Wow, there's nothing that get's the ol' blood boiling and the body moving like inspiration from a fella's peers.

Just this past week I was reading Shane's suggestion that designing and creating a CBG was simply not enough of an accomplishment, and that in order to really enjoy the effort you gotta get out of the workshop and light up the box in front of an audience. It didn't say that talent was an important ingredient . . . just get out there and play!

Another commentator suggested that too much of the comment on the Nation was directed toward building, and not enough toward the important side of the hobby, playing! I'm a newbie at this CBG thing, and perhaps the criticism is valid, but I've been able to glean lots of both, design and playing ideas, from my time circling the cyber world of Cigar Box Nation.

At any rate, I took the suggestion to heart. I loaded up my Hemingwayand headed for the Mall to entertain folks without thinking a lick about not being able to play worth a darn. For years I've scared my dogs and irritated my family with my six-strings. But, I got to thinking, what to hell, playing three strings has gotta be only half as hard as my Martin D-whatever, and I sing a lot in the shower and hum real loud working on the next box in the workshop, so maybe I can easily get out of the building-only rut and become a 'real' respectable CBG guy.

I arrived at the Mall and proceeded to light'er-up. A crowd of young folks, and a few oldtimers as well, gathered around to hear the noise coming out of the little box. It got me all energized and at the same time thinking how I could turn this gig into somethin' bigger and better. So, I tossed the extra cigar box I brought along on the floor, opened it up to attract tips or whatever else someone wanted to reward me with. Maybe a special order or a phone number or three.

While I was playin' my little heart out, a tall blonde showed up to cheer me along. There's nothin' like the energy from a gal swaying to the music to get the ol' juices flowing, right guys? Well, everthing was going real good until my wife showed up . . . I forgot she went with me to the Mall . . . and she took one look at the blonde, grabbed me by the ear, scooped up the box of coins, and headed me to the door, still cranking on my Hemingway.

That's the story of my first public gig. I only collected 37 cents, but the experience was priceless. Now, I don't have to be embarrassed or feel guilty about only being a builder. I'm a paid pro-fess-ion-al! But, not real comfortable on stage, right yet.

I think I'll retreat to my workshop to crank out some pretty nice rigs and leave the public indecency to the big dogs who are more skilled and comfortable with playing in public. Besides my dogs and family need something to howl about.