From the time I can remember until I "grew up" (ha! as if!), I was sure I would be a famous rockstar. I was gonna crank my amp to, like, 11, man. I'd be the guitarist that kids love and parents hate. Like, it was totally my destiny, man.

I'd ride in a super sweet tour bus with my name in big letters and a flaming flying V guitar painted on the side. I'd go from city to city filling arenas to the rafters. Hordes of screaming SuperFans would follow me everywhere.

Best of all the world's greatest guitar players would copy my brilliant guitar licks without giving credit where it was due. But I wouldn't sue - that's not my Thing. No, instead I'd give away my massive talent and accept the flattery of imitation with my totally superior grace. (Okay, and a giant dose of smug satisfaction. Hey, I'm only human.)

What I didn't know then that would later shape my destiny is this: playing guitar is HARD, man.

Especially if you don't practice. Which I didn't.

I was always too distracted by the next new, cool Thing at Dad's company. I could never settle down and get serious about...well...anyThing except farting, gadgety, funny, and pranky Things.

Don't cry for poor moi...I also said I wanted to be a teacher, an astronaut, a stand-up comic, a fireman, a writer (Hey! That one sort of worked out!), a stuntman, and, well...you get it.

Anyway, Dad's business was the only Thing that I really worked at. Some people say I have "talent" for it. Just between you and me, what I really have is tons and tons of "practice, man, practice".

Since I didn't (don't, won't) practice guitar, my rockstar dreams are not to be. That's okay by me. These days I'm happy playing air guitar - and the radio. But, man, I'd still like to have that tour bus...

Play on, my friends. I'll see you next week.
Bobby