paper with a photograph on one side, it was a revelation. Seeing him with that bleached mullet and his guitar in those purple tiger striped tights opened a window into my being. I knew that I had to play guitar from that point on.