…having to seal my finger-tips up with super-glue, that is! My normal, guitar-player calluses (which come and go) have definitely gone on my left hand, as the result of performing Stopless for 5 hours in the studio yesterday.

The ..B.. and ..G.. strings were digging a hole in my left middle finger, so I pulled out the old super-glue, and gave myself a protective plastic coating. It makes me feel very tough, and industrial, and ingenious.

Uggggggggggggggg….

Apparently Ryan and I suck at the guitar pretty bad. I didn’t used to think that was the case, but apparently it is. We’re taking a million years to make this record. And let me tell you something: we’re not getting any younger. Soon, it’ll be curtains for us, I say, curtains.

The studio is a hard situation. Not only is it like a microscope or a super high-resolution lens, but it’s also like trying to draw a picture of a cougar, with a girl you like looking over your shoulder. How are you supposed to just draw naturally and let your artistic whims go wherever they will? “She thinks I suck at drawing cougars! She thinks I shouldn’t have drawn his beard like that!” These sorts of worries plague your mind. And even though the studio is a time for playing what you’ve already written and arranged, as opposed to “just feelin’ it,” it’s still hard to just sit down and PLAY the guitar naturally. I get all worked up. I lose all semblance of any mojo I might once have had.

I like when blogs are funny. That is, I like reading blogs that people write FOR their audience. I aim to make mine more that way. I fear I fall too far into the, “Let’s talk about my favorite subject and yours: ME!” camp. I like serious blogs too. But not necessarily hyper-emotional, hyper personal-blogs (you say, “Sure Cameron, have you even READ your own blog on your personal myspace? Beyaaaaaa!!”) So anyway, I’ll try to keep things light and froofy and funny.

A question: How does one keep it froofy? Is it akin to keepin’ things jiggy? Can you get jiggy for Christmas? Perhaps froofy is like a petticoat. Perhaps it’s like dryer-sheets. Or like static-cling. Perhaps like a sock stuck on the inside of your pant leg making you feel extra comfortable. Could it be that froofy is like a mixed-drink involving fruit flavors that kids would like, but hard alcohol that would make them stagger through a McDonald’s Playland shouting, “What it IS Ronald? You never come ’round no more!”? Perhaps it’s like Imogen Heap. Or is that “Froufy?”

A bad idea is mistaking super-glue for contact-lens solution.