Rant #3: Talent, as Practice writ large. Today I decided to write an entry in the faux-dialogue style sometimes used by professional op-ed writers--you know, the one where they have a "conversation" with a taxi driver, or ghost of their grandfather, since it's easier than actually interviewing a real person and possibly learning something new.

"God!" I said to my guitar calluses. "You hurt like the dickens!"

One callus looked up at me and said, "That's because you haven't been playing."

Somewhat surprised that the hard place at the end of my index finger would suddenly speak to me, I nevertheless said, "What are you talking about? If I haven't been playing guitar, that should make you hurt less, not more."

"I hurt not with use, but disuse," the callus said, not in the least perturbed by the Band-Aid I wrapped around his face. "You haven't been practicing! How else are you gonna get to Carnegie Hall?"

"I don't want to go to Carnegie Hall. I'd settle for the New Deal Cafe; they're less demanding. Besides, I play all right as it is. So what if I can't wail like Santana or crunch like John Lee Hooker?"

The callus waggled my finger at me. ("Stop doing that," I said.) "I know you. Don't try to hide secrets from your own flesh. You lust after the singing riffs of George Harrison."

"I don't deny it," I said. "But why should I work for it? Why can't I just be magically talented? Why not let the music flow from my fingers to the frets immediately, without this tedious need for scales and arpeggios?"

"WHY?" the callus screamed, upsetting my son, who ran away from Daddy's possessed digit. "How do you think Harrison or Santana or Hooker achieved this skill?"

I shrugged. "They were born with it, I guess. You know--talent." I submerged my finger in hot water, confident I had won the debate.

"Talent?!" burbled the callus. "Ha! A fable. Or at least, vastly overrated, given how many 'talented' people exist in the world. Yet only a few achieve rarefied heights! Why? PRACTICE! Set aside your blogs, your family, your vanity, and go forth and be the rock-and-roll star you always knew you could be! Is it not true that others surpass you, despite the advantages you have?"

I pondered. It was true--one of the best guitarists I knew had cut off half his thumb, yet he played, and better than me.

Cut off half his thumb....?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" said the callus.