{"id":185,"date":"2019-11-24T15:36:00","date_gmt":"2019-11-24T15:36:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/2019\/11\/24\/once-upon-a-time\/"},"modified":"2025-10-08T20:31:47","modified_gmt":"2025-10-08T20:31:47","slug":"once-upon-a-time","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/2019\/11\/24\/once-upon-a-time\/","title":{"rendered":"Once Upon A Time"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/a><\/div>\n

It was my third high school. I was sitting in Auto Shop Class. It was the only elective available for someone who transferred mid-semester. Mr Lingenfelter was talking about draining brake fluid when I felt a tap on my shoulder.<\/p>\n

I leaned back without turning around.<\/p>\n

Do you play bass?<\/i> he asked.<\/p>\n

I was surprised at the question so I turned around. He had long blonde hair, a mouth full of braces in a mouth too big for his small face.<\/p>\n

Uh, I can play scales on a guitar?<\/i>

<\/i>Good enough. Wanna be in my band?<\/i>

<\/i>I don’t have a bass.<\/i>

<\/i>I have one you can use. <\/i>

<\/i>Sure. <\/i>

<\/i>Cool. You’re in. <\/i>

<\/i>I had no idea what I was doing the first time I played with Doug’s band – aptly named Confusion<\/i>. The bass he had for me was a garage sale special with action so bad I had to almost stand on a string to get it to the fret board.<\/p>\n

At the same time I was a regular at my local church youth group. They needed a bass player so, I volunteered as tribute. The church had a much nicer Fender Squire bass. I liked it. So… I borrowed it on occasion for my not so jesus-y gigs with Confusion.<\/p>\n

My grades were improving (to this day I have no idea how I actually graduated) and my dad realized I was actually doing this music thing.<\/p>\n

A year later, for Christmas, I had this gorgeous red thing under the tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
She likes to be slapped. <\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

She was beautiful to seventeen year old me. For a kid who was finding a way to slap the funk into covers of Jane’s Addiction and The Cult, she was perfect.<\/p>\n

I need to stop right here and disabuse you of any notion that I was at good at playing bass. I was a hack. But seventeen year old girls can’t tell the difference between a bass and a guitar and that was fine with me.<\/p>\n

Eventually, Confusion disbanded. College and shit.<\/p>\n

I also left the church and it’s band of merriment makers.<\/p>\n

When I joined the Air Force I took her with me. First to Monterey, then to Dover. I jammed here and there. Even joined a band for a time in Delaware.<\/p>\n

I also had a temperamental ex. She was not a fan of me or my bass. Really, that relationship is a case study of why nineteen year old manchilds should never be allowed to date.<\/p>\n

One day, whilst I was serving our glorious country on a base in a state you cannot find on a map, she decided to take a machete to my gorgeous bass and toss it off our second story apartment balcony.<\/p>\n

It was the first time in my life I seriously considered homicide. I knew I could dump her into the Atlantic and she would never be found. I also knew I would be the most likely suspect.<\/p>\n

I took the broken bits and drove her to a local music store. In Delaware that meant driving to Maryland.<\/p>\n

Music repairman suggested buying a new bass. Said it would be more cost effective. I said no. He suggested I replace the entire neck, bridge, fret board. I said no. He said it wouldn’t ever play or sound the same. I said I don’t care. He said filling the gouges and repainting would cost more than a new bass. I said that is superficial so leave it. Just make her work again.<\/p>\n

He repaired her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
If you really look, you can see where the fret board separated from the neck.<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

She was scarred. Bigly. But she worked. She sounded deeper, sadder.<\/p>\n

Like she’d lived the blues.<\/p>\n

For years I left her naked, her scars on display for the world.<\/p>\n

Then, one day, I stopped playing.<\/p>\n

She got put in her case and put away.<\/p>\n

Then, one day, my dad died.<\/p>\n

When the hullabaloo that accompanies all deaths and funerals finally subsided, I took her out.<\/p>\n

She was a connection to my dad. She was one of the few connections with him that I didn’t have to share.<\/p>\n

After a time I put her away again. I moved on in my life. Back to Monterey. Then onto a life with TGB<\/a>.<\/p>\n

When we made our home here in Mexico Beach I took her out again. I decided she needs to breathe, be a part of this world. So I put her on display.<\/p>\n

She is a beautiful mess of a bass, but she is a self-conscious girl. So I covered her scars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Little bits of the life I have lead cover her scars.<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

I finally restrung her and bought her an amp. Even jammed with a few friends.<\/p>\n

After the hurricane she went back into her case and back into storage.<\/p>\n

Now, she is finally home. She is safe and has a view of the sea from her lofty perch on my office wall.<\/p>\n

Don’t worry, she will get played. A lot.<\/p>\n

You can always put to music what you can’t say in words<\/i>. That’s what my dad once told me.<\/p>\n

The bass guitar is a far superior instrument to a guitar, or even a piano. A bass carries a song. It is the foundation. Without it, your favorite song sucks.<\/p>\n

The bass gives a song its soul.<\/p>\n

That is my religion.<\/p>\n

The End.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/div>\n
Copyright 2022 Rudy Martinez <\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It was my third high school. I was sitting in Auto Shop Class. It was the only elective available for someone who transferred mid-semester. Mr Lingenfelter was talking about draining brake fluid when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I leaned back without turning around. Do you play bass? he asked. I was surprised at […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_oxygen_hide_in_design_set":false,"_oxygen_tags":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[47,44,20,46],"tags":[121],"class_list":["post-185","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-bass","category-death","category-life","category-music","tag-archive"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/185","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=185"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/185\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":318,"href":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/185\/revisions\/318"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=185"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=185"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rudymartinez.wtf\/stuff-and-nonsense\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=185"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}